Guardians of Ga'Hoole 03 - The Rescue

were flying south by southeast, it could slow them down. Amid all this jabber there was one little pocket of silence. And that was when Eglantine retreated to her own corner of the hollow and tried to weep as silently as possible in the fluffy nest of down. But it wasn’t her mum’s down. It didn’t smell anything like her mum, and there was too much moss in it. But she couldn’t let Soren see her crying. She had just told him that she was strong enough to fly with them to Silverveil. She wanted to be included so much. They mustn’t think she was a baby. Well, there was only one place to go when she was feeling this bad—to Mrs. Plithiver. She hoped Mrs. P.’s hollow mates—two othernest-maid snakes—wouldn’t be there. It would be all over the tree if they saw her crying. Nest-maids were notorious gossips.
    “There, there, dear.” Mrs. Plithiver had coiled up and was stretching as far as possible to stroke Eglantine’s wing. “It can’t be that bad.”
    “But it is, Mrs. P. You don’t understand.”
    “No, I don’t. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
    So Eglantine told the old nest-maid snake about what Soren had seen in the spirit forest, about the scrooms of their parents, and how Twilight had said “dead is dead.” But Soren had said “not exactly” and the part about Metal Beak and the unfinished business. “See, Mrs. P., I know this is wrong but if the business gets finished, Mum and Da will go to glaumora, and then I’ll never see them again.”
    Mrs. Plithiver was silent for a long time. If she had had eyes they might have wept. Finally, she spoke. “It’s not wrong, Eglantine, to want to see your parents again, but the real question is would you be happy if you saw them—or their scrooms—and they were very, very sad and worried about you?”
    Eglantine blinked. She hadn’t thought of that.
    “Was Soren happy?” Mrs. P. continued. “Did he say anything about being so happy and glad to have seen them?”Now that Eglantine thought about it, Soren hadn’t seemed at all happy since he had returned from the spirit woods. He seemed completely dragged down by something. And Mrs. Plithiver, as if seeing directly into Eglantine’s brain, said, “It’s the scrooms. Scrooms with unfinished business, although they seem only to be made of mist and vapor, can be a terrible weight on the living. I noticed it as soon as Soren returned.”
    “You did?” Eglantine blinked in astonishment. Mrs. P. nodded her rose-colored head, and her eye dents seemed to flinch. “How?” Eglantine asked.
    “I’ve told you, Eglantine, that although we are blind, nest-maid snakes have very finely tuned sensibilities. We pick up on these things, especially if it concerns family members, and I worked for your family for so long—well, I just know when any one of you is out of sorts. But, Eglantine, the main thing is that you must rid yourself of this notion that to see your parents just one more time, to meet their scrooms, would make you feel happy. It won’t, my dear, believe me.”
    “It’s hard.” Eglantine paused.
    “I know, I know. But you know, dear, you must think about the good times you had with your parents, the happy times.”
    “Like when Da would tell us the stories of the order ofthe guardian owls of Ga’Hoole before we went to sleep. ‘Knights’ he called them.”
    “Yes, dear, I listened to his stories, too. He had a lovely sonorous voice, especially for a Barn Owl.”
    “But Mrs. P., Da thought that the stories were just legends. He didn’t know they were true and that now Soren and I are here and someday we, too, shall be Guardians of Ga’Hoole. If Mum and Da only knew.” Eglantine sighed deeply.
    “But I think they do, dear. That’s just the point. Why else would their scrooms have tried to warn Soren? They might have had unfinished business, but they knew that you and Soren and Twilight and Digger and Gylfie could finish the business, for you are almost Guardians of Ga’Hoole, are you not?”
    “Well, they are. But not me—yet.”
    “Oh, yet!” Mrs. Plithiver swung her head as if to wipe away the word. “In your gizzard, I know you feel it. And that you are.”
    “Really, Mrs. Plithiver?”
    “Really, Eglantine.”
    Eglantine returned to the hollow feeling much better. Indeed, she was almost excited about their adventure.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Harvest Festival
    A t the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, there were four seasons, beginning in winter with the time of