Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

just going around to drop in on Octavia, bring her a few well-seasoned milkberries. She does love them so and, as you know, she does keep the nest for Madame Plonk. Never can hurt, can it? Ta-ta!” And she slithered out of the hollow.
    Soren wedged himself into a corner where he wouldn’t be seen. But he heard Mrs. P. muttering after the other snake was out of earshot. “To presume to have a gizzard and then go slithering off to Octavia, humming tunes and besieging her with milkberries. Well, I never!”
    Soren decided to skip visiting Mrs. P. He knew what he must do. He must “drop by” Madame Plonk’s, and he must tell her that here was a very special snake, a snake that had something even finer than a gizzard, a snake of the highest—what was that word Mrs. P. was always using?—“Sensibilities, artistic sensibilities.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Visit to Madame Plonk
    Y ou see, Madame Plonk, I know that perhaps this is not proper—me coming to you this way.” Soren could hardly keep his mind on what he was saying, as he had never in his life seen a hollow like this one. The air spun with colored light from the whirlyglasses that hung from the ceiling and sometimes jutted out from the walls, suspended on twigs jammed into cracks. There were several openings through which light poured. There were pieces of cloth embroidered with beautiful designs and one little niche spilled over with strands of luminous beads. Indeed, the hollow seemed to swirl with color. And in the middle of all this color there was a dazzling whiteness—Madame Plonk.
    Soren gulped and tried to keep his eyes from straying from that whiteness. “But I just know that Mrs. P. is rather shy and would never dare.”
    “Mrs. P.?” Madame Plonk broke in. “I don’t believe I know this snake.”
    “She came with me, ma’am. She’s my family’s old nest-maid snake.”
    “Oh, and you were saying that she wants to be in the harp guild?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Soren thought he sounded so stupid. Who cares? he thought. He was here for Mrs. P. She wanted this so much. Then it was as if Madame Plonk nearly took his next thought directly out of his head.
    “But wanting is one thing. One cannot merely want.”
    “Yes, yes, just because you want something doesn’t mean it should always happen.”
    Madame Plonk blinked and nodded. “Very wise, young’un. But tell me now—why do you think she, this Mrs. P. as you call her, wants it?”
    An idea suddenly popped into Soren’s head. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “some snakes might want it just because it is thought of as the most important guild, one for snakes who have served in nests of very old, distinguished families. But I don’t think that is why Mrs. P. wants it.”
    “No?” Madame Plonk seemed surprised.
    Soren had a dreadful feeling that he had said something wrong. He took a deep breath. There was no backing out of it now. “No, I don’t think she gives two pellets about that kind of thing.”
    Madame Plonk blinked.
    She’s laughing at me, Soren thought. But he continued. “I think she wants to be a member of this guild not because it is the most important but because it is the most artistic.”
    Madame Plonk gave a little gasp. “That’s very interesting. Now what do you mean by artistic, young’un?”
    Oh, dear, Soren thought. It was as if his gizzard had just dropped out of him. He had no idea what he meant by artistic. But he knew that what he had said was right in some way.
    Madame Plonk waited.
    Soren continued. “When Mrs. P. spoke about music she said how when she visited the great harp, she tried to weave the notes not just through the strings of the harp but into your voice. So that together the sound of the harp and the sound of your voice made something that she called splendid and grand. Well, I think that is what it means to be an artist.”
    There was silence in the apartments. And then Madame Plonk sighed deeply and reached for a hankie made by the lacemakers’ guild. She blew her beak and dabbed her eyes. “You are most unusual for a Barn Owl.” Soren did not know if that was good or bad. “Now I think you must go. It is almost time for Evensong. So, go along. I hear you’re doing quite well in weather chaw.” Soren was about to askhow she knew about weather chaw but then remembered that Octavia took care of both Madame Plonk’s and Ezylryb’s nests. “Now fly along.”
    “Yes, yes, thank you for your time, Madame Plonk,” Soren said,