The next moment, however, she realized she had made a terrible mistake. She had leaped, not back among the corn, but farther onto the open road.
Mr. Ocax was now on the ground, blocking her way to the field. She spun toward the forest. In a second the owl was up in the air and down on the other side. Once again he had blocked her way.
“Not so smart as all that, are you?” he sneered. “Well, I don’t compromise with what I want,” he told her. “And what I want is you never getting home alive.” He made a sudden darting movement to the left. Poppy jumped to the right, but Mr. Ocax was ahead of her. Just as quickly he shifted back toward her, so that Poppy was forced to halt herself clumsily. There she stood, flat-footed, panting, not sure which way to go.
The owl, towering over her, laughed. “I told you what would happen if I caught up with you again, didn’t I? But this time you won’t have that fat porcupine to help you.” So saying, he made a snap at her with his beak.
Mr. Ocax’s mention of Ereth was the reminder Poppy needed. She reached down and yanked the quill from her sash, then held it before her like a sword.
At first Mr. Ocax blinked. Then he snickered. “You don’t think one of his quills is going to stop me, do you?”
“That owl on the barn,” Poppy panted between hard breathing, “is just a fake! You’ve been frightened by a fake owl!”
Mr. Ocax’s beak dropped open. He hesitated. In that moment Poppy sensed she could have gotten away. But she could not resist another taunt. “You’re not an owl, you’re a chicken!” she cried in triumph.
For an instant the two of them, owl and mouse, confronted each other. Then a look of terrible rage passed across the owl’s face. Poppy knew then she’d made another blunder. She’d lost her momentary chance of escape. Now there was nothing he’d not do to kill her. She would have to fight him.
Trembling, she flourished the quill. In response, Mr. Ocax spread his wings, then beat down hard with them upon the road. They threw up a cloud of dust.
It was hard for Poppy to breathe, much less see. She took a step back, only to hear a sound behind her. Confused, she turned. Hidden by the dust, Mr. Ocax had overleaped the road. Once again he was behind her. From there he made a slash at her with his beak. Poppy struck out with her quill.
Seeing the quill and realizing the danger to his eyes, the owl pulled back. He glared at Poppy. He snapped his beak.
Poppy stared back grim-faced, gasping for breath, waving the quill before her.
“If it takes the whole night, I’ll wear you down,” Mr. Ocax hissed. “All it takes is one mistake on your part. Then you’re done. Finished.” He made a forward feint. Poppy danced nimbly back.
Mr. Ocax struck again. This time it was not with his beak but with his talons.
Poppy, quill up, dodged the talons with a quick side step, but she knew her only hope was to get into the corn and hide. Otherwise, the owl would overpower her.
Making sure of her footing, she began to back toward the forest. Just as she had hoped, Mr. Ocax leaped up and landed between her and the trees. It was then that she raced for the corn.
Mr. Ocax was just as fast. Grasping her strategy, he barely touched earth when he took a flying hop forward to block her way.
He advanced wildly now, snapping and snarling. In response, Poppy slashed wildly with her quill. Once she struck out at the owl’s face but only hit his feathers. But though the blow glanced off harmlessly, it served to infuriate him.
Mr. Ocax, closing in, darted his head in and out, side to side. Poppy was bewildered. Then the owl turned briefly away from her. In a flash, she made a successful rolling dive under his wing. She was behind Mr. Ocax at last, on the corn side of the road. She started to run. He turned his head in a complete half circle, saw her, and spun his whole body about, his right wing extended full length. The wing tip struck Poppy a glancing blow to her head. Down she tumbled and landed on her back in the dust.
Seizing his advantage, Mr. Ocax pounced, beak open, tongue out, hissing. Poppy whipped the air with the quill. The tip of it pricked the owl’s tongue. He screamed in rage, and reeled back.
Poppy had just time enough to regain her feet. Once more she faced him, quill at the ready.
Mr. Ocax, stung, pressed forward now this way, now that, head bobbing, weaving, viciously snapping with his beak.
Increasingly exhausted, Poppy was forced to give ground. She crumpled to her knees. It was the moment the owl had been waiting for. With a powerful kick, he thrust his left claw—talons spread wide—at Poppy’s head.
Poppy saw the claw coming. Using all of her strength to grip the quill, she held it up with both paws to protect herself, and jabbed it into Mr. Ocax’s claw as it came down.
The owl gave a great squawk, fell back, and began to roll about violently. Fearful of losing the quill—her only weapon—Poppy pulled on it with all her might. But the barbs had caught. She could not get the quill loose. She was being dragged and bumped along.
Mr. Ocax, screeching and flapping his wings wildly, flailed into the air. Before Poppy knew what was happening, she, too, was in the air. She did tell herself to let go of the quill, but by the time the thought was whole, it was too late. To drop from the height Mr. Ocax had already reached meant a fall
