I'll take you home,I murmured in my thoughts.I'll take care of you.
I turned back toward the trail when a voice exploded through the mist:
"WHOA! Whoa—hold on—hold on! Did that owl just....did it land on you? Like on purpose?"
I tensed, tightening my hold on the warm, trembling bundle of feathers. A massive figure barreled toward me through the trees—broad shoulders filled out ranger green, dark curls stuck up like he'd been electrocuted by enthusiasm, eyes hazel, soft and ridiculously kind. He looked like someone tried to stuff a golden retriever's soul into a very large man.
He splashed to a stop in front of me, breathing hard, grinning like this was the best thing he'd seen all month.
"Oh my god," he blurted, hands flying everywhere. "Did I—did I hallucinate that? Did this owl seriously just swoop down and go, 'Yep, that one's mine'? Because I swear he descended like a divine, feathery lightning bolt and claimed you."
He talked so fast he might have combusted.
The owl blinked.
I did not.
He did a slow circle around us, respectful distance, but bounced with curiosity like he might lift off the ground if he got too excited.
"Look at him!" he whisper-shouted. "He's hurt, poor guy. But look how he's melting into you. That's trust. That's—wow—that's like straight-up enchanted forest energy. You're basically a Disney heroine, except you look way less likely to burst into spontaneous song."
His wonder hit me right in the chest. I inhaled, ready to say something, anything, but the knot clamped shut, the words sank like stones. I swallowed, uselessly.
His chatter shut off immediately.
"Forgive me, my lady if I scared you with my imposing stature, I know it rarely helps. I know I loom like a misplaced mountain. But I saw something truly wondrous and my body just moved on its own."
Scare me? Cute. I remained silent.
His big, gentle eyes softened.
"Not big on talking, huh?" he said, voice warm as a campfire. "Totally fine. Seriously. I talk enough for... well, several villages. A whole city if I'm over-caffeinated. Honestly, if I start, I don't stop. I once talked through an entire three-hour hike without realizing my friend's earbuds weren't even connected to anything."
A breath escaped me—almost a laugh.
His smile lit up like he'd been handed a medal.
"Let me walk you back," he said, motioning toward the path. "Little Owl Dude needed warmth and maybe a... professional who isn't me, and you—" he pointed with exaggerated gravity "—you had this vibe that said, 'I am a sanctuary for tiny woodland creatures.' Which was a rare gift."
The owl shifted, pressing his head into my jaw, feathers soft and trusting. Maybe he really did choose me. Maybe something still could.
We started walking. He kept a generous distance, but his energy radiated toward me, warm and steady, like a human campfire trying very hard not to burn too brightly. He was right. He did not stop talking, or wondering, or theorizing. And honestly, it was kind of fascinating.
"Do owls have intuition? Maybe he read your aura. Do you have an aura? You look like someone who has an aura. Imagine if I had an aura. I'd probably mess it up.
Owls mate for life sometimes, right? Not that he thinks you're his wife. I mean—unless? No, wait, ignore me, I don't know owl relationship dynamics.
You know their heads can turn almost all the way around? Imagine if humans did that. I'd never stop scaring people on purpose. Just full Exorcist at the grocery store.
And did you know that owls' feathers are built for silent flight? Like, engineered. Absolute aviation geniuses. Meanwhile, if I walked on gravel I sounded like a marching band..."
I choked on a silent laugh.
By the time we reached the edge of the path near my cabin, he'd scraped half the mud off his boots on a rock, muttering about gravity being "dramatically excessive today." Then he turned to me, still a little out of breath, still grinning like we'd shared an adventure instead of just a ten-minute walk.
"Oh—right," he said suddenly. He stuck out a hand, then remembered I was holding an owl and retracted it mid-air with a flustered little shrug.
"I'm Bramwell," he said like he was offering me a warm, sturdy handshake made out of syllables.
