“Dismissed. And practising on animals is forbidden. Understood?”
Hepler eyes the departing group of students busy grumbling under their breath. They think he can’t hear. If he had a choice, he would like to stay out of the whispering, thank you. The last time he accidentally eavesdropped on some students, he had learnt things he would rather not know.
The soft squeaking from his pockets draws a sigh from him.
“I know. I know. Dura above, you eat a lot for such tiny things.”
The squeaking grows in volume on the way back to his rustic abode, each peeping at their own frequency. By the time Hepler reaches the rack of dried meat, the squeaking had become full on screeching. He barely has the meat in hand before three baby owls launch themselves out of his pockets trying to reach it. It’s a miracle that he manages to catch all of them with only one free hand.
There’s more than enough to go around, but it certainly doesn’t stop them from squabbling over one piece. With a grunt of disapproval, Hepler breaks up the pointless fighting.
“You lot will have enough to fight for once you’re out there.”
While the feeding continues, Hepler slaps a nice cut of meat on a pan. A drizzle of oil and salt, and his mouth is already watering at the smell. It could do with a little something else. He snags a sprig of rosemary and crushes it into the pan. There. Teaching is a strenuous job, especially when one has to keep an eye out for mishaps the entire time. He deserves a break.
One inquisitive owl comes near the pan in a pitter-patter. Hepler snatches the rosemary away before it gets kidnapped by owls. Evidently, the break he wanted was nowhere near with three babies around.
“You can’t eat that. No.”
Six owl eyes beg to differ. How does one explain to an owl that it is an obligate carnivore, and anything else than meat hurts them? They learn from their parent, of course. But he is not their parent, and he certainly can digest fibre, unlike them.
Hepler secures the still fresh rosemary with magic for security. Then he points at the raw meat strips. “You eat this. I eat this.”
He points again for emphasis. Three owls stare back. The curious one edges towards the pan, head bobbing.
Raw meat tastes unpleasant. It won’t kill him, but why eat raw meat when one has the ability to cook and season? Ever since he discovered fire and salt, Hepler has never went back to raw meat. Now, cooking is great and all, except it’s not an ability that a creature with wings and two feet can pick up.
With a groan, he puts out the cooking fire. The cut of meat is very much reddish still.
“Like this.” Hepler digs into the meat and pulls off strips. He’s been cutting it up for them since the first feeding, but nothing like the present to teach them how to eat. He watches critically as the owlets dig their claws into the meat, trying to mimic his movements. Perhaps they’re a little too young still. Plenty of time for them to get the hang of it.
The reddish meat brings a taste that makes his brow wrinkle, but he pushes it aside in favor of getting the little ones to learn. It’s not their fault that they were orphaned.
Finally. With three full bellies, a temporary peace descends upon Mauler and owl. Hepler stretches, grunting at the cracks in his joints. It does not go unnoticed by the owlets, who try and stretch like him by holding their wings up as far as they can go.
“You lot are going to be trouble.”
They blink back at him, snuggling close together for a post meal nap. There is something adorable about baby fluff balls getting ready to sleep and Hepler is not immune to it. He tucks them into one of his many scarves that acts as a makeshift nest.
