Once, a long time ago, there was a pixie named for the sensation of swallowing honey. There is, of course, no word for that in our language, but in the language of the pixies it sounded something like Quirdle. Quirdle liked singing, especially the songs of birds, and had developed a reputation amongst the politicos of the pixies of being good with bird / pixie relations. Quirdle, of course, had no such aspirations and spent her days flitting from tree to tree, matching birdsong, teasing the birds who so elegantly warbled out their names and property declarations.
     	One day, Quirdle was brought before her pixie Lord Thrax in his home under the grand oak tree. He told her to go to the top of the seventh elm tree and fetch a feather from the owl there to be made into a gown for her pixie Lady. Quirdle did not like owls. They only knew one note to sing, and it wasn’t a pretty note. And they tended to be too irritable. She made a face, but went to fetch the feather because she had been told to do so.
     	She flew through the forest and counted the trees, and when she came across the seventh elm (called so because it was the seventh elm to grow in the forest) she flew wildly to the top, sprinkling her pixie dust behind her. 
     	At the top of the old, dead elm tree, she found an opening like an old, craggled mouth, and she flew inside. “Hello?” she called. “Owl, are you here?” But there was no answer.
     	Quirdle looked around at the things gathered in the owl nest. There were dried mouse bones, and droppings, and bits of paper, and feathers. Feathers! All she had to do was take a feather and return to her Lord. She looked around for a proper one. But all the ones she could find were bedraggled or broken. Except…there, at the back of the cave, at the very last place she looked, was the perfect feather! She flitted over and touched it, smiling.
     	Suddenly, there was a gust of wind and a voice spoke, “WHO enters my home?” The nest shook with the arrival of the owl. “If that’s you again, Sparrow, I’ll have your skull as a soup bowl!”
     	Quirdle fluttered up to the owl. “Please, sir. It’s only me.”
     	The owl stepped back. “A pixie? What do you want here, fae?”
      	“If you please, sir. I need a feather. One of your feathers, to make a gown for our Lady.”
      	“What care I for your pixie nonsense? Why would I give one of my feathers for such a silly cause? Go trouble one of the other birds before I decide to have pixie for dinner.”
     	Quirdle grew quite nervous and flew away out of the mouth-shaped hole. Oh, how would she get the feather now? She thought quickly.
     	Carefully she approached the hole again and peered in. but it was too dark to see. Perhaps if she waited long enough the owl would leave again, so she lit on a branch and waited.
     	The average pixie’s attention span is terribly short, and Quirdle’s was shorter than most. A minute later she was fidgeting on the branch wanting to play and tease the birds again. Oh, but wait! She could do that here!
     	So, she approached the hole again and called out like the Sparrow, “Ho! Owl! You can’t catch me!”
      	“Sparrow? You bastard, I told you to stay away from my home! Clear out!”
     	Quirdle waited, but the owl did not leave his nest. She tried again. “Ho! Owl! Your feathers are moldy and split! You couldn’t catch me if I was standing on your tail!”
      	“Sparrow, I warned you. Get out of here before I do something you’ll regret.”
     	Quirdle waited again, but still nothing. No movement. What a lazy old bird! Quirdle zipped back and forth and around the mouth singing, “Ho! Owl! Your mother asked if you could bring her a blanket. It seems my nest is getting a little cold for her.”
      	“Right, that’s it!” With dizzying speed, the owl zipped from his hole and zoomed into the air on silent wings. 
     	Quirdle flew inside quickly, found the feather and attempted to fly away clean. But the feather was heavy. She lifted it and flew, but as she exited the hole she heard. “Oh. You again, is it? I’ll teach you to steal my feather!”
     	Quirdle screamed and dropped straight down, using gravity to propel her as the owl howled and raced after her.
     	Dipping and twisting in the air, mostly unintentionally as the feather was rather unwieldy, Quirdle dodged the owl. She could hear the chop of the owl’s beak as it attempted to bite her.
     	Somehow she made it all the way back to the oak tree and flew down amongst the roots of the tree into the entrance to the main hall of Lord Brax’s home. Behind her she heard a terrible crash and even more terrible cursing. She lay there on the polished floor, panting, holding fast to the owl’s feather. 
     	A crowd had gathered around Quirdle. She cried out, between pants. “It’s all right! I’ve got the feather!”
      	“That’s not all you’ve got!” Cried the advisor to Lord Thrax. He looked pale as he stared at something behind Quirdle.
     	Quirdle slowly turned and looked behind her. There, stuck in the entrance to the great hall, was the head of the owl.
      	“Embers and thorns, Quirdle!” shouted Lord Thrax, rushing up next to his advisor. “I told you to bring a feather, not the whole bird!” The owl sneered at them.
      	“Well, milord,” said Quirdle, slowly standing. “Mr. Owl was so overjoyed at the prospect of his feather being used as a gown, he decided he should see the gown-creation process personally!”
     	The owl boomed. “I did nothing of the sort! And I demand—OW!” The owl winced in pain. “What is—OW!” He winced again. In the distance a birdsong could be heard. It was a sparrow.
      	“Ho! Owl! Made friends with the pixies, have we? Come out and play!”
     	The owl grumbled and screeched and attempted to extricate himself from his predicament. Every once in a while there was another wince as the sparrow did something the pixies could not see, but all assumed he was getting a terrible pecking. 
      	“When I get loose, Sparrow, you’ll wish you’d never been hatched!”
      	“Guards! Get this owl out of my front door!” shouted Lord Thrax, who grabbed the feather from Quirdle and stalked briskly away.
     	Quirdle sat and laughed with glee and watched the helpless owl as guard pixies flew outside (from other portals) to attempt to pull the owl from the hole. 
     	And overall, she had a very good afternoon.