Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

creature of action, of instinct. Not to say that the Great Gray Owl was stupid. He just acted out of an incredibly honed instinct and rarely meditated. “Thinking of leaving,” Twilight added in a flat, dull voice.
    “Leaving?” Soren was stunned. “But we’re a band, Twilight.”
    “We’re not a band, Soren. Boron and Barran said as much.”
    “They didn’t exactly say we’re not a band, Twilight.”
    “I think that is exactly what they meant. They said it was highly unlikely that any of us would be chosen for the same chaw. They said it was not the Ga’Hoolian way. In other words, they are separating us.”
    “They are separating us only for the chaws and that’s because they want us all to learn different things. Thatdoesn’t mean we’re not a band. A band isn’t just perching side by side, or even flying side by side all the time.”
    Twilight blinked. “Well, what is it, then?”
    Soren paused. This was hard. Maybe he wasn’t quite sure what a band was. But no, that wasn’t right. In his gizzard he knew they were a band. “We are a band despite what any owl says or does. In our gizzards, we are a band and we feel that. It cannot be undone. We are what we are and I know it and you know it and we all know it—even they know it.”
    Twilight dropped his eyelids so that they were only glinting slits of gold.
    He’s going to tell me about the Orphan School of Tough Learning. I just know it, Soren thought.
    But Twilight didn’t. “I am an owl of low birth in the eyes of the world because I have had no proper upbringing.” All the bluster was gone from Twilight’s voice; even his feathers seemed to sag a bit and he appeared slightly smaller. “I have had no First Ceremonies, no First Insect, no First Fur-on-Meat ceremony. There is much I don’t know.”
    Soren was stunned. Twilight never admitted to not knowing anything.
    “But there is much I do know. I know light and shadow and everything in between. I know the life pulse in the throat of a bobcat and where to slash to break the bloodpump that is the cat’s heart. I know mountains and deserts and the creatures who fly and those who don’t, but slither or crawl or leap. I know of all sorts of claws, as well as fangs and poisons that lock the talons and freeze the wings. I know the false horizon that comes in the heat of the summer when the air is thick with dew and confuses old owls so that they go yeep and fall. And I know all this, not because I was reared in a hollow lined with the down of my mother’s breast, but because I was not. I was alone within minutes of my hatching. I can be alone. It is a special talent. And I can be alone again.”
    Soren’s gizzard twisted in slow dread. Twilight turned his head slowly and blinked. “But I also know that I am a better owl with you and with Gylfie and Digger. I know now that I am part of a band. And I know this because of you, Soren—you alone.” The Great Gray paused and mused. The gold in his eyes seemed to grow softer, like that pale haze of yellow just above the horizon as the sun begins to set.
    “Perhaps, Soren, you are the blood pump of the band, and I would not want to slash such a life pulse.” Soren blinked. “You are right, Soren. We are a band. And nothing can or will undo it. We are our own guardians.”
    “And maybe someday we shall become the Guardians of Ga’Hoole,” Soren said quietly.
    So the two owls returned to the hollow for sleep and the day grew brighter and brighter. And finally, the light began to seep away as the dull blue of the winter sky darkened. The clouds became tinged with purple and the last blaze of the sinking sun turned the horizon as red as the bobcat’s blood. Then, at last, the stars broke out and it was time for the owls of Ga’Hoole to rise.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Golden Talons
    I t was the deep, black part of the night. The moon had passed through its last moment of the dwenking and now it was gone completely. Gone for two nights at least, until its first silvery thread would reappear at the newing. Soren had been at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree for almost a month, which meant thirty nights and one complete moon cycle from dwenking to newing. Yes, Soren knew how to count now. To count and much more, really. But counting was special. He remembered thinking that his father had said that the fir tree in which his family had their hollow was nearly ninety feet tall. But Soren had no idea what the number meant, just as he had no idea how long