Banished from the table, without even dessert, Owl trudged up the watchtower’s circular stairs, a peal of empty laughter trailing just behind him. Tonight’s feast had been prepared in honour of their guest, a gentleman, whom Owl deemed disreputable, but who somehow seemed to have ensorcelled his mother, the Duchess.
Upstairs, the winter’s wind whinnied its way through the loopholes.
Owl stirred the coal at the bottom of the brazier, and rubbed his hands vigorously over the paltry flames.
An idea sparked as he stared at the embers. A brutish, but compelling plan to reveal the cloven-footed caller’s true intentions.