Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

she’s obnoxious, Soren thought. Simply to change the subject, Soren decided to ask Otulissa how she came to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.
    “When did you come here, Otulissa?”
    “It was during the time of the copper rose rain. I came from Ambala. You might have heard that Ambala suffered a great many egg snatchings because of St. Aggie’s patrols. My mother and father had lost two eggs this way and had gone out to see if they could find them, somehow. I was left in the nest under the care of a very distracted aunt of mine. Well, she decided to go visit a friend, and I became worried. I couldn’t fly yet, and don’t for a minute think I was trying to. I was a very obedient owlet. I was only looking over the edge for Auntie, and I just fell. It’s the honest truth.”
    Racdrops it is, Soren thought. She was doing what many other owlets had tried to do, like Gylfie and dozens of others, trying to fly. Except Gylfie had admitted it. Otulissa wasn’t all that different. If she just wasn’t so smug about everything.
    “Luckily,” Otulissa continued, “some search-and-rescue patrols from the Great Ga’Hoole Tree came by and found me. They put me back into my nest and we waited and waited for my aunt and for my parents, but none of them ever returned. So,Imustassume that they met with disaster trying to recover the eggs. Of course, my aunt, well, I’m not sure what really happened to her. As I said, she was a veryscatterbrained owl—for a Spotted one. In any case, the patrols took me back here to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.” She paused for a second, then blinked. “I’m an orphan like you.”
    Soren was taken aback. It was perhaps the nicest thing that Otulissa had ever said. Otulissa seldom thought of herself being like anyone else or sharing any traits, except with the most elegant and distinguished of her Strix ancestors.
    Boron had just clacked his beak loudly, announcing that night flight was finished, and he had spotted Strix Struma making her way upwind to take over for navigation class.
    “It will be a short class tonight, young ones,” she announced upon arriving. “For as you know, this is a special night, and we want to be sure to get back before First Light.”
    So, indeed, they returned to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree at that border of darkness that owls call the Deep Gray, when the black has faded but the sun has not yet spilled even the first sliver of a ray over the horizon. Nobody really wanted tea. It all took too long and the nest snakes seemed unbearably slow as they slithered in with the cups on their backs. It was an unusually silent teatime. It was asif everyone was too worried to speak, and there was absolutely no talk about feelings in one’s gizzard. Even Otulissa had shut up.
    “No seconds, anyone?” Mrs. P. said. “I’d be happy to go back and get some, and there are more nice little nootie cakes.”
    Soren saw Otulissa blink her eyes shut for the longest time. He knew exactly what she was thinking about: nooties, and not the ones that had been baked in a cake. No, she was thinking of ten nooties arranged in the figure of the Great Glaux constellation. He almost felt sorry for her.
    Finally, the time came for good light. Madame Plonk would, of course, sing the beautiful good light song, and then they were allowed to look into the down fluff and discover their destinies. Usually, after Madame Plonk’s song there was total silence, but there would not be tonight. Instead, there would be raucous shrieks mixed with some groans, and owls saying, “I told you so. I knew you’d get into that chaw.” While others would be quietly thinking, How shall I survive Ga’Hoolology with that old bore of a Burrowing Owl?
    Soren, Digger, Twilight, and Gylfie went to their hollow.
    “Well, good luck, everybody,” Digger said. “Twilight, I really hope you get what you want. I know how much it means to you.”
    Suddenly, Soren realized that was his problem. He didn’t know what he wanted. He only knew what he didn’t want. He truly was an immature owl with an immature gizzard.
    They each tucked into their corners. The first chords from the great harp were plucked and then came the soft plings of Madame Plonk’s eerily beautiful voice. All too quickly, the last verses of the song came up. Soren felt his heart quicken and a stirring in his gizzard.

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