Guardians of Ga'Hoole 03 - The Rescue

purpose, one needed to learn all sorts of things that many owls never learn. They learned how to read and do mathematics and, with their entry into a chaw, they learned the special skills of navigation, weather interpretation, the science of metals. This kind of learning was called the “deep knowledge” and they were taught by the “rybs.” The word “ryb” itself meant deep knowledge.
    Tonight, the weather chaw would fly and, for Silver and another young Masked Owl named Nut Beam, it would be their first flight with the chaw. They had not been assigned yet, or “tapped” as it was called, to the weather chaw. They were not even junior members yet. They were only going on a very minor training flight to see if possibly they might be suitable. Before his disappearance, Ezylryb seemed to be able to tell with one glance if an owl might work in the chaw. But now with him gone, Boron and Barran felt it was best for the young new owlets to be tried out for this particular chaw, which required highly refined skills.
    “Are we really going to fly into a hurricane tonight?” Silver asked.
    “Just a mild tropical storm,” Poot answered. “Nice little depression due south of here kicking up some slop in the bight and beyond.”
    “When do we get to fly into a tornado?” Silver asked.
    Poot blinked in disbelief. “You yoicks, young’un? You don’t want to fly into a tornado. You want your wings torn off? Only owl I ever seen who got through a tornado alive with his wings came out plumb naked.”
    Now it was Soren’s turn to blink. “Plumb naked? What do you mean?”
    “Not a feather left on him. Not even a tuft of down.”
    Octavia gave a shiver, and their cups of milkberry tea shook. “Don’t scare the young’uns, Poot.”
    “Look, Octavia, if they ask me I tell them.”
    Ruby, a deep, ruddy-colored Short-eared Owl, who was the best flier in the chaw, blinked. “How’d he fly with no feathers?”
    “Not well, dearie. Not well, not well at all,” Poot replied.

CHAPTER THREE
What a Blow!
    M eatballs! Good and juicy.” Poot swiveled his head and flung off a glob of weed, dead minnows, and assorted slop from the Sea of Hoolemere that had landed between his ear tufts.
    “Storm residue. He has a very coarse way of speaking,” Otulissa murmured primly to Nut Beam and Silver. She was flying between the two young owlets, and Soren was in their wake making sure that they didn’t go into a bounce spiral caused by sudden updrafts, which could be dangerous.
    “See? That’s what you get,” Poot was saying. “You don’t have to go swimming to feel the water below getting warmer do you? You can feel it now, can’t you?”
    Soren could feel warm wet gusts coming off the waves that crashed below. It was odd, for although they were on the brink of winter, the Sea of Hoolemere in this region of the bight and beyond held the summer heat longer than any other. “That’s what causes a hurricane, young’uns, when the cooler air meets up with warm water. Now, I’vesent Ruby out to the edges of this mess to reconnoiter wind speeds and such.”
    Poot paused and looked back at his chaw members. “All right now—a little in-flight quiz.”
    “Oh, goody,” Otulissa said. “I just love pop quizzes.” Soren gave her a withering look despite the remnants of a meatball that were splattered around the rims of his eyes.
    Poot continued, “Now, Martin. Which way does the wind spiral in a hurricane?”
    “Oh, I know! I know!” Otulissa started waving her wings excitedly.
    “Shut your beak, Otulissa,” Poot snapped. “I asked Martin.”
    But then Nut Beam piped up, “My grandma did a special kind of dive called the spiral.”
    “My grandpa had a kind of twisty talon like a spiral,” Silver said loudly.
    “Great Glaux.” Soren sighed. He had forgotten how young owlets could be. It was clear that Poot did not know how to deal with such young ones. But Otulissa interrupted what was about to turn into a free-for-all bragging match about grandparents.
    “Silver, Nut Beam,” she said sharply, and flew out in front of the two little owls. “Attention. All eyes on my tail, please. Now does anybody here have anything to say that isnot about their grandparents, parents, or any other relatives or spirals?” There was silence. Then Silver waggled his wings. Otulissa sighed. “I feel a wing waggle from behind.” She flipped her head back. “What is it, Silver?”
    “My great-grandma was named for a cloud, too.