Mother Reindeer knew a lot more than that. She was seventeen years old. She had seen and heard so much that she was very wise.
When White Sox waked from his nap, he thought it was daylight. The brightness dazzled him. He winked his eyes and looked about him. A great big arctic moon was shining down upon him. What a beautiful moon it was! And how the snow glistened and shone! He winked his eyes several times; then he looked for his mother.
She was pawing through the snow near him to get moss for her midnight lunch.
“Mother, this is the whitest world I’ve ever seen,” he said. Then he sprang up and began to dig moss for himself, for he was hungry again.
A light breeze was blowing from the northwest, and the air was much colder. White Sox rubbed his face against his mother’s shoulder to brush the frost from his eyes and nose. Then he took a mouthful of moss and looked about him.
There was not a living thing to be seen. Yes, there was! A great arctic owl was perched on a little mound not very far away.
“Mother, are owls as wise as they look?” White Sox asked. He took another bite of moss.
“‘He swoops down to catch his own supper and meets his finish in the sharp claws and teeth of the lynx.’”
“No, not always,” Mother Reindeer answered, “but sometimes they are cunning enough to outwit sleepy reindeer mothers and kill their newborn fawns.”