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The owl was as pretty as the one from the movie, just like Hedwig, only a boy. Chantara could not believe her eyes. His face was a soft white as was most of the rest of him. As he stood on the tundra, yellow eyes failing to see us in our camouflage, we estimated him to be almost thirty inches in height with a likely wingspan of a metre and a half. It was nesting season and this fine fellow would be needing a mate. From the duskiness of his plumage we figured him to be a middle-aged bird, not as brown-flecked as a young male nor as purely snowy as an elder one. From above came a female, darkly barred her white body. in her talons was a lemming, not yet dead. Her black beak ripped at it over and over, ingesting its red meat like a kid eating candy.