“Oh goodness,” sighed Tobin, “I hope Bismark’s all right.” The pangolin squinted into the distance, hoping to catch sight of his friend.
“We’ll find him later, and I will apologize. But I want to give this place one last look,” said the fox.
Tobin nodded halfheartedly.
Dawn paused for a moment and placed a friendly paw on her friend’s scaly back. “Trust me,” she said. “We—”
Whoosh!
Whee!
Zoom!
Tobin’s heart leaped in his chest. Something above them—he could not be sure what—was whipping and whirling through the pale morning sky. “Oh goodness!” he cried. He squinted in the unfamilar daylight. “What is that?”
Dawn’s amber eyes darted as she tracked the airborne, zigzagging object. It was flying too fast and too wildly to tell what it was. As soon as she had it in her sight, it had banked off in a completely unpredictable direction. And now it was headed straight toward her! “Look out!” she cried, ducking low to the ground.
Tobin followed, dropping the smooth skin of his belly to the ash-covered earth. He felt a swoosh of air over his scales, then watched with horror as the flying thing catapulted past him and crashed straight into the stump of an elm tree.
“Oof!”
The fox and the pangolin shared a look of bewilderment. Then they headed to the tree stump. Poking up from the trunk’s oval hollow, was a brown, feathered rear end.
“Are you okay?” Tobin asked, cautiously stepping forward.
“Oh! Oh golly gee!” The bird twitched back and forth in a frenzy as he attempted to unplug his head from the tree stump. After a few, unfruitful attempts, he gave up, allowing his tail feathers to slump and fall slack. “Well,” he sighed, “I’m afraid I’m stuck. Stuck in a stump. Typical Otto. Typical, typical Otto.” The bird kicked at the bark in frustration and let out a disgruntled huff that echoed through the log.
“Don’t worry,” said the pangolin. “We’ll help you out of there.”
Dawn nodded then carefully grabbed the bird’s midsection. Tobin took hold on the opposite side, and the animals counted:
“One… two…”
On “three,” they pulled, and the bird sprang from the log with a pop, sending the three animals tumbling back in a heap.
Quickly, the bird flapped to his feet, dusting himself free of ash and plucking small bits of bark from his feathers. “How embarrassing,” he muttered. “How absolutely mortifying.”
Tobin boosted himself to his feet and prepared to comfort the bird. He was usually quite skilled at putting others at ease. But when he rubbed the soot from his eyes and took in the newcomer, he could not help but recoil in shock.
For the most part, Otto was a traditionally handsome owl. His deep, brown feathers were dotted with pure white spots, as though sprinkled with large flakes of snow, and his eyes were striking and round. Even in the bleached morning light, they shone a bright, piercing gold. The problem was his neck.
Tobin gathered his paws at his chest. He knew, of course, that owls could rotate their heads. But Otto’s head was tilted unnaturally, permanently cocked toward his shoulder. The pangolin gulped. It looked so strange and unstable that Tobin feared it might topple off.
“Oh…oh goodness,” fumbled the pangolin. He turned to Dawn, hoping she would know how to react. But even the usually unruffled fox was perturbed.
“Oh golly, what is it?” asked Otto. “Is my beak scratched up? Are my feathers all out of sorts?”
Tobin shook his snout back and forth. “Nothing like that,” he began. “It’s just, well, when you crashed into that tree, or perhaps when we tugged you out…” The pangolin tilted his neck to the side to illustrate the rest of his thought.
At this, the owl exhaled, and a wave of relief swept his face. “Ohhhhh, my neck! Yes, of course.”
Dawn and Tobin stared back at him blankly.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s been like this for ages. Minor incident with a mouse way back when. Got a bit too eager, I suppose.” He snorted loudly, then, embarrassed, covered his beak with a wing. “Anyhoo, it’s not that big a deal. It’s just that ever since, my navigation has been a bit off You know what they say—steer with the ear! And my ears are, well, you know.” Otto flopped his wings every which way to illustrate his twisted sense of direction.
Dawn surveyed the rocky terrain, littered with tree stumps and stones. “But why were you flying so low?” she inquired. She shifted her gaze toward the vast open sky above. “It’s much safer up there.”
Tobin nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he agreed. “Flying down here is an accident waiting to happen! Especially with your…condition.” Tobin raised a paw to his mouth. “Oh goodness,” he uttered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken,” said Otto. “You’re correct—absolutely correct. I never fly at this altitude. Only a worm-brain would do something like that. But under these circumstances?” The bird kicked some ash off his foot, exposing his long, orange toes. “Well, I certainly couldn’t fly high. I shouldn’t be flying at all!”
Tobin tilted his head. “Why not? Your sense of direction can’t be that terrible.”
Otto’s expression turned suddenly somber. “Because of the beast!” he whispered. “If he sees us, he’ll get very upset. This is his territory.”
Dawn furrowed her brow. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Well, it should! You were the one who instituted the no-fly zone!”
At this, Dawn’s ears pricked up. “Me?” she asked, surprised.
Otto bobbed his head in what must have been his version of a nod. “Oh yes,” he replied. “The tuatara said you absolutely forbade it. Flying was far too risky, you told her. Isn’t that right?”
Dawn gazed at the horizon. As a gust of wind swept through her fur, her mind raced. Why did Polyphema say the birds were not permitted to fly? That was not what they had agreed to. And why did she say this order came from her? The fox narrowed her almond-shaped eyes. This was not sitting right.
“Oomph!” With an awkward hop, Otto adjusted his position so he could see the sun’s place in the sky. “Golly gee!” he gasped. “I’d better get back. If Polyphema sees that I’m gone, well, it won’t be pretty!” The owl’s feathers trembled in the breeze. “She has us on a very strict schedule.”
“A strict schedule?” Dawn repeated. The fox hardened her gaze and dug her claws in the ash. “We must get back as well,” she announced. Her tone was urgent and tense. “It appears we’ve been gone far too long.”