Guardians of Ga'Hoole 04 - The Siege

severing the day from the night, the light from the dark. Six owls waited on the cliffs.
    “She was supposed to be here at tween time!” Soren muttered. Then for perhaps the tenth time, his voice betraying his anguish, “Where could she be?” He almost moaned. “Otulissa, of all owls! She’s never late, always prompt.”
    “I’m sure she’ll be here,” Martin said, although there was little conviction in his voice.
    How long can we wait? Soren wondered. The winds were growing confused. It was hard enough flying across the Sea of Hoolemere from this particular point. It lengthened any journey across the sea and the winds were very often unfavorable, as now, and they were getting stronger. Soren and Gylfie were soon going to decide whether to go or not, with or without Otulissa. The Barn Owl and the Elf Owl had been appointed the leaders of this mission since they were the only two owls in the group who had actually been inside St. Aggie’s.
    They exchanged glances.
    Gylfie blinked. I think we have to go.
    Soren could read the thought in the Elf Owl’s eyes. She’s right, he thought.
    “Prepare to fly!” Soren gave the command. “Course check, please.” He turned to Gylfie.
    “North by northeast, keeping wingspans between the first two points of the Golden Talons and the starboard foot, turning to east after three leagues, then due south. If possible, keep to starboard of the Little Raccoon, which should be rising soon.”
    “Fly!” Soren hooted in the shrill screech of a Barn Owl.
    Meanwhile on the crescent beach, Otulissa mutteredto herself, “What am I going to do?” She had collected a huge pile of nutritious debris. It would require at least four trips to take it all back to be buried at the base of the tree. And Dewlap kept sending her out to fetch snacks.
    Just now she called down to Otulissa, “Dear, I’m feeling a twinge of hunger. I just saw a chubby little ground squirrel wander by. Do you suppose…?”
    Suppose what, you fat old witch? But Otulissa dropped a dead fish in the pile and flew up. One of the things that really frinked Otulissa off about Dewlap was not just her voice but how she pretended to be so polite—all the “Dear, do this” or “Dear, do that” or the “Would you minds.” Everyone knew there was no choice. Why did she even bother with this pretense of sweetness?
    In the moment that Otulissa spiraled down in a dizzying plunge to kill the ground squirrel, the blade of darkness had begun to fall. And with a quick slash, day was severed from night and the world turned black. A small animal died, and Otulissa rose, her beak bloody from killing. They’ve gone! she thought mournfully. She power-stroked through the confusing winds that had grown stronger toward Dewlap, who was perched on a rock outcropping, her talons still clutching the book. Otulissa started to angle in to drop the squirrel at the Burrowing Owl’s long, ugly legs. But then something seized her. Therewas a tremendous lurch in her gizzard. Indignation flooded every hollow bone in her body. She flung the bloody ground squirrel directly into the face of Dewlap. “SPRINK ON YOU!” she cried.
    Then in the buffeting tumultuous winds, Otulissa peeled off over the Sea of Hoolemere.
    “You come back here this instant! You, you—!” Dewlap spluttered. She spread her wings and attempted to launch herself from the rock outcropping onto the heaving billows of wind. But she was soon windmilling her wings in a most unseemly fashion, ricocheting off maverick drafts and becoming drenched by the building seas whose white spume swirled now like scrooms in the night. As she lashed out in futile desperation against the tumult, against the wind and water, the book Fleckasia and Other Disorders of the Gizzard, which she had left on the rock, tumbled end over end into the sea.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Across the Sea and to the St. Aegolius Canyons
    O wl to downwind.” Twilight had just caught sight of an owl emerging from a thickening fog bank.
    “Great Glaux! It’s Otulissa!” Soren hooted in amazement. The other owls spun their heads to look. Their beaks dropped open in utter surprise at what they saw. Power-stroking against a strong headwind was Otulissa, a fierce scowl in her eyes, her beak set in an angry clamp. In another few seconds she had banked, turned, and glided into the windward flanking station, her usual flight position in the Chaw of Chaws.
    “Sorry I’m late,” she said.
    “What happened?” Soren