Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

to breathe in their anguish. There was indeed a tiny speckle in the darker feathers on the inside corner of her eye. But if this was Eglantine, was she alive? Was she dead? Was she truly…?
    “Eglantine?” they both called softly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At Last!
    I need some more worms over here, quick!” the nest-maid snake called out.
    “The Ga’Hoolology chaw is digging them as fast as they can,” another snake called. “Oh, my goodness, what a mess this little Sooty Owl is.” The snake nudged the last worm of her supply on the gash in the Sooty’s wing. “Poor little fellow. Now stop that babbling, dear. You don’t have enough energy.” But the owlet kept up a steady singsong about a world of Tyto purity and supremacy.
    There had never been such a flurry in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. The infirmary was brimming with stunned and wounded owls. And no one was spared a moment’s rest. The owls of the tree were cutting back and forth between branches, flying in the new arrivals, rushing about getting fresh worms for their wounds, plucking down from their own breasts to make up new beds, bringing cup after cup of milkberry tea. The nest-maid snakes were at the point of complete exhaustion and even MadamePlonk, who rarely lifted a talon around the tree to do anything, could not bear seeing her harp guild so worn out. So she joined in right beside them, learning how to place worms properly on the open wounds. Soren and Gylfie worked as hard as anyone, either fetching things for the nest-maid snakes or cleaning out new hollows, because the infirmary was too full to accommodate any more. There was barely time to wonder about what had brought this on. But, of course, in the back of their minds was the horrible nagging fear that St. Aggie’s was somehow involved, and if not St. Aggie’s, perhaps the “you only wish”! Were the poor little owls babbling about the same horror that the murdered Barred Owl had when he gasped the words “you only wish”? But what did it really matter? Owlets were wounded and dying.
    For the life of him, Soren could not understand this babble that seemed to pour out of the owlets’ ceaselessly clacking beaks. It never seemed as if there was an entire phrase. The words came out disjointed and broken, but always there was something about Tytos, or Barn Owls.
    Then overhead, Soren heard the arrival of a new batch of owlets being brought in. There was no quiet flying this day. Owls that once prided themselves on silent flight beat their wings furiously, in their desperate efforts to get the injured owlets to safety.
    “SOREN!” The sound of his own name split the warm air. Soren looked up from his task of pecking out worms. It was Twilight who had called down to him and he was flanked by Primrose and Digger. The rest of the search-and-rescue chaw was following.
    “Soren, get up here fast as you can,” Twilight called again.
    Then Digger spiraled down. “This is important. Bring that worm and come on.”
    “No! No!” another owl said tersely. “All worms must be put into the pile first. Our chaw ryb said so.”
    “Drop the worm, Soren, and just come.” Soren couldn’t imagine what could be so important that they needed him so quickly. He followed Digger to a new hollow they had just fixed up to take care of the overflow from the infirmary. Outside the hollow, Gylfie and Primrose perched on a branch. They were very still. Soren got an awful feeling in his gizzard. He hesitated. He really did not want to go into that hollow. Digger gave him a bit of a nudge. Then Gylfie came up on the other side. The shadows from the hollow seemed to draw him in against his will. He blinked. Twilight stood beside a heap of golden feathers splotched with blood.
    “So?” Soren said.
    Twilight’s usually gruff voice became a soft whisper. “So, Soren, is this your sister, Eglantine?”
    Soren felt his gizzard drop to his talons. He wobbled but Gylfie was on one side and Digger on the other. He forced himself to look down at the battered little owlet. But she really was hardly an owlet anymore. She was fully fledged and streaked with blood. A red bubble burbled from her beak as she, too, tried to babble.
    “No! No! This can’t be!” Soren wailed. He felt his legs collapse under him and he crumpled beside her. “Eglantine! Eglantine!”
    “Get Mrs. Plithiver, quick!” Gylfie rasped.
    Time began to have no meaning for Soren. Was it day? Was it night? How many nights had passed since they