The picture of the place was clear in my mind. I could see it perfectly.

I saw a beautiful waterfall. I saw tall trees that practically blotted out the sky in some areas. And a wide meadow filled with wildflowers. In my mind I could even imagine the place being home to Hork-Bajir.

"Maybe we could take them there," I suggested.

Jake shrugged. "We don't have any better plan. Right?"

"Right now I need to think about what story I'm going to tell my dad when I get home," Marco said. "Tomorrow we can worry about taking Adam and Eve Hork-Bajir off to Tobias's Garden of Eden."

Not a bad description, I thought. That was a little what the valley was like. I could see the place as clearly in my mind as any place I had ever been.

There was just one little problem. I'd never been there. I'd never actually seen it.

And I had no idea where the lovely pictures in my mind had come from.

J. usually spent the night in my favorite nighttime perch. It's a high branch, up in the very middle of an incredibly old oak. I like the rough oak bark because it's easy to hold onto. I can sink my talons deep and drift off to my dreams.

My regular perch is deep within the tree because it keeps me out of sight of the night predators. The raccoons and foxes and wolves all work at night. They don't worry me too much. Wolves and foxes don't climb trees very well.

I do keep an eye out for raccoons because they can climb when they want to. And they are nasty, dangerous enemies. But it's a rare raccoon that can climb my tree without my hearing him.

I worry more about owls. Not that they usually prey on something as large and tough as a red-tailed hawk. Mostly they eat mice, same as I do. But they still scare me because they have powers I don't have.

I'm used to having this edge over all the other creatures. In the daylight I hear better than most animals, and I see better than any of them. My vision is many times better than human vision. If I were at home plate and you were holding a book open way out in right field, I'd be able to read it. If you were walking by on the other side of the street, I'd be able to see a flea crawling around in your hair. But that's all in daylight. At night I see a little better than a human ...

I mean, better than a normal human. But not much better.

That's why the owls scare me. They see through darkness like I see through daylight. To an owl I'm as visible as if I were outlined in bright red flashing neon. And an owl doesn't make any noise as it flies in for the kill. No noise. None.

It makes me nervous. But what can you do? I guess everyone has problems, right?

But at night as I listen for the sounds of raccoons scrabbling and open my eyes to watch the ghostly owls do their killing work, I wish I had a house.

If you asked me what I think of being a red-

tailed hawk, I'd give you two different answers, depending on the time of day. When the sun is up, and the thermals are piling up the tall clouds, and I'm riding the high breezes a million miles above the humans who crawl along below me ... well, then I'd say it's great.

But at night, when I cower on my branch and peer half-blind through the leaves at a cold moon and can only listen to the sounds of the night predators doing their work, well, that's different.

This particular night was different for a couple of reasons. I was not on my regular perch. I was in a scruffy pine tree that was located near the cave. I was standing guard over the Hork-Bajir, listening for any threats to them. I was out of my normal territory, in an unfamiliar tree. And I was jumpy.

As I sat there with my talons dug into bark, I heard the high-pitched squeal of a mouse.

I drifted back toward sleep. I tried to remember what it had been like to sleep in a bed at night. But I couldn't really remember. I could only imagine what it was like for the others.

Cassie, Jake, Marco, Rachel, all asleep in their beds. All with covers pulled up and pillows fluffed. Alarm clocks glowing on their night-stands.

I heard a sound. My eyes opened. I peered down through the branches and saw a shape like

a deformed deer, ghostly pale in the filtered moonlight.

"Hi, Ax-man," I said.

"Hello, Tobias. You heard me? I was trying to be silent."

"You're very quiet. For a big old four-legged, two-handed, four-eyed, scorpion-tailed alien."

Ax laughed. "0ne of these nights I may show you."

"Hah. Right. And eagles may fly out of my butt."

"ls that possible?" Ax asked, sounding alarmed.

"No. See, that's why it's funny."

"l understand^ Ax said, clearly not understanding at all.

Nights in the forest have gotten a bit better since Ax joined our little group. Having him around is not exactly like being in a nice, snug bed.

But it's good to have someone to talk to. The other forest animals don't have much to say.

"0ur two Hork-Bajir are pretty quiet in there," I told Ax. "They were talking earlier. Mostly in their own language. But even then they used some English words. Why is that?"

"The Hork-Bajir were never a very intellectual species," Ax said, with a hint of snobbery. "Their own language was primitive. It only had about five hundred words. That's what we learned in

school, anyway. I suppose it's true. I guess for duty here on Earth, the Yeerks thought they should be able to speak a few words of a human languages

"l didn't mean to eavesdrop on them," I said. "But it was easy for me to hear. They kept using some Hork-Bajir word. It sounded like kawatnoj.

Something like that, anyway."

"l don't know the word," Ax admitted. "l don't speak Hork-Bajir. I'll ask them tomorrow what it means."

"Maybe you shouldn't. They don't seem to like you Andalites."

"We tried to save them from the Yeerks," Ax said with sudden anger. "We failed, yes. But we did try. Why should they hate us?"

"l don't know, Ax-man. Maybe they've had Yeerks in their heads for so long they've just absorbed the Yeerk hatred of Andalites."

"Well. The Yeerks should hate us. We An-dalites will defeat them in the end! And of course, you humans will help, too."

I laughed silently. I like Ax, but he is a bit arrogant about his own species.