Guardians of Ga'Hoole 07 - The Hatchling

NINE
Burrowing Owls to the Rescue
    T he family of Burrowing Owls looked at the Rogue smith who had tumbled out of the sky with his bucket of coals, tongs, and hammer. Kalo, their daughter, entered the burrow. Her father asked, “Did you find the last coal?”
    “I think so, Da. It was under the edge of that boulder.”
    Burrowing Owls were known for their walking abilities. Their long, featherless legs and their talons were extremely strong. They dug holes to live in, much preferring a ground hollow to one in a tree.
    “Well, he’ll be pleased with that when he wakes up,” her father replied.
    “I hope it’s soon,” said Kalo. “He’s moaning like he’s having the worst daymares ever.”
    “Screaming about scrooms and crows,” her mother added. “Crows are what got him, I think. They always go for the tail feathers first.”
    “And to think he was being attacked in the sky right above us and we didn’t even know it,” the father said for the third time.
    “Harry”—his mate, Myrtle, looked at him—“what could we have done, really? We have no idea how many crows there were. They could have outnumbered us and then we would all have been finished.”
    “But maybe they wouldn’t have outnumbered us,” Harry said. “See, this is what comes of living underground.”
    Harry, the father of this brood, was a bit of an eccentric. For some time, he had been trying to persuade his family to have at least a summer home in a tree someplace.
    “Harry, we’ve gone through this a million times,” his mate said.
    “Myrtle,” he said.
    She knew what was coming.
    “Need I remind you,” he went on, “that myrtle is a plant that grows on a tree? You’d be a natural.”
    Myrtle blinked. “Harry, somewhere out there, there’s a Barn Owl whose name is Dirtle, just plain Dirt for short. Do you think her mate is trying to persuade her to set up housekeeping in a burrow?”
    “And besides,” Kalo said, “I don’t want to be the only Burrowing Owl living in a tree. What would my friends think? It’s just too weird.”
    The family continued their good-natured bickering, not noticing that Gwyndor had begun to stir.
    “Where am I?” Gwyndor said in a low, rasping voice.
    “My goodness! He’s awake!” Myrtle gasped.
    “Sir.” Harry stepped forward. “You are in our burrow. You seemed to have fallen out of the sky.”
    “My coals! My coals!” Gwyndor cried hoarsely.
    “Don’t worry.” Myrtle bent down to speak to him. “Our daughter, Kalo, fetched them all—at least we think she found them all.”
    “How many did she find?”
    “Nine, sir.” Kalo had stepped up next to her mother. “And your hammer and tongs and the bucket,” she added.
    Gwyndor sank back on the soft bed of rabbit fur with great relief.
    “Were you mobbed, sir?” Harry asked.
    “Yes,” Gwyndor replied. “There were three of them.”
    “Three against one!” Myrtle said, her voice hushed with awe. “And you survived!”
    “I survived, no doubt thanks to you.”
    “Your wounds don’t look too bad. We’ll just send our daughter out for some fresh worms to put on them,” Harry said, and then with some emphasis added, “Nestmaid snakes are hard to come by here. They prefer trees, I guess.” He spun his head toward his mate.
    “Drop it, Harry! Our daughter is just as good as any nest-maid snake at digging up worms.”
    “I must be on my way immediately,” Gwyndor said, struggling up from the rabbit fur. He had forgotten how very good Burrowing Owls were at rabbit hunting with their finely honed talons, and how they lined their nests with the soft fur. Lovely practice, Gwyndor thought.
    “You’re going? You can’t be serious, sir,” Harry said.
    “Oh, but I am. It is essential that I get to my destination as soon as possible.”
    The entire family of Burrowing Owls blinked in astonishment as Gwyndor staggered to his feet, then reached for his kit. “I cannot thank you enough. I shall never forget your kindness.”
    “But, sir,” Harry interrupted.
    “No, I must go—without delay. Good-bye and Glaux bless.”
    A few seconds later, they heard the flutter of his wings as Gwyndor took off.

CHAPTER TEN
One Wing Beat at a Time
    T he contrary winds had eased up, making flying less difficult. As the Great Horns came into sight, Gwyndor at last allowed himself to feel his fatigue. He ran over his plan in his head. He had to get Nyroc alone. He would ask Nyra if her young son could help him set up the forge for