Time slipped away unnoticed, lost in the currents of study.
Friday arrived before he knew it, that most welcome day of the week.
After lunch, Ayla showed up early for their appointment.
Soren ushered her inside, wearing an apologetic expression as he delivered the bad news: his personal messenger owl hadn’t arrived yet.
They’d probably have to wait a bit longer.
The trip to Diagon Alley had been too rushed.
He’d forgotten to settle on a specific time with the shop owner.
All he knew was the owl would come today, not when.
Ayla didn’t mind at all.
She was perfectly happy hanging out in his room.
A summer afternoon, a boy and girl on the cusp of adolescence, alone together in light summer clothes…
and absolutely zero romantic tension.
At ten years old, Ayla had no concept of such things.
Her attention was laser-focused on Soren’s fascinating gadgets.
Naturally, he wasn’t about to hand her a cauldron or anything dangerous.
After a moment’s thought, he opened the bookcase and pulled out Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, offering it to her eager, waiting eyes.
“Have a look at this.
It’s full of magical creature facts.”
In his experience, kids loved picture books, especially ones printed with magical moving illustrations.
Sure enough, the moment Ayla got her hands on it, she plopped onto his bed and vanished into the pages, oblivious to everything else.
Soren watched her with quiet amusement before returning to his desk and burying himself back in his studies.
In the room, neither disturbed the other, yet a warm stillness spread between them, unspoken and comfortable.
Pages turning softly.
The only sound filling the quiet space.
Outside, the fierce summer sun softened into gentler gold.
A messenger from afar circled above the orphanage, sharp eyes scanning until they locked onto their target.
Wings folded, and she dove.
Tap tap tap.
Hard beak against glass cut through the silence.
Soren’s head came up.
He crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain.
A beautiful eagle owl perched on the railing, head tilted, watching him with tawny-brown eyes.
A low “hoo” rumbled from her throat.
“Ah, you’re finally here.”
He smiled in welcome and eased the window open.
The owl shuffled aside.
Once the gap was wide enough, she hopped lightly onto the sill and leaned her head toward him, those tawny eyes bright with expectation.
Soren wouldn’t dream of disappointing her.
He reached up and gently stroked the handsome ear tufts flanking her crown, the feathers there as elegant as they were striking.
This tender display caught Ayla’s attention.
She crept over, staring at the enormous owl with wonder.
“Soren…
what is this?”
“My messenger.
Told you about her yesterday.” He shifted aside to make room.
“You can pet her if you want.
But you should follow proper etiquette first.
Greet her and ask permission.”
Of course Ayla wanted to pet her.
What little girl could resist a round, fluffy, adorable owl?
She squeezed in next to him, eyes fixed on the big bird, then froze.
How exactly was she supposed to do this?
He’d said to greet the owl and seek her consent, but what did that mean in practice?
Could she just talk to it?
Would it even understand?
Watching her hesitate in that endearing way of hers, a scene from the original story popped into Soren’s head.
A familiar mischievous urge bubbled up, tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t worry, Ayla.
I’ll teach you how to greet a hippogr— owl.
First, lock eyes with her and don’t blink.
If you blink too much, she won’t trust you.”
He’d nearly slipped up.
Quick correction, casual tone.
Ayla had never heard of greeting an animal like this before.
But she’d just been reading about magical creatures, and the idea that this magnificent bird might be one too wasn’t hard to accept.
So she followed his instructions dutifully, locking gazes with what she now suspected might be a magical “hippo-owl.”
The young eagle owl gave her new master a bemused glance, then indulged him, settling in to play the staring-contest game with this other small human.
The battle of wills commenced.
What Ayla didn’t know was that owl eyes were built differently.
They could sleep with one eye open and go far longer without blinking than any human ever could.
This gap in intelligence would prove decisive.
Her eyes started stinging in short order, tears threatening at the corners.
Meanwhile, Miss Owl remained wide-eyed and utterly relaxed, as though this were the easiest thing in the world.
Soren couldn’t keep torturing the poor girl.
“Alright, Ayla.
That’s enough.
Now bow to her.
That’s the final step of the greeting.”
okay!”
She dipped into a neat, obedient bow.
A few seconds passed before she straightened, face bright with anticipation.
The owl hadn’t moved.
Same pose, same wide-eyed stare.
Panic flickered across Ayla’s face.
She must have done something wrong.
She shot Soren a desperate plea for help.
He was in too deep to back out now.
He shot the owl a meaningful look, casually dropping a hint.
“Your technique was fine.
Normally, if an owl accepts you, she’ll respond in kind.”
Miss Messenger was genuinely clever.
She seemed to grasp what he was saying, a flash of distinctly human exasperation crossing those tawny eyes.
Then she spread her wings, dipped her upper body forward, and performed something remarkably like a returning bow.
Formalities complete.
Ayla had officially earned the approval of the great winged beast.
Soren let out a breath, relieved he hadn’t blown it.
Ayla reached out gleefully, stroking the owl’s feathers with gentle reverence.
The texture was exactly what she’d imagined: fluffy, soft, and radiating a comforting warmth.
The fifty-five-centimeter owl settled docilely against her, clearly enjoying the affection.
After letting them bond for a while, Soren spoke up, suggesting Ayla bring the owl inside so they could close the window and keep the bugs out.
“Bring her in?
Yes, let me!
I’ve got this!”
She agreed enthusiastically, hefting the medium-dog-sized owl with visible effort and waddling it over to the bed.
Soren closed the window, drew the curtains tight, and turned back to them.
Before he could say anything, Ayla beat him to it.
“Soren, what’s this hippo-owl’s name?
We can’t just keep calling her ‘owl,’ right?”
“Ah…
she’s an eagle owl.
Also called a great owl.”
“Huh?
Not a hippo-owl?”
“No, I just misspoke earlier.
Don’t sweat the details.” He deployed rapid-fire babble to cover the slip and steered the conversation away with practiced ease.
“As for her name…
Brigia.”