Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

gutter of a gale,” Gylfie said, trying to restrain the peevish note in her voice. “I know you’ve seen a lot, Twilight, but it is possible that you have not penetrated a gale in the same manner Soren did, under the instruction of Ezylryb.”
    “Oh, I’ve flown into the teeth of many a gale, Gylf. I might have been in the gutter and not known I was there. That I admit. Soren here, talking about all this structure of a gale business—just words, you know. No offense, mind you, Soren. But you can fly through something and not know what it’s called.”
    “Yes, I think you’re right. Otulissa was making a big fuss about how Ezylryb should have given us a vocabulary list before we took off last night.”
    “Oh, honestly,” Primrose muttered, “was there ever a duller owl?”
    “Well, I am going to the library because that’s part of our assignment now—to read up on the structure of gales and blizzards and hurricanes. But I’m glad we flew itfirst. I think it will have more meaning. We’re supposed to have a test soon.”
    “A flying test or a book test?” Gylfie asked.
    “Book test. I promised to help Ruby. She’s a fantastic flier but she has a hard time with book things—reading and writing.”
    “Believe me, as long as she can fly that’s what counts.” Twilight nodded.
    “The grand old sage of the Orphan School of Tough Learning!” Gylfie muttered.
    Mrs. Plithiver gave a slight flinch as she often did when she heard an unkind remark at her tea table. It was then that Soren realized that Mrs. Plithiver had barely said a word during the entire teatime. This was most unusual, especially since he had come back so excited from weather chaw. Normally, she would have been thrilled over Soren’s enthusiasm. He hoped nothing was the matter. If there was time before good light, after he went to the library, he would go visit her.
    Soren flew up to the library humming happily the last verse of the weather chaw song. How quickly life changes, he thought. It was only yesterday that he had returned from walking around with a live coal in his beak, thinking that life could not be much worse—unless, of course, he was in St. Aggie’s picking pellets in the pelletorium. And now he was a member of the best of the best of the chaws.
    When he entered the library he saw Ezylryb in his usual spot with a pile of dried caterpillars. He trotted up to him. “Hello, Ezylryb. It was a wonderful chaw. Do you think there’s any chance of another gale coming through soon—or maybe a tornado? Poot says tornadoes are fantastic to fly.”
    But Ezylryb barely looked up from his book and growled in that unfriendly way he had. Soren took a step back. He was confused. How could Ezylryb be so different now than he had been when they were flying? During weather chaw, Ezylryb had been loud and boisterous and cracking wet poop jokes and singing raucously, and now he was just Ezylryb, a distant, gruff old scholar with his beak buried in a book. “Better study for your test. And Ruby over there needs some help. Flies like a dream but can’t spell worth a pellet.”
    Soren backed away and then turned to Ruby, who was hunched over the book Weather Systems and Their Structure: How to Fly Them, Analyze Them, and Survive Them, by Ezekiel Ezylryb.
    “This is sooo hard, Soren! I’ll never pass the test.”
    “Oh, come on, Ruby. You’ll do fine. Anyone who flies like you can’t flunk a test.”
    “But it’s all these words. I feel flight in my gizzard, but,you know, I can’t feel words in my gizzard, except maybe when Madame Plonk sings.”
    Soren blinked. What Ruby said he thought was probably quite true. “Look, Ruby, I don’t think you should try and feel words in your gizzard. You just have to learn a little bit of what they mean in your head—just for the test. Come on, I’ll help you. Let’s see the book.”
    Soren took a look. There were a lot of pictures, drawings of storms and hurricanes and blizzards. Soren flipped through the pages with his talon. “Let’s start right here with a gale, because that is what we know.”
    “But what in Glaux’s name is a pyte?” Ruby said.
    From the corner of the room came a voice. “A pyte is a unit of measurement roughly the wingspan of a Whiskered Screech like meself. It is used for measuring the different structures of a weather system such as gutters, scuppers, et cetera.”
    “What’s et cetera?” whispered Ruby.
    “I don’t think that’s an important word,”