Guardians of Ga'Hoole 07 - The Hatchling

place.”
    “Yes, yes, I suppose so. But not quite yet. Maybe someday,” Nyroc said softly.
    The rabbit looked at him quizzically. “Yes, someday,” he repeated, but the words sounded hollow to Nyroc, as if the rabbit did not really believe he would ever go there.
    “Well, in any case, I think I should be getting along now,” Nyroc said.
    “Yes, it will soon be evening.”
    Nyroc was shocked. He had not realized that they had been talking for hours and hours and that the sun had swung low in the sky. Its long shafts of light were now piercing the branches of the trees near the ground. The pond was blazing with the violent oranges and deep pinks of a setting sun. Yes, Nyroc thought, it is time for me to leave.
    The rabbit waited with him in the gathering lavender shadows of the twilight. When those shadows deepened to purple, Nyroc hopped onto the trunk of the fallen treethat had been his home for so long. He was about to say good-bye and to spread his wings but stopped.
    “Rabbit, I don’t even know your name. What is your name?”
    “Oh, just call me Rabbit, that’s good enough.”
    “But you must have a name,” Nyroc protested.
    “I do. But I can’t tell you.”
    “Why not?”
    “If I tell you, I lose my powers.”
    “But you said names were so easy.”
    “Yes. The names of others. But not one’s own. Maybe you’ll find my name in your fires.”
    Nyroc blinked.
    “Good-bye, Nyroc.”
    “Good-bye, Rabbit.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A New World
    N yroc’s tree stump was in the most southern portion of the Shadow Forest. He bid it good-bye with one glance over his starboard wing. In order to reach Silverveil, he flew a northeasterly course, cutting across the very top of The Barrens, which, true to its name, had scarcely a tree to perch in. He was getting awfully tired because he had been battling headwinds for hours. It was still a long time until dawn, and he thought he might set down for a rest and get a bite to eat before going on, even if that rest had to be on a boulder. Still high above the ground, he heard the skitterings of small animals, most likely rodents scampering across that hard ground. He did think that it would be a long time before he could consider rabbit as proper prey again. No. Right now he would settle for a mouse, a scrawny chipmunk, whatever.
    He began carving a turn. It felt great to have his tail feathers working so well again. He alighted gracefully on aboulder and waited patiently, thinking something was bound to pass his way.
    Something was. But it was not his next meal. A young Burrowing Owl emerged from a hole Nyroc had not noticed. It had been so long since Nyroc had spoken to an owl, he actually went into the frozen defense posture hoping that he would blend in with the boulder on which he perched. But such was not the case. The young Burrowing Owl saw him and froze herself, dropping the small bundle she was carrying in her beak. It was young Kalo, daughter of Harry and Myrtle. They were just preparing for the family’s move to Silverveil. Harry had finally talked Myrtle into trying tree living just for the summer.
    Kalo opened her eyes wide at the sight of Nyroc. Could this really be her? she thought, staring hard at him.
    There was not a corner of the owl kingdom that had not welcomed with joy the news of the Pure Ones’ defeat by the Guardians of Ga’Hoole. But it had been rumored that although the one called Metal Beak, the leader, had been killed, his mate, Nyra, was still alive. There had been sightings of her all over. Kalo looked at this owl in front of her and, though she had never seen Nyra, everything seemed to fit what she had heard of her: the face, unusually large and white for a Barn Owl, shaped more like a moon than a heart. And yes, she blinked, the scar wasthere, too, slashing diagonally across the face—just like the scar Nyra was supposed to have. Kalo was so frightened that she did not notice that this owl was male, not female. As far as Kalo was concerned, this was Nyra.
    Finally, the Burrowing Owl gathered up her courage and spoke. “W-w-what are you doing here?”
    “Just resting. I’m on my way to Silverveil,” Nyroc replied.
    “Silverveil,” a voice from the burrow pealed out. Myrtle waddled from the opening, stopped dead in her talon tracks, and wilfed at the sight of Nyroc.
    Nyroc, trying to be sociable, took a step forward. “My name is Ny—”
    He never got to finish. Both owls screeched and dove back into their burrow.