Guardians of Ga'Hoole 04 - The Siege

gathered on Cape Glaux. In the tradition of owl kingdoms, a small delegation had been sent to try to make peace with these owls, but their efforts were in vain.
    And now the owls of Ga’Hoole whispered in confusion as neither Boron nor Barran, but Ezylryb flew to the highest perch. The rest of the parliament perched in their usual places along with the two monarchs. Ezylryb began to speak.
    “It is now tween time of this night, the twentieth night in the season that we owls of Ga’Hoole call white rain. A few hours ago, I received our monarchs’ commission, along with the approval and the wish and the will of our parliament, to form a war cabinet. I must, with great dismayand loathing, announce that our attempts to make peace with these baleful and most brutal owls who call themselves the Pure Ones have all been in vain. These owls are determined to lay siege to our great tree and seize our island most dear.
    “So now we are at war. We will persevere at war. We will make war to the very best of our ability. They are nothing but a seething mass of criminals. On our side there is quality and there is a cause that sparks the spirit and rouses the gizzard. For we fight for a good cause—the cause of compassion, of freedom, of the belief that no one owl is better than another due to birth, breed, or kind of feather.
    “Now the mists and storms of the winterlies wrap our island. The so-called Pure Ones, although their numbers are great, fear flying in such weather. But we owls of Ga’Hoole fear no such whimsies of weather. Have we not flown through worse?”
    There was a loud cheer from the weather and colliering chaws. “This is a solemn moment in our tree’s history, but one supported by determination and hope. I would be foolish to say that the task ahead of us is not of a most grievous kind. There will be struggle. But let us not despair, for we are owls of valor, Guardians of Ga’Hoole—every one of us, young or old, Barn Owl or Pygmy,
    Burrowing Owl or Boreal, Short-eared or Long-eared, Great Gray or Elf. It is in the very diversity of our breeds, the rainbow of our colors, the multiplicity of our shapes, that we find richness. We shall never submit to such a terrible and lamentable notion as that of owl purity or owl superiority. And in service to defeating such an evil and ruinous idea, we shall wage war against this monstrous tyranny that threatens all owl kingdoms. We shall wage war over sea and on the land with all the strength that Glaux gives us. Our aim is victory—victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror. Victory, however long and hard the war may be. For without victory, there will be no survival for Ga’Hoole, the great tree, and all we have stood for; no survival for the best of the urges and impulses of owlkind, those impulses for life, for honor, and for freedom. Come then, let us go forward together to preserve owlkind.”
    The Great Ga’Hoole Tree thrummed with the hoots of the owls. Twilight, almost bursting out of his plumage, was already talking about how he hoped to get a set of the newest model of battle claws, the NASTs. NAST stood for Nickel Alloy Super-Talons. Bubo had forged a new kind of steel in his fires, which could be filed to a deadly sharpness. It was said that NASTs could split rock.
    “What?” Twilight gasped. His unit leader, a Great Gray named Huckmore had just told Twilight, Soren, Gylfie, and the others that their mission was to lay air traps.
    “We shall begin immediately weaving snares from the milkberry vines of the great tree. These have already been harvested with care. Since they are almost pure white, they will fade into the background of the snow-laden tree. But we all know how tangled these vines can get. So think of your task as setting a giant web,” Huckmore said.
    “I’m not a spider!” Twilight hissed.
    “Be quiet,” Soren hissed back.
    “We have recruited nest-maid snakes from the weavers’ guild, as well as some from the harp and lacemakers’ guilds, to help us in the actual weaving.”
    “What?” Twilight whispered in complete dismay. “I’m not a nest-maid, either!”
    “We know that.” Gylfie gave him a kick. “We know you’re a big tough owl. So grow up, Twilight. War is not all battle claws and tearing out gizzards.”
    “But weaving with nest-maids? You got to be kidding.”
    The nest-maid snakes in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree all belonged to different guilds depending on their individual talents. Mrs. Plithiver,