Guardians of Ga'Hoole 06 - The Burning

might be out flying now. With winter coming on there would be countless hunting parties laying in the tundra rats and the lemmings for the endless months when their world would be ice-locked. She saw one of their dye basins directly beneath her. She blinked at the swirls of pink and vermilion in the natural depression in the tundra. To think that out of this dull, colorless land they could find such colors. Butshe knew that many of the berries and something called tundra nuggets could be squashed and mixed with various substances to obtain the bright colors that the kraals so loved. But in fact, the kraals’ colors and design work were very primitive. The Glauxian Brothers were much more advanced as painters and dyers. They, of course, did not use the dyes to stain themselves. To paint oneself was thought to be a kind of violation or sacrilege of owlness. They used the dyes to illuminate manuscripts and books.
    Shortly after that she spotted a jumbled pile of boulders that looked exactly like the kind that pirate owls of the tundra would use for their ground nests. She flew lower between the dwarf shrubs looking for a very bushy one to hide behind. Then she would wait. Wait and watch for some sign of Ifghar and Gragg.
    Glaux! Twilla gasped. She dived for the nearest shrub. Owls were emerging from the slot between boulders. She wilfed in a sudden fear reaction that caused her plumage to droop and flatten. The normally burly Short-eared Owl was suddenly slender so the shrub, though not bushy, at least provided a decent screen for her. And if it was possible for her to get any smaller, she did as she saw two pirates leading a very small owl out into the open with a tether bound to one leg. That small bird was the dear little Elf Owl, Gylfie, who had been at the retreat. And evenmore shocking, Ifghar and Gragg were following. What in Glaux’s name are they doing to this little Elf Owl?
    Twilla did not have to wait long to find out. She rotated her head so that her ear slits were turned precisely toward the owls. Short-eared Owls did not have the auditory skills of a Barn Owl, but they could still hear pretty well and, thankfully, she was downwind, so the sound traveled directly to her.
    “You see, owl, this is your choice.” A Snowy, who was all painted up like Glaux knows what, spoke, and Twilla observed. Probably a leader of this gang, as Snowies were known to head up pirates. “You give them the information they want,” the Snowy said, “or we set you out here for the wolves. All tied up in a neat little bundle. Wolves often have a hankering for owl.”
    Set out the Elf Owl for wolves! Twilla blinked. The sheer brutality of it made her beak drop open in amazement.
    “Not only that,” another pirate continued. “If we serve you up, they’ll be most grateful to us. And to thank us they will show us where the golden sedge berries grow.”
    Golden sedge berries—gilt. So now they want to paint themselves up in gold, and they’re ready to sacrifice an owl to decorate their own feathers! This was becoming more shocking by the second. But Twilla had heard that pirate owls entertained a lot of very foolish lore and superstitious beliefs aboutthe gilt that could be made from the golden sedge berries. The brothers at the retreat had no such illusions. They used the golden sedge berries for their illuminated manuscripts, but it was difficult to work with. These pirates would certainly make a mess of it. In fact, there had never been a pirate owl who had succeeded in finding the sedge berries and squashing them.
    Then Twilla heard the thick, oozy voice of Gragg. “It’s nearly morning. The wolves don’t come out until nightfall. You’ll have all day to think about it.”
    What in hagsmire is Gragg getting out of this? What is the information that horrid snake wants from this Elf Owl? Twilla was absolutely bewildered. She had to think of some way to save the dear little owl who had never raised a talon against any of them. But then a creaking voice cut through her thoughts. It was Ifghar! Ifghar was speaking! He had hardly said more than a single word or two at a time in all of Twilla’s memory. And when he had spoken it was mostly incoherent, and now most shockingly he was speaking in fairly decent Hoolian, not Krakish.
    “You see, little one,” Ifghar began.
    Oh, Great Glaux, thought Gylfie. He’s actually speaking to me in Hoolian. So much for me not pretending to understand the language.
    “I long for a