I always thought Ruby's tale was so mysterious I just decided to put some light onto it.

The Impossible: Ruby

To say all owls lived in hollows among the shady foliage of the trees would be a lie, because it was partially false. A handful of odd species make a living in rock formations or dens on the ground.

Stretched before a young owlet was a grassy field. The long, whippy blades of tan-white and green grass interspersed with fronds of the occasional flowing flower or shrub were being picked at by the wind. Past the meadow and beyond the Short-eared Owl's sight was more grasslands. The young raptor narrowed her stark yellow eyes and swayed gently with the early spring breeze.

The ruddy-colored bird kept her fledging wings tucked safely at her sides. The evening shades of First Dark descended swiftly but gradually in the rhythm of time and life. The owlet observed the splendor of colors darkening far on the horizon, sharp eyes finding the outline of a single pine tree on the next hill from hers.

No longer could the Short-eared Owl see her parent's in their search for their offspring's next meal. This owlet let herself be concealed by the low vegetation of her her nest but pecked restlessly at scraps of bedding in sheer boredom. In the smooth, chilly night, this owlet began to feel scared. First she had been exhilarated at the prospect of being all alone in the vastness of the grasslands. Her wings were filling in with new feathers and down all the time and she had known that tonight was special even though her primaries had yet to show themselves completely.

The owlet plodded out from her hiding place and watched the last streak of lavender die down into the midnight blue sky. Stars twinkled and blinked at different intensities as a long, low cloud blank, grey and alone, drifted in front of the moon, blotting out the sliver of silver light.

It was odd that she was sibling-less, a rarity in fact but she seemed to have taken all the rust-color from her would-be brothers and sisters. She wasn't a deep thinker in the arts or anything along those lines but both her parents flying geniuses and this Short-eared Owl would mature into a fine flyer. And this was just a regular night where the parents would leave and hunt, food being scarce though the warmer days showing promise for a prosperous summer. She was bored but anxious and waiting. Waiting for her parents to return, Waiting for those feathers to come in. There always seemed to be something to wait for.

Suddenly the owlet felt a terror to the point of numbing as a form, wavering, uncertain, like a vision hovering on the edge nothingness and a nightmare grew from the darkness.

A ominous figure, breath rasping, wings ungainly and noisy, cut a dark outline in the night and numerous shadowy, translucent others followed it. The ends of their wings and tails were ragged black feathers that seemed too heavy and tussled to get any lift. But these horrific beasts continued their arduous, labored flight, ever approaching the unprotected owlet. The mere appearance of its plumage was enough send tremors in anyone's gizzard but the face could kill, literally. The hooked beak was saw-edged and glinted in what moonlight showed through the clouds. The talons were razor sharp and exceedingly long. The body itself was set heavier than a crow and longer than an owl.

The owlet stood no chance. Her young heart began to race madly. Never in her most feverish and delirious nightmares could the owl have envisioned such a ghastly creature. The worst part she concluded in a state of strange numbed, frozen panic was that its eyes were so yellow, they seemed to pour forth a piercing light. Yet had the moonlight from above been any stronger, the forms would have been completely shone through and made invisible and so would've the owlet to them but the conditions on this night were just exactly the wrong place at the wrong time.

The young raptor moaned inwardly for her parents. She had seen them her whole life. They were the only ones in her world. Their grace in flight and deadly cunning in battle was renowned until they had settled and became fiercely protective parents. The owlet was shaking in fear. Where were they?

She could wait no longer. Her terror so profound, her wits at an end, the young, impressionable owlet whipped out her wings and pumped them against gravity. Had a lesser bird of her condition attempted such a feat, they would have failed but the owlet pulled up her feet, bent herself to the task and rose.

The fiendish-looking, low-flying birds with their horrid eyes seemed to bore through her heart, mind and gizzard, paralyzing every thought except the one that cried in fear, I will not die! The Short-eared Owl gained altitude. Her muscles were on fire and yet as cold as liquid steel, as suddenly her mind realized they were watching her. Too scared to scream, her beak parted in a silent wail as her wings blurred and she shot off like arrow from bow.

That one tree stood outlined by distant stars and the owlet's bright yellow eyes locked onto it. Body aquiver in what could be described as no less than sheer terror for her life, the young bird knew that if she could just get away from those gruesome figures she would never whine to her parents again. She would wait till her parents had settled before demanding her food after returning from a hunt. Just if she never had to see or hear or think of those killers ever again.

Panting, making more noise in flight than a tornado-tossed gull and muscles screaming in protest, the owl grabbed the branch of the pine tree, higher than she had ever been, huddled against the trunk, to scared to do little more than sob and shake in fear, she waited. Waited for the unspeakable creatures to kill her. Waited till the morning sun broke her state of frozen fear and saved her from them. She waited.

So came the orphanage of Ruby and the prelude of the next hagsfiend era which would get so much worse before it got better.