Guardians of Ga'Hoole 06 - The Burning

astonishment. They were stunned by the sheer hugeness of this bear. He was at least ten feet tall. For a brief instant, his white immensity was silhouetted against the blazing orange of the rising sun. He then plopped back into the water and waves crashed, sending spume flying up severalfeet into the air. A crow wouldn’t have a chance against those big, swatting paws.
    Now the owls were really excited. It was very seldom that they flew during the daylight hours, and in this strange treeless white land with its sea of ice veined with water leads, it would be a fantastic new experience. They were all excited; that is, except Soren.
    “Uh, just a minute,” Soren said. His voice was tight. “I just want to know one thing, sir,” he said, looking directly at Moss. “You have agreed to train us. But we are merely seven owls in all. Hardly enough to do much damage.”
    “You shall teach others when you return to the great tree.”
    Soren was getting that sinking feeling in his gizzard. “But what about the Frost Beaks and the Glauxspeed division?”
    “Aah, that is a big decision. It must wait until the parliament convenes.”
    But there isn’t time! Soren thought desperately. There isn’t time! He watched as the owls spread their wings and lifted off. Was he the only one of the band that found this uncertainty unbearable? Soren blinked and flapped his wings once, twice, and then rose from the rock to follow the rest of the band and the two Snowies.
    The four young owls, flanked by Moss and the skog named Snorri, set their course for Dark Fowl Island. Beneath them swam Svall, gliding through the water with an unmatched grace, softly batting away ice floes that intruded upon his path. The sun slid above the horizon like a thin coin gilding the water with reflected light. The bright reflection of the sun turned the dark water to a molten gold that flowed between the ice floes.
    By full morning, the water sparkled a fierce blue, the same color as the sky. Everything seemed incredibly crisp and clear. It was a blue-white world and, although Soren had never thought twice about the color of his feathers, he felt almost dingy compared to the Snowy Owls and Svall, who fit in so perfectly. Not only did he feel dingy, he felt completely devastated at his failure to gain any assurances from Moss. What was to happen to all of them? The great tree, owlkind? He looked down at Svall, so powerful as he stroked through the icy sea. But for how long would this beautiful white bear be powerful, be free?

CHAPTER TEN
Gragg of Slonk
    G ood light. See you in a bit, Matron. You take good care of him,” the elderly Kielian snake said to Ifghar’s attendant and he slipped off, just as the sun was rising. The Short-eared Owl who took care of the ailing Ifghar blinked her eyes in contempt. “The old sot,” she murmured under her breath. “Off for his beloved bingle juice, he is!” She often thought how convenient it had been for Gragg to accompany Ifghar to the retreat. The Glauxian Brothers were known for brewing fine bingle juice, which they rarely imbibed themselves except for special ceremonies.
    But this morning, Gragg did not slither down in the tree trunk and out to the bingle brewery in the neighboring birch tree. Instead, he began a long ascent toward the top of a tree. There was a particularly sonorous branch that was slightly vented, and which was just above the hollow of the two Hoolian owls that had arrived from the famous great tree. He wanted to hear more of theirconversation. This was his chance. And he did not plan to botch it with bingle juice.
    These two young owls, the Spotted one and the little Elf Owl, interested him. They came from the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, supposedly to do research. But there was something more, he just knew it. He had once had dreams of glory. But now neither the Kielian League nor the Ice Talons would have him and Ifghar. He was tired of life in the retreat. He was tired of living like an outcast between two worlds, sustained only by bingle juice, minding a dimwitted owl whom he had once thought was the most courageous owl in the entire Northern Kingdoms. He had given up everything for Ifghar. He had loved Ifghar the way only a snake who had flown atop his commander’s back feathers in battle could love another species. But at this glory-forsaken retreat, Ifghar had become more and more lost in his thoughts, his gizzard, like a guttering candle, giving a flicker only now and then, his