In a hot wet wood at the middle of the world sat an owl in his dead tree. In his beak was clutched a mouse, caught a few miles away at a more reasonable hour. The noon day sun blared overhead, stinging his eyes. His face was not what one would call pleasant, as his brows met together in an unbreakable scowl, and his fierce squinting didn't help matters much, but through it all he seemed almost giddy.
He waited just outside of the hollow that his mate had made her nest in many weeks before. It wasn't long before her head appeared, looking tired and bedraggled. Blinking heavily, she spied the mouse, and leaped out to take it from her