Guardians of Ga'Hoole 06 - The Burning

stars. Svall seemed like a creature of earth and sky, ice and air, water and stars. Like a weaver in the night, the immense polar bear shuttled through these elements twining them into one single and fantastic piece, a tapestry of the Northern Kingdoms.
    “If this is summer,” Twilight said, “I wonder what winter is like.”
    “I hope we won’t have to stick around to find out,” Digger replied.
    “Sssh!” Soren said suddenly. “I’m picking up something.”
    “Me, too,” Eglantine said. “It sounds almost like singing.”
    Eglantine and Soren began rotating their heads very slowly. Soren called down to Svall, “What are we hearing? It sounds like a song.”
    “Ahhh, very good ears you have.” Svall looked up. “Me, I no hear yet. But we are getting closer. See cliffs?” Directly ahead on the land ice, silvery in the moonlight, gilded cliffs soared into the star-sparkled night. “That be where Moss roosts.”
    “So, what’s that singing?” Soren asked. The other owls had begun to hear it as well. An eerie song spun out into the dark.
    “The skog be there a-telling the tales tonight,” the bear answered.
    “What’s a skog?” asked Soren. “What tales?”
    “A teller. Skog means tell or sing. Tell stories. Tell history. Singer of songs. Every clan has a skog. The skog keeps the story of a clan, of a hollow. Listen now.” He held up his huge paw in the moonlight. “Be quiet until the song is finished.”
    The lead of water they had been following opened upnow into a lagoon surrounded by cliffs and dotted with caves. A few rocks jutted up out of the lagoon’s water. Svall motioned them silently toward one of the rocks, where the four owls alighted. When the song ended, Svall raised one paw and slapped the water’s surface so hard that the stillness of the lagoon was shattered. Then two great Snowy Owls flew out of the cave’s opening.
    One of the Snowies was larger, presumably the female. Soren thought that must be the skog, and the smaller one must be the owl he had been charged to find, Moss.
    “Gunden vhagen, Svallkin,” the smaller of the Snowies said.
    “Gunden vhagen, Mosskin. Mishmictah sund heelving dast,” the polar bear replied.
    “Aaah,” said the Snowy in response. Then the two owls settled down on a rock a few feet from the one where Soren, Digger, Twilight, and Eglantine perched.
    “Bisshen Hoolian, vrachtung isser,” Svall rumbled. But neither Snowy seemed to be listening to the polar bear. Their fierce yellow eyes had fastened on the battle claws that Soren wore. “Ach!” the polar bear exclaimed. “Youy inker planken der criffen skar di Lyze.”
    “What’s he saying? What’s he saying?” Twilight whispered.
    “Something about Ezylryb’s battle claws,” Digger replied.
    The smaller Snowy beckoned Soren with one talon.
    “I think he wants you to come closer, Soren,” Eglantine offered.
    “All right. Twilight, give me those sealed papers from Ezylryb.”
    The great Gray Owl slipped off the small leather pouch tied to his leg. Soren took it. In his head, the Barn Owl was going over his opening remarks for greeting Moss, just as he had practiced them with Ezylryb. Soren lofted and executed a small but perfect air hop to land on the rock with the two Snowies. Well, here goes, he thought and then he cleared his throat and delivered his speech in the best Krakish he could muster.
    Soren hoped he said what he was supposed to, which was, “I am Soren, ward of Lyze. We all come from the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. I bring to you good tidings and salutations from our King and Queen, Boron and Barran. I bear sealed papers of great importance.”
    The two Snowies didn’t move a feather but continued to stare at him. He extended a talon with the pouch. Moss extended a talon to receive it and opened it without ever taking his eyes off Soren.
    “Bisshen ich von gunde goot, eh, Svall?” Moss flipped his head down toward the polar bear, who was floating lazily on his back around the rock.
    After what seemed like eons Moss looked up from the papers that Soren had given him. He then folded them neatly into a small packet, all while holding Soren in his intense gaze. Soren felt as if he were enveloped in a luminous amber fog that streamed from Moss’s eyes. His gizzard was quivering so hard he wondered if his whole body might start shaking. Without taking his gaze from Soren, Moss spoke in a rapid low voice to the skog. “Murischeva vorden Sorenkin y atlela heviggin