Storytime

The evening was unseasonably cool. Above the stars shone brightly, as though the earlier storms had been illusions. The lingering damp was no illusion, however.
Loo fluffed his feathers over his daughters gently. Ruta, his mate, would be taking over unusually late tonight--her duties as a healer often kept her, what with the tail end of this season's Wars. Loo didn't mind. After a wild youth in the Wars himself, he was content to spend this evening waiting for her, nestled into the loose ring of sticks that served as their nursery.  
It was unseasonably cool, he thought again, and unusually bright. Loo tilted his head back and marveled at the full moon idly, his mind wandering back in time. That night, when he and Ruta met--the night the Owl came. So long ago... "Da?"
Loo blinked and glanced down. Two pairs of eyes, wide-awake and glittering, peered back at him.
"Meela, Meera--you young hens should be asleep! The sun is long set, and your mother will not be happy to find you still awa-"
"Da, would you tell us a story?"
"A story!! The story of the Owl!!"
Loo sighed and wondered, not for the first time, if his children were somehow mind-readers. "You two know that story well enough that you can tell it back to me..." His protest petered out as he realized two things. One, his stubborn girls weren't sleeping anytime soon. Two, he would tell them this story more times than there were stars in the sky, if it made them happy. He sighed again. "Very well...but then you must sleep!" The twins peeped softly in triumph, leaned into their father's breast feathers, and listened. "On a bright evening like this one--but colder--many cycles ago, I lost a bet to your Uncle Urruru--you remember, the nightjar..."