Guardians of Ga'Hoole 06 - The Burning

leaves something to be desired.”
    “You didn’t like the burrows at the Glauxian Sisters’ retreat.”
    “I’m not a Burrowing Owl.”
    “Well, neither are they. But what’s one to do? There are no trees to speak of around here,” Otulissa reasoned.
    “Understatement of the year. I can’t remember when I last saw a tree.” Gylfie sighed rather mournfully.
    “Most of the owls up here are Snowies. Snowies are used to ground living. At least, that’s what I’ve read.”
    “Well, I’m not a Snowy, and I found our quarters at the Sisters’ retreat less than comfortable.” Gylfie looked down at the barren, ice-coated landscape below. I am tree sick , she thought. How long has it been since I’ve slept in a tree? She missed the Great Ga’Hoole Tree desperately. She missed the creaking of the timber in a fierce gale. She missed the stirring of the vines in a gentle summer breeze. She missed the spicy smell of the wood on a wet rainy day. She missed the moss of her own little nest in the hollow she shared with Soren and Digger and Twilight. She missed the port of the hollow that framed the sky, which was like the mostbeautiful but ever-changing painting. Sometimes there were clouds that cavorted like a herd of woolly creatures against the blue, and other times, as the sun was setting, the sky blazed with deep oranges and flaming pinks. Then clouds would stretch out and remind her of whales swimming through a fiery horizon at the edge of the world. Gylfie missed all of it. And to think that she had once upon a time lived not in a tree at all but in the hollow of a tall, prickly cactus in the desert. But that was so long ago that it almost seemed like make-believe, some story she had made up about a little Elf Owl who had lived happily in the Desert of Kuneer with her mum and da.
    “Gylfie! Are you listening to me at all?” Otulissa was barking in her ear.
    “Oh, sorry.” She had stopped paying attention to Otulissa when the Spotted Owl had begun to run on about the library and the research she was planning to do and all the great intellects with whom she would have intense and wonderful discussions.
    “I asked for a course check. You are the navigator, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, yes…let’s see.” Gylfie flipped her head almost completely around and then straight up. “Oh, Great Glaux!”
    “What is it?”
    “Just that-the Great Glaux constellation. We are, indeed, in the Northern Kingdoms. It’s even more beautiful here. We never get to see it this time of year at the great tree.” Gylfie’s voice was full of wonder. “I am seeing constellations that Strix Struma only told us about. Look off to starboard, there—the Bear. Isn’t it magnificent? And look at the stars in its paws. See how they are slightly green? And over there, just a bit to the south of it, is the crown of Hoole and…”
    “But Hoole wore no crown,” Otulissa interrupted. “Remember the legend? I’ve studied the entire cycle of the North Waters.”
    Oh, here she goes again. She’s going to analyze a legend, Gylfie thought. Legends were made to be told and heard, not analyzed. And Gylfie knew this one by heart and gizzard. She would never forget it. At St. Aggie’s, when Soren had whispered this legend in the glare of the moon-blaze chamber where they had been put for punishment, it had saved them. Legends cleared their minds and helped them resist the deadly glare of the moon in that white stone cell. Soren’s voice came back to Gylfie now. Once upon a time before there were kingdoms of owls, in a time of ever-raging wars, there was an owl hatched in the country of the Great North Waters and his name was Hoole. Some say there was an enchantment cast upon him at the time of his hatching, that he was given natural gifts of extraordinarypower. But what was known of this owl was that he inspired other owls to great and noble deeds and that, although he wore no crown of gold, the owls knew him as a king, for indeed his good grace and conscience anointed him and his spirit was his crown.
    But while Gylfie had been looking up, Otulissa had been looking down.
    “Look, Gylfie, trees!”
    “Trees? Where?”
    “Straight down there on that island.”
    “Why, we’re here!” Gylfie cheered. “We’re right on course for the Glauxian Brothers’ retreat. That is the island. And there are tall, tall trees just like…”
    “Yes, just like in the legend!” And Otulissa began to recite the story. “In a wood of straight