Hushed Willows If hate is what fuels me, it feels great

Trick smirked. He knew a little story about an owl. A wise old owl lived in an oak. The more he saw, the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Why can't we be like that wise old bird? He preached in his honey voice. I see myself as a whiskered screech owl. He finally said. He never knew why he was always so philosophical around Nova, but he was. 

He smiled as Nova Rose, the old lady he kind of admired for her age, ranted along with him. It seemed they could quite agree with each other for once. What can we do about it? You think leaving is an option? He questioned carefully.