“Oh, Mags, I didn’t hear you come in,” Otulissa said. “I’m afraid you won’t be doing much business here tonight.” Although Otulissa had always been one of the magpie’s most severe critics, she had gained a new respect for her in recent times. Mags had been most helpful just after Coryn had retrieved the ember and become king. It was a time sometimes referred to as the Great Flourishing. Mags had been invaluable in procuring many articles that were needed at the tree for new devices and tools they were building, which ranged from scientific instruments to parts for a printing press. The owls of the tree were now able to reproduce books and other literary matter. There would have been no Evening Hoot had the press not been assembled. “So I gather. But Octavia thought I should come speak to you.” “About what?” Otulissa asked. “This blue owl fella. Octavia thought you’d like to know he’s been around longer than you think.” “What do you mean by that?” Otulissa was suddenly alert.
