Poppy started to run after him but tripped on something and fell flat. When she got up, Ereth had disappeared among the corn.
An unhappy Poppy dusted herself off. It was then that she noted what had tripped her. It was one of Ereth’s tail quills. When he’d flounced his tail, it had fallen out.
Poppy picked the quill up gingerly. She’d never really looked at one closely before. It was mostly black and made of long, fused hairs, just as Ereth had said. One end was blunt. The other end, the sharp end, was ivory white. With fascination, Poppy examined the tiny barbs. The point, which she was unable to resist touching, was frightfully sharp.
She was about to toss the quill away when she had an idea. Grasping it by its blunt end, she swished it about a few times. It moved nicely. Like a sword.
Poppy found a tall blade of grass, plucked it, and tied it around her waist in sash-like fashion. With care, she slid the quill under this belt. It fit comfortably. Then she drew the quill out a few times to see if it came free easily. Though a single quill was not the full arsenal that Ereth carried, it was something. She only hoped she’d never have to use it.
Reluctantly, Poppy turned her attention back to the enormous owl on the barn. The bird had not moved but was still sitting on its perch, gazing off into the distance with huge eyes. Poppy was relieved it had not turned her way.
The realization that at any moment the owl might turn and discover her made Poppy retreat into the corn, but not so far that she’d be unable to peer out. Once hidden, she tried to make sense of her situation.
It was all very well to have reached New House. But now that she’d arrived, she still had no real clue to why Mr. Ocax would not permit them to move here. All she had seen was this huge owl. Could his reason have something to do with that?
Poppy tried to think it through. An owl of this size would be ferocious. Perhaps Mr. Ocax was worried that this bird would steal his food. It certainly would eat a lot.
The truth was—and Poppy forced herself to acknowledge it—this huge owl made moving here impossible. Mr. Ocax was bad enough. This owl looked twice as bad!
Then Poppy had a new thought: Was Mr. Ocax really trying to protect her family? Had she been wrong about him all along?
But then, perhaps this owl was not really living here at New House? Simply because she was seeing it now proved nothing. It could be passing through, perhaps just spending the night.
The sun was up now. Poppy decided she had best settle in, and wait to see what—if anything—happened.
CHAPTER 16
The Truth at Last
IT WAS SOME TIME before she sensed movement in the house. It appeared as vague forms stirring behind second-floor lace curtains, then shifted to the windows below. The front door opened. A tomcat poked his head out. He looked around, stepped outside. The door shut behind him.
He was a large, bony orange cat, with the pinched body of advanced age. One ear was bent. He walked slowly, limping slightly, glancing up at the sun as if to measure its warmth. But by keeping his tail high, he maintained a stately dignity.
Poppy held her breath. Surely the huge owl would notice the cat and realize the old beast had little fight in him and less speed. It would be no trouble at all for the owl to snatch him up.
Nonetheless, the cat continued to saunter casually toward the barn. He stopped once, then twice, to scratch himself stiffly under his chin. When he reached the barn, he sat directly below the owl. Squinting, he looked into the sun, then lay down and closed his eyes. Through all of this the owl did nothing.
It made no sense. But Poppy kept watching. The cat slept. The owl remained motionless. The field of corn rustled.
Once again the house door opened. This time a human emerged, a boy. In his hand he held a long stick with a string and a small hook attached to it. Momentarily, he stood on the threshold of the door, apparently listening to something being said from within. He nodded, and shut the door. Then he started off on the same path the cat had taken, toward the barn.
Poppy, who had never seen a real person, watched with fascination. Surely, she thought, the owl would fly away the instant it saw this human coming. Big as the owl was, the boy was much bigger.
But though the boy drew nearer and nearer, the owl remained motionless, its open eyes fixed on something distant.
The boy reached the cat, bent over, and patted it. The cat flipped his tail, but continued to sleep. Then the boy looked up at the owl. He showed not the slightest surprise to see it there. Instead, he put down his stick and went inside the barn.
With the barn door open, a few chickens strutted out, clucking and pecking the ground. They paid no mind to the cat or the owl. Nor did the owl consider them.
Poppy was completely baffled. What could the owl be looking at that so held its attention?
The next moment she was even more startled to see the upper barn window open—the window right next to where the owl was roosting. It was the boy who opened it. Even so the owl did not budge. More amazing, the boy reached out, placed his hand on the owl, and turned it about so that it now faced in a new direction!
Never had Poppy been more astonished. Could it be that this huge owl was not real? Was it only a fake? It certainly seemed so, but after all, she had made but one observation. What she needed was proof. To get it, she
