He can see the want in its enormous eyes; starvation. He imagines a banquet, platter after platter piled high with delicacies for a great feast. “If only there were something with which to feed you,” he laments...
...and the owl’s tiny mouth gapes wide, swallowing the thought, platters and all. Nourished, its feathers fluff to fullness and its silent wingbeats become strong again. Witnessing this, he begins to comprehend the limitless scope of his native dark, and he sets out to see what else he can conjure from it...
–“After Dark,” from Songs of the Metamythos
