Guardians of Ga'Hoole 06 - The Burning

Narrows before dawn. Soren didn’t fancy flying in daylight. Even in this wild and frozen country of the north, there might be crows. Only once in his life had crows mobbed him, and he vowed that never again would he fly so recklessly from an old night into a new day. He wondered how Otulissa was faring as Dewlap’s escort. Perhaps he should fly back and check.

CHAPTER TWO
Puffling Alert!
    Y uoy bis
    Tuoy bit
    Tuoy bim
    Nuoy bimish
    Vuoyou bimishi
    Vuoyven bimont.”
    “What are you talking to yourself about, Otulissa?” Soren asked as he slid in next to the Spotted Owl. It was obvious to him that she was not addressing her muttered remarks, which sounded like gibberish, to Dewlap.
    “I’m practicing irregular verbs in Krakish,” she said. “You know, the language of the Northern Kingdoms. Of course, the Kielian League has a number of dialects, but Ezylryb said all the owls understand basic Krakish.”
    “Oh. Well, I was just coming back to check on how you’re doing.”
    “As well as can be expected.” She sniffed and shot a poisonous look toward Dewlap, who seemed to be completely unaware of her disdain.
    “Well, with this wind shift we should be approaching the Ice Narrows just at dawn. I’m going to get a navigation check from Gylfie,” Soren said, just before winging away from Otulissa’s flank.
    “Gylfie, what’s our heading?” he asked, flying in next to his best friend.
    “North by northeast, but with this wind shift, we’re being set a bit to the west. You see.” Gylfie flipped her head straight up as only an owl can. “We’re two points off the tail of the Little Raccoon. A little complicated because we’re so far north the constellations rise in different positions in the sky.”
    It was complicated, Soren thought, and he was eternally grateful that Gylfie was such an excellent navigator. She had been trained in the navigation chaw under the direction of Strix Struma, and Gylfie had been one of her finest students ever. Glaux forbid that flecks ever messed with Gylfie’s brain! “So you think dawn or before for arriving at the Ice Narrows?” Soren asked.
    “More like a little after,” Gylfie replied. She glanced at Soren. She knew that flying in daylight worried him. “Look, Soren, I can’t imagine that there are any crows around here.”
    “Let’s hope not,” he replied.
    What they could not have imagined were recklessly flying puffins or, more precisely, pufflings.
    Fog had thickened the night into swirls of gray, obscuring the stars and the light of the moon, and it was still at least two hours until dawn. They had been making good headway. The wind was firmly behind them, increasing their speed by two to three knots, when, suddenly out of the woolly air, burst a hurtling bundle of white. Then a squawk split the fog. “Puffling alert!”
    “Oh, so sorry, so sorry! Did he miss you?” an adult puffin asked Digger.
    “Barely,” huffed Digger. Then, “Good grief, Dumpy ?”
    “Dumpy!” Soren, Gylfie, and Twilight gasped in amazement.
    “Dumpy?” Martin turned to Ruby. “What kind of name is that?”
    “Mine! Mine!” the puffin answered. “And this is Little Dumpy, my son. We thought we’d never see you again, Soren.”
    “Little Dumpy? Son? You’re a father.” Soren spoke in a stunned voice. The larger puffin was now flying with the young one tucked firmly under his wing.
    “Yes, yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”
    “Wonderful? But you’re younger than we are,” Sorensaid as he recalled how the band of four had accidentally been blown into the Ice Narrows so many seasons ago. They had been searching for Ga’Hoole but a williwaw had swept them north and they had slammed into the eastern wall of the Narrows, where they had encountered a most peculiar bird family, the puffins. “I can’t believe you’re a father.”
    “Well, I am. That’s the way it goes with us puffins. We mature early.”
    Soren and Gylfie exchanged glances. Both had the same thought: Mature and smart are two different things. Puffins are the dumbest birds ever—even when full-grown. And now a parent! Ridiculous.
    “Are we close to the Ice Narrows?” Gylfie asked.
    “I don’t know, you’re the one with the brains.” Dumpy gurgled madly. Gurgling was the puffin form of laughter.
    “What are you doing out here, and how come your chick nearly slammed into me?” Digger asked.
    “Oh, you’ve come at a wonderful time,” Dumpy replied.
    “And what time is that?” Soren