Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

Soren wasn’t sure what the word “indignities” meant, but he hoped what they had done was right for an owl he believed to be noble. But would they ever find the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, where other noble owls lived? And now it was not doubt that began to prick at his gizzard, but the ominous words of the Barred Owl— You only wish!

CHAPTER FIVE
The Mirror Lakes
    M rs. Plithiver was worried. Yes, it was understandable that the owls had been unnerved by the Barred Owl’s ominous words. The very notion of something worse than St. Aggie’s was indeed a horrifying thought. They needed some time to rest, unwind. Twilight said that he had heard about this place that was so lovely, endless plump voles scampering about, no crows at all, tree hollows in which moss as soft as down grew. Why, it sounded irresistible. And it was! And now Mrs. Plithiver was nearly frantic in this resplendent place. It was perfectly clear to her that the owls would be content to stay here forever.
    But life was too easy in this region on the edge of The Beaks, which was called the Mirror Lakes. She knew it wasn’t good for them and beneath the gleaming surfaces of the lakes, within the quiet verdant beauty of this crow-less place, she sensed something dangerous. She could have just swatted Twilight and his darned big mouth. Thefour owls seemed to have forgotten their ordeal in the forest with the bobcat and the dying Barred Owl entirely. Shortly after they had turned to fly in the direction of the Mirror Lakes, they began to encounter the wonderful rolling drafts of air that curled up from the rippled landscape below and provided them with matchless flying. The sensation was sublime as they gently floated over the sculpted air currents without having to waggle a wing. The rhythm was mesmerizing and then, shortly before dawn, sparkling below between the ripples of the land, were several still lakes, so clear, so glistening that they reflected every single star and cloud in the sky.
    The Mirror Lakes were like an oasis in the otherwise barren landscape of The Beaks. The owls had chosen trees near the lake that had perfect-sized hollows, all cushioned with the loveliest of mosses.
    “It’s simply dreamy here,” Gylfie said for perhaps the hundredth time. And that, precisely, was the problem. It was dreamy. Not just dreamy—but a dream. It didn’t seem real with its plentiful game so easy to hunt, and the rolling drafts of warm air so tempting that, against Mrs. P.’s orders, the owls had begun to take playful flights in broad daylight. But perhaps worst of all were the tranquil gleaming lakes themselves. These owls had never been around such clear water. There was no silt, no mud, no muck andbits swirling about in it. So they could see their reflections perfectly. Not one of these owls, except for Twilight, had ever seen its reflection. And even Twilight had never seen his so clearly.
    It had all started with Soren, actually, when Gylfie pointed out to him that he had a smudge on his beak from the coal that he had picked up and dropped on the bobcat. Soren had flown a short distance from the tree where they had found a hollow, to the edge of the lake, to clean up. Until that time, Soren had thought that water was only for drinking and occasionally—very occasionally—for washing. But when he peered into the lake he nearly fainted.
    “Da!” he gasped.
    “It’s not your da. It’s you, dear,” Mrs. Plithiver said. For although she was blind, Mrs. P. knew about reflections in much the same way she knew so many other things that she could not see. “You’ve probably never seen your face fully fledged.”
    “It’s all white, just like Da’s. I’m so, so—”
    “Handsome?” Mrs. Plithiver said.
    “Well, yeah.” Soren muffled a nervous churr, slightly embarrassed to admit it.
    Slightly it had been, but no more! That was, indeed, the end of Soren’s embarrassment as well as his modesty, andthe end of the other owls’ as well. They were soon all nodding over the mirror of the lake, admiring themselves. And when they weren’t gazing at their reflections from the edge, they were flying above the lakes, marveling at their fabulous flight maneuvers and pitching “wingies,” as they called it when they rolled off rising drafts of air. Twilight was, of course, the worst of all because he was so boastful to begin with. Mrs. Plithiver could hear him out there now, hooting about his beauty, his muscular physique, the fluffiness of