Third day of the Second Moonling,
And there he was, watching me straight and not holding back. The one who was forgotten, neglected in dread, for what he has done cannot be forgiven. His eyes burnt with anger, as they expressed all those years wondering in the nothingness and loneliness of an empty mind, once full of knowledge and passion for nature. For this explorer, great and famous, grew older in the shadows, with his feathers leaving his grey body as the Transformation begun. Now the eyebrows fell over his eyes, as his eyelids follow through. He nodded at me and walked away, reaching my heart with a final smile. A movement so gentle and warm that it reminded me who he was, what he used to mean for the people who hold him in the highest esteem. But he had vanished, expelled from his home, his Library, his own land. Forbidden to enter society again, left alone with his thoughts to walk the path of shame and never look back. The owl, the shape of a writer fallen in disgrace, was indeed not taken to Drought Island. No, for wasn't punishment what he deserved.
I came here only with the hope of finding my teacher, my master of so many years, but came to a hollow carcass with nothing else to say.
It was late that afternoon when I lost sight of him, just as my ship left the shore and we took advantage of the strong winds descending from the high peaks. There, in the cold, freezing mountains where no other hybrid dare to enter, there where he managed to survive decades of hunger and humiliation. I knew this was going to be the last time I would see him, for his Transformation may be completed next Moonling.
On the way back to Charamel I could not keep my mind out of him, of his reddish eyes turning to a pale white, of the expression of selfcompassion that poor explorer should be feeling. And then a beautiful image shook my head and made me smile truthfully. For I was certain that that old owl-hybrid, half naked and with ramifications growing from his neck, would one day be the highest and widest and most esplendorous of all the trees that rise on the solid rock of Frozen Island, and his roots, firmly attaching themselves in order not to lose strength, will transmit the knowledge I am sure he still holds inside, and will spread it through the nature of my vast and loving Gardeling.
Capt. Glison.
