Quinton opened his eyes.  The drumming against his skull made it hard to think, and he could feel a lump forming on the back of his head where it lay against the ground.  He looked around him. 

There were headstones and carved angels, like in a cemetery.  The tinkling of running water was the only sound he could hear.  Lying completely still, he continued to listen.  The whoooo, whoooo, of a nearby owl, added to the eeriness Quinton felt being in a cemetery in the middle of the night.

 His hands were bound behind his back and his feet were tied together.  When he was reasonably sure he was alone, he began to struggle.  If he hadn't been bound it this manner he could just morph into a wolf and break his bindings, but with his hands behind his back he wouldn't be able to do so without injuring himself further.

He glanced around but didn't see anyone.  Figuring no one would be around for quite some time, he began to work at the knots with his fingers, but was unable to loosen them.

 Wriggling his feet, he tried to get them high enough so that he could reach the knots at his ankles with his fingers.  After struggling for quite awhile, he gave up.  Who did this?  It is not my father's style, but maybe he's behind it.  I've got to get out of here.

Quinton twisted sideways, hoping to reach the penknife in his pocket.  As he tested the limits of the ropes, he found he was unable to get them far enough around to reach.  When his wrists were raw, he finally quit.  He would just have to wait till morning for someone to find him.  The pounding in his head intensified and he wished he had an aspirin to help dull the pain.

Using his legs to scoot along the ground, he moved toward a headstone.  Slowly, agonizingly, he worked his way into a sitting position, with his back against the cold granite.

An owl swooped past him, its claws barely missing his face.  It swooped again, this time landing a few feet away.  Its big yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.  The owl waddled slowly around Quinton.  It seemed to be studying him.  Quinton made a quick thump with his feet in an attempt to frighten the bird away.  It hopped back a little, but stayed right there.  Quinton got a prickly feeling again.  This didn't seem like an ordinary owl.  It gave him the creeps.

A clock chimed three times off in the distance.  Three o'clock.  Great, I'll be here at least until daylight.   He tried rubbing the ropes holding his wrists against the corner of the headstone, but it was too old and just crumbled away instead of cutting at the ropes.  The owl continued to stare and pace.

Quinton tried again to scare it away, but it remained.  He leaned against the stone, trying to avoid the aching lump on his head.

Serry is going to be upset about this.  I hope she sleeps until I get back.  I doubt she will.  As he sat there, going over his predicament, he again noticed that he could hear running water.  I wish it were close enough to get a drink.  Listening closer, he tried to pinpoint the direction of the sound.  Things seemed to echo in this graveyard and he was unsure which direction the sound was coming from.

I hope Serry is all right.  How am I going to get out of here? Closing his eyes, he settled against the cold stone aware of the owl still staring at him.  He thumped his feet against the ground again then opened one eye.  The owl was still there, but now it seemed to be glaring at him.

He opened both eyes.  "Why don't you go away and leave me alone?"

The owl ruffled its feathers and took off.  It landed in a nearby tree, but its yellow eyes still bored into him.  Quinton needed sleep, so he closed his eyes again and ignored the blasted bird.