Indian Owl Novels & Stories

Warren pointed to the girl. The ogress's daughter moved to the other end of the longhouse, away from all the action. Tsonoqua pulled out a medicine bundle, half of a clamshell with a fan made of eagle feathers. A clump of sweetgrass sat on the clamshell, "Axwadus, begin," She gestured to her son.

I resorted to the idea that it could be a local Philippine eagle owl. The owl's yellow eyes are just looking at me as if it was drawing me closer. My feet began to move voluntarily near it and as I stand nearer, the owl glides down the gate post stiffener. As the owl's level is the same as mine, I became started when the owl began sending me word through our thoughts, "Mayari..." It was just the same back when I encountered that Pandaki before. I can't believe this! I haven't drunk too much beer to hallucinate like this.

I grunt, dragging myself toward it. And that's when I see it… an owl. A small, black and white owl, laying motionless near the serpent's carcass. Her feathers are ruffled, and she's breathing shallowly, like she had just run a thousand miles on her little wings. I remember seeing her before I lost consciousness except that it now looks like she's been through hell. Wait… don't tell me she killed… it? Wow! "Well," I murmur, staring at her. "You look worse than I do."

In a remote town far away from Krasnoyarsk City, a white horned owl perched on the branch of an ancient oak tree, waiting. The bird was too large for its kind. Almost the size of a two-year-old toddler. Speckled sunbeam framed its body after the large bird had swooped down to the ice-covered earth beneath, gilding its white feathered wings and striking an occasional gleam from its sharp yellow eyes. The owl had been waiting on the same spot since dawn. Every single day and night. And it was prepared to go on waiting until it found the One.

He landed and shook his feathers until he had settled himself. Carr had seen the owl and smiled. Some American Indian tribes considered the owl to be a spirit helper that allowed humans to contact the dead. He felt it was a good omen the owl had come here when he did. He looked at the feather tufts that the gave the Great Horned Owl it's name. He sent his thoughts to the owl. "Thank you my friend for joining us."

Then, out of the thick mountain mists swirling above the western canyons, a silent, ghostly shape materialized. It was a magnificent white barn owl, her feathers so completely colorless they practically glowed against the dark stone of the fortress. She glided without making a single sound, her massive wings sweeping through the air with a chilling, effortless grace before she descended onto the heavy leather-braced forearm Maeve held out. As the owl settled, her head smoothly rotated, locking her gaze directly onto Rebecca. Her eyes were not the typical dark obsidian of her species; they were a piercing, luminous crystal-blue, gleaming with a terrifying, ancient intelligence that felt entir