It was dark and quiet when Henry returned to the barn. The only light was the soft shine of an outer lamp situated by the main-house. Henry swooped down and landed in the hay. There was a soft rustling and a squeak, then Hubert appeared.
“Gosh, you almost scared meself to death,” the rat snorted. “I thought you was an owl.”
“I am an owl,” Henry said plainly, “and to remind you, you’re a dirty stinking rat.”
“Got it,” the rat replied irritated. There was a pause then Hubert sighed. “Well, I’m off.” He began hurrying through the hay.
“Hey,” Henry whispered. ”Where’re you going?” But the rat was out of sight. Henry raised his eyebrows. He would never understand Hubert, and he knew Hubert would never understand him. That was just how things were and Henry guessed that it was going to stay that way. The rat did not amuse him. Henry thought him an ungrateful creature and he did not yet really trust him. Henry wondered if the animal had ever had family, but guessed that he would probably never find out.
The owl trotted quietly through the hay. All the doves were fast asleep, lying gracefully in the hay and breathing deeply. It looked very soothing and Henry suddenly noticed how tired he was. He perched himself into a comfortable position, shuffled his feathers and was about to close his eyes when a voice said.
“That’s quite odd.” It was a gentle, peaceful voice. It wasn’t a shout nether a whisper, it was a soft statement.
Henry lifted his head surprised and squinted into the dark trying to locate the source. Had he been dreaming? Apparently, there was nobody there as far as he could tell. Henry looked again into the dark, still he saw nothing. He shook his head. He had surely just imagined it, but just as he thought so the voice came again.
“That really is quite odd.”
Henry looked up and his eyes widened. Above him, on one of the beams holding the barn roof, sat an owl. It sat looking down at him with big yellow eyes, a small amused look upon its face. Henry swallowed and spoke.
“Excuse me, what’s odd?”
The owl kept staring at Henry and then answered in a soft tone.
“You.”
There was silence. The owl had not moved, its yellow eyes were fixed upon the owl below. Henry felt uncomfortable. He flapped his wings and flew up to the beam. The other owl turned to him as he landed. As Henry folded together his wings, the owl blinked.
“Who are you?” Henry asked slowly.
“I’m Mr. Holmes,” the owl said plainly and smiled.
“I’m sorry,” Henry said, “but why am I odd?”
The owl stared amusingly at him. “You sleep at night and eat no mice, you are an unusual owl.”
Henry sighed and looked away. “Yeah, I know I’m unusual, I’ve almost always been like that.”
Mr. Holmes looked him up and down and then said. “You know, it might be otherwise. Owls do differently than other birds, we are the ones who sleep late and hunt for strangeness. Perhaps we are the unusual and not you.”
Henry stared at him. He had never thought of it in that way. He had always rejected himself for being different, but perhaps he wasn’t so different after all. Not compared to other birds anyway.
“I see my comment has astounded you,” Mr. Holmes said sympathetically. Before Henry could answer, Sam appeared beside him. Henry jumped surprised. He hadn’t heard Sam fly up. Mr Holmes apparently had for he didn’t look the least surprised. He looked down at the little dove with his big yellow eyes.
“I woke up and heard somebody talking, and then I saw you up here Henry,” Sam explained and then looked up at Mr. Holmes with a curious look. “Who’s he?”
“Sam, this is Mr. Holmes,” Henry said recovering and clearing his throat.
“You must be a good flyer, to have come all the way out here,” Mr. Holmes said encouraging.
Sam grinned at him. “Mum says I’m getting better everyday. She says I’m soon going to be faster than Peter.”
“Of course you are,” Henry said “I say you’re faster than him already.”
“Yeah, but I’m never going to be as fast as Clare!”
“Sure you will,” Henry said and smiled. There was a short silence then Sam asked.
“Do you live here Mr. Holmes?”
“Yes, and no,” he said with a sigh. Henry looked up at the owl.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked softly.
Mr. Holmes looked at him. “There are times when I stay elsewhere,” he said.
“Like the woods?” Sam’s eyes glistened. The owl nodded.
“We’re going to the woods,” the dove said.
“You’re going to like it there,” Mr. Holmes assured.
Sam nodded. “I bet,” he said and then added, “but I like it here as well.”
Mr. Holmes looked around. “You’re right, it’s a nice barn.”
Sam thought and then said carefully. “Mr. Holmes, would you mind not eating our friend Hubert while you’re here.”
Mr. Holmes chuckled. “Of course. I’m not really sure any owl would want to eat such a rat, with the racket he causes.”
“He’s nice,” Sam said seriously. Mr. Holmes stopped laughing.
“I’m sure he is,“ he said.
“So will you promise?” Sam asked.
Mr. Holmes looked down at the dove with his round eyes and nodded with a serious expression. Sam smiled.
“There are quite a few mice and rats around here,” Henry said. Mr. Holmes took his gaze from the dove to look at the owl.
“Oh yes, they come here in the winter to escape the cold. There’s food around here for them, and so for me too.” Mr. Holmes said. “I’m sure your small friend can find company here.”
Henry and Sam exchanged a glance. They both knew how the other rats in the city had treated Hubert. He wasn’t the friend seeking type.
Mr. Holmes looked amused. “I see,” he said.
Henry yawned. “Well, I’m off to sleep,” he said. He lifted his wings before adding, “You better get some sleep too Sam, I know your mother won’t be pleased if you’re tired tomorrow.”
“Soon, I’m going to talk to Mr. Holmes some more.”
Henry nodded and flew down to settle in the hay. He fell asleep instantly.
Mr. Holmes wondered if Sam minded going outside. Sam said he’d love to. The owl and the dove stood outside the large barn doors looking up at the stars in the sky. There was a soft wind that blew over the fields, rustling the leaves in trees close by. Crickets sounded in the grass around them, the night air was stiff and fresh. There were no clouds in the sky, the moon stood high and the stars glistened brightly above them. Mr. Holmes looked from left to right staring into the sky with an unreadable expression. Sam studied the owl, thinking.
“How old are you Mr. Holmes?” The dove asked. Sam knew this was a rude question, but he also knew that Mr. Holmes wouldn’t mind.
“I’m very old,” the owl answered not removing his glance from the sky.
Sam tilted his head and looked up at the stars. “Dad says the stars are tons of tiny seeds that shimmer in the sky, he says they’re the best tasting seeds in the world.”
Mr. Holmes looked at the dove. “They are beautiful and I’m sure they’d taste marvellous,” he said and smiled. “What a shame that I don’t eat seeds.”
Sam giggled. “You’re funny.”
“I know,” Mr. Holmes agreed.
“You know everything,” Sam said looking at the owl.
The owl smiled, “I’m wise.”
“You’re wise and old.” Sam stated.
Mr. Holmes’s expression changed, he raised his eyebrows. “Would that be right?”
“Yep!” Sam said and grinned. “You didn’t know that did you?”