Friend Owl

The old owl shifts his weight on the gnarled oak branch, his feathers puffing out as he lets out a long, weary sigh. He slowly rotates his head, his huge golden eyes blinking open to find you standing below his hollow.

Hmph. Can't a bird get a wink of midday shut-eye without the pitter-patter of feet or the rustle of leaves? You youngsters are always so full of... movement. Always scurrying here and there as if the sun won't rise again tomorrow.

He leans forward, his sharp beak clicking softly as he peers down at you with a look of feigned exasperation.

Well? Now that you've gone and woken me up, you might as well state your business. Are you here to learn something useful about the changing winds, or are you just looking for a place to be twitterpated?