Guardians of Ga'Hoole 04 - The Siege

Narrows, we have sustained harsh losses in an unexpected enemy attack. You have heard rumors of a skirmish. I fear it was more than that. A substantial number of enemy troops have broken through our defenses.
    While our own troops were diverted by this action in the northeastern quadrant, other forces attacked in the southwest. An invading force has landed and more may come. What we have thus far called the Battle of the Coasts is over, and I expect that the Battle of Hoole is about to begin. Our civilization of owlkind depends upon this battle, as the whole fury of these base and most ignoble owls who call themselves the Pure Ones is turned upon us.
    “But we must not fear. We have on this island today some of the finest fighters in owlkind. We have our Strix Struma Strikers, our Flame Squadron, our squadrons of Burrowing Owls who, with their long legs and talons sublime, can dig like the best of any burrowing animal on earth. And they can fight, too, I might add! With these fine owls, we shall defend our island. You shall not, however, be called upon immediately for offensive action. First, we shall try a defensive strategy. We shall not be very mobile, but we will be strong. We shall fortify ourselves within the massive trunk of this, our great tree, so lovingly cared for through the centuries. It continues to be cared for under the guidance of our invaluable ryb of Ga’Hoolology, Dewlap.”
    Ezylryb nodded to the Burrowing Owl, and she lowered her head shyly. Soren felt Otulissa, who had been releasedfrom the infirmary, grow smaller. In truth, she had not diminished, but her fear had grown huge. It rattled through her hollow bones.
    What is going on here? Soren wondered. He listened as Ezylryb continued to explain the defensive strategy. “We have enough food to hold out, more than they will have in these coming months. Yes, there will be rough times ahead, but we can bear the discomfort with patience and with fortitude. We shall never surrender to these false ideals, to these twisted notions of superiority, to this tyranny of purity.”
    Otulissa looked at Soren. “I can’t stand it!” she whispered.
    “Can’t stand what?” Soren asked.
    “How Ezylryb was going on about Dewlap. Look at her gloating up there.”
    “Let her gloat, Otulissa,” Digger said.
    “What do you mean?” Soren asked. Otulissa looked equally surprised by Digger’s remark.
    “Think about this: Dewlap is the only Burrowing Owl who has not been put on a digging unit. We are all burrowing something. I’m doing cache holes for embers. Hubert over there is caching food supplies. Muriel and three others are excavating the existing storage areas under the treeto make them larger. If Ezylryb thinks Dewlap is so great, why isn’t she working in a unit?” Digger asked.
    “Isn’t she supervising?” Soren asked.
    “Not really,” Digger says. “Supposedly she is overseeing the storage area excavations under the tree, but it’s sort of a fake job. We all know how to do it. She just arranges the shifts we dig in and keeps the inventory lists. So don’t get that upset, Otulissa. I don’t think Ezylryb is sincerely ‘going on about Dewlap.’”
    “Then what’s he doing?” Soren asked.
    “Now that’s the real question,” Digger said. “And I can’t answer it.” He paused. “Yet.”
    There was no doubt in Soren’s mind that, of himself, Digger, Twilight, and Gylfie, Digger was the deepest thinker and the most reflective. Gylfie might be considered the smartest because she was a quick learner, and she knew a lot. Twilight was too impulsive to be considered a deep thinker, although he was brilliant at perceiving small gradations of light as night shifted to day and day to night. And Soren himself—well, Soren wasn’t really sure how he would describe his own mental activities. But Digger made connections that others might not ever think about. And the connections he was making now both fascinated and alarmed Soren.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Besieged
    T he great old tree creaked in the winter gales that lashed the island. Bitter cold air niggled through the cracks and crevices. In Soren’s hollow, they hung the furry hide of a possum that Twilight had once killed to block the drafts. It did block the draft, but none of them could quite believe they had ever feasted on possum. There was no fresh meat left, only cured, dried meat that was bloodless and about as tasty to eat as tree bark. It was rumored that even the Ga’Hoole