Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

know what real evil is. This border skirmish up there that they are talking about—it has nothing to do with St. Aggie’s. You heard what little Miss Stuck-up Spotted Owl said. I don’t think they know what they’re in for. But we do!” He slid his yellow eyes about the hollow. “Right?”
    “You mean the ‘You only wish’?” Digger whispered the words of the dying Barred Owl. They had never really spoken about the meaning of those words, but they knew that the Barred Owl had meant, in no uncertain terms, that there was something out there that was far worse than St. Aggie’s.
    “Yes,” Soren said hesitantly. “Maybe we should go talk to the king and queen. But not now. It’s daylight. Time to sleep.”
    The hollow was lined with the finest mosses and the fluffiest down. Soren made his way to a corner near the opening to watch the breaking dawn. The very last of the evening stars was just winking out and a lovely pink-ness began to spread in the sky. The immense gnarled limbs of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree stretched out and seemed to embrace the new day.
    “This down,” Soren whispered to Mrs. Plithiver, “reminds me of Mum.”
    “Oh, doesn’t it, dear!” said Mrs. Plithiver, arranging herself into a neat coil in the same corner. Then, as the owls nestled down, the loveliest, most unearthly sounds began to pling softly through the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, and a voice began to sing.

Night is done, gone the moon, gone the stars
    From the skies.
    Fades the black of the night
    Comes the morn with rosy light.
    Fold your wings, go to sleep,
    Rest your gizzards,
    Safe you’ll be for the day.
    Glaux is nigh.
    Far away is First Black,
    But it shall seep back
    Over field
    Over flower
    In the twilight hour.
    We are home in our tree.
    We are owls, we are free.
    As we go, this we know
    Glaux is nigh.

    Soren never remembered feeling so peaceful.
    “Digger, Soren, Gylf, you asleep?” Twilight called.
    “Almost, Twi,” Digger and Soren replied.
    “How soon do you think until we get our battle claws?”
    “I have no idea, Twilight. But don’t worry, good light,” Soren replied sleepily.
    “Good light, Twi,” Digger said.
    “Good light, Soren,” Gylfie said.
    “Good light, Gylf,” Soren replied. And then added. “Good light, Mrs. Plithiver.”
    But Mrs. Plithiver was already sound asleep.

CHAPTER NINE
A Parliament of Owls
    T he four owls were in the antechamber of another hollow called the parliament. They were waiting to be admitted for their meeting with Boron and Barran.
    “Very important business inside, young’uns,” an owl on guard spoke in the soft tings of a Boreal Owl.
    “We won’t take long,” Gylfie said.
    I hope not, thought Soren. He was frightened. The other three had decided that he should be the one to speak.
    Another owl stuck her head out. “You can come in now. But be quiet and wait your turn.”
    She indicated a branch where they should perch. Soren looked about. It was not an especially large hollow, not nearly as big as the one in which they had first been welcomed by Boron and Barran. There were candles, of course, and there was one long white branch from a tree that Soren thought was called a birch that had been bent into a half circle. It was on this white branch that the owls of the parliament, no more than a dozen, perched. He recognizedthe elderly Strix Struma, the Spotted Owl he had met the night before. She perched next to a Great Horned Owl of an unusual ruddy color with even more unusual very black talons. Then there was an ancient and decrepit Whiskered Screech, who appeared to have the worst case of feather fletch Soren had ever seen. Not that he had seen all that many. The Whiskered Screech had a long bristly beard. One of his eyes seemed stuck in a perpetual squint, and his beak had a notch in it.
    “I’ve never seen a more disreputable-looking owl,” Gyl-fie whispered. “Great Glaux, look at his foot! His talons!” She paused. “Or lack of!” The Whiskered Screech, indeed, had only three talons on one foot. And just as Soren was blinking in a mixture of astonishment and horror, the old owl swung his head about and fixed Soren in his squinted gaze. Soren thought his gizzard was going to drop right out of him.
    “So, Elvanryb,” Boron turned and addressed another owl, a Great Gray. “It is your notion that we need to have a search-and-rescue attachment chaw on the colliering missions?”
    “Not all, Boron. I think they are only necessary when we