Guardians of Ga'Hoole 04 - The Siege

Soren’s old nest-maid, belonged to one of the most prestigious, the harp guild. She woveherself through the grass strings of the harp accompanying Madame Plonk, who sang the songs that marked the various events and times in the daily life of the owls in the tree.
    “Work has already begun,” Huckmore continued. “Upon completing the snares, we shall fly out to place them at strategic points on the island.”
    The snare unit, as they were called, followed Huckmore to a stand of tall, nearly branchless and leafless birch trees that were to serve as looms for the weaving of the webs. The warp, or the lengthwise vines, of the loom had already been fastened. At the ground level, a dozen or more nest-maids had begun to weave across the warp to create the weft, or the horizontal vines. Mrs. Plithiver was in charge of the nest-maid snake detail.
    “Attention! Nest-maids,” she called out. “Our unit commander has arrived.” She coiled to attention, then waggled her head and touched it with her tail in a jaunty salute.
    “At ease, Mrs. Plithiver,” Huckmore said. “I see progress has been made.”
    “Yes, sir. We have almost two feet from the ground up already woven. Now, if the owls of your unit can commence weaving from the top down, I think we could easily have this finished before the Golden Talons rise in the night.”
    Since Mrs. Plithiver was blind, she had never seen theconstellation of the Golden Talons in the winter night sky. It was said, however, that nest-maid snakes had been blessed with extraordinary sensitivity. Although they could not see, they could detect minute changes ranging from alterations in atmospheric pressure to the movements of celestial bodies in the sky.
    It did not take the owls long to get into the rhythm of weaving themselves in and out of the warp with the long strands of berries. In fact, Soren found the work rather enjoyable. If only he could forget for a moment or two the reason they were doing this. He certainly enjoyed working with Mrs. P. Normally, their schedules were so different; it was not often they got to see each other during the night.
    “Lovely, Soren, lovely. You have the knack for this,” Mrs. P. said. “Gylfie, dear, pull a little bit more on that last vine you flew into place.” She paused and hung herself upside down. “I sense Dewlap approaching. Oh, dear.”
    Just then Soren caught a glimpse of Dewlap flying up to Huckmore, who was overseeing the work from a high limb in a nearby birch. He saw Huckmore shake his head wearily.
    “What’s going on?” Gylfie asked. With the tail end of a vine in her talons, she slid into flight next to Soren.
    “I don’t know. But ever since that thing with Otulissa and the flint mop, Dewlap gives me the creeps. It’s almosttime for my break,” Soren said. “I’m going to fly around behind that tree and listen in.”
    “You think you can hear what they’re saying from that distance?” Gylfie asked.
    Soren gave her a withering glance.
    “Oh, I forgot. Barn Owl!” Barn Owls were renowned for their remarkable hearing skills.
    “I wish you would stop worrying about the vines, Dewlap,” Huckmore was saying. “This is war. As Ezylryb said, sacrifices will have to be made. This is not going to damage the overall health of the tree. Yes, we are going to have to make do with fewer berries during the lean days of winter, but we have a good reserve and no one much cares for the berries of the white rain, anyway. They are awfully bitter.”
    “But I just don’t think this is responsible. I am a care-taker of this tree. I can’t stand by and see all these vines stripped from her,” replied Dewlap.
    “Look, Dewlap, I don’t know how I can put this more plainly. It is a matter of life and death. If we are defeated by these owls, there is no more Ga’Hoole as we now know it. This tree will be inhabited by a bunch of criminal owls. You think they’re going to take care of this tree? I don’t think so, Dewlap.”
    Something stilled in Soren’s gizzard. Huckmore wasright. If the Pure Ones captured Ga’Hoole, Kludd wouldn’t spend a moment thinking about the health of the tree. Why didn’t Dewlap realize this? This was what it meant to be a Guardian of Ga’Hoole. They needed the tree and the tree needed them, but sometimes there were sacrifices to keep things in balance and to guard those, as Ezylryb had called them, impulses for life, honor, and freedom.
    At daybreak, Soren and his friends returned to their