“Oh, mother,” whispered Bambi, “who was that?”
“Oh, they’re not really that dangerous,” his mother said. “They were our big relatives ... yes ... they are big and they’re quality ... much higher quality than you or me ...”
“And aren’t they dangerous?” Bambi asked.
“Not normally,” his mother explained. “But they say there are many things that have happened. People say this and that about them but I don’t know if there’s any truth in these stories. They’ve never done anything to me or to anyone I know.”
“Why would they do anything to us when they’re relatives of ours?” thought Bambi. He wanted to be quiet, but he was still shaking.
“No, I don’t suppose they’ll do anything to us,” his mother answered, “but I’m not sure, and I get alarmed every time I see them. I can’t stop myself. It’s the same every time.”
Bambi was slowly soothed down by this conversation, but he remained thoughtful. Right above him, in among the branches of an alder tree, an impressive tawny owl shrieked. But Bambi was confused and forgot, for once, to show that he was startled. The owl, however still came down to him and asked, “Give you a shock, did I?.”
“Of course,” answered Bambi. “You always give me a shock.”
The owl gave a quiet laugh; he was satisfied. “I hope you don’t blame me for it,” he said. “It’s just the way I do things.” He fluffed up his plumage till he looked like a ball, sank his beak into his soft, downy feathers, and put on a terribly nice, serious expression. That was enough for him.
Bambi opened his heart to him. “Do you know,” he began in a way that seemed older than his age, “I’ve just had a shock that was far bigger than the one you gave me.”