“She was beautiful, Anselm,” Aubrey said to the stout, sour-faced gnome hunched over in the weeds beside him. “She was funny and mysterious and …”

“Listen,” Anselm began, “You’ve had a remarkable experience. I understand. I really do. I mean you saw an owl. That’s bound to have an effect on any gnome, but you have to keep your head about you.”

Aubrey folded his arms in protest to his friend’s condescending words. “No, you don’t understand at all.”

“What don’t I understand?” Anselm asked angrily. He glanced around and lowered his voice. 

“What did she tell you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, what was her message?”

“She didn’t have one. I mean I don’t think she had one. She said that we make a bigger deal of messages and omens than we should.”

His friend looked disappointed. Anselm put down the dandelion stalk he had been harvesting and looked at Aubrey skeptically. He had known Anselm since they were mere gnomelings and while his friend had grown a bit stodgy in his years; he had never proved to be obstinate or combative.

“Are you sure you actually saw this owl?” he asked quietly…