Guardians of Ga'Hoole 07 - The Hatchling

couldn’t help but ask one more question. “Can Dustytuft come, too?”
    “Of course, darling. Dustytuft can always come.” Dustytuft blinked at this. Downright miracle, he thought. The Sooty Owl puffed up his chest a bit.
    “Thanks, Mum.”
    Nyroc’s next question—if he had dared to ask—would have been “What do we say good-bye to?”
    He soon found out. The white things on the cave floor that he thought were sticks were actually his father’s bones. A large shaggy Masked Owl stood by them. Near the Masked Owl’s talons was a small metal bucket. Nyroc knew from Dustytuft that this was the bucket in which all Rogue smiths carried their live coals or embers. Nyroc stole a glance into it and saw the bright orange glow. A shiver ran through his gizzard like nothing he had ever feltbefore. But suddenly, there was a sharp peck on his back and Nyra hissed, “Pay attention! These are your father’s bones.” And then she added, “Do you see the one in the middle?”
    “Yes,” Nyroc replied.
    “You see how it is broken in two?”
    “Yes,” he said again.
    “That was his spine. Soren, your father’s brother—your uncle—dealt the deathblow that split his spine. I want you to remember that. Never, ever forget.”
    “Yes, Mum.”
    “Promise!” she said fiercely.
    “I promise, Mum. I promise. I’ll never forget.”
    Dustytuft knew what bones were. Dustytuft knew about dying and death and owls killed in battle. But what preoccupied Dustytuft right now was why he was a guest at this sacred ceremony. It was an honor far beyond the strange favoritism Nyra had granted him since Nyroc’s hatching. After all, Nyra had been furious with him and all the Sooty Owls after the Pure Ones had lost the Battle of The Burning to the Guardians of Ga’Hoole. There was a Lesser Sooty in prison right now for supposed cowardice. One might have thought that these Sooty Owls were the reason the Pure Ones had lost. In truth, the Sootieswere such lowly owls they had hardly been given any responsibilities. It was as if she was so angered by the defeat that she simply had to blame someone. Nyra’s anger could be immense.
    But two days after the battle, when Nyroc had hatched, Nyra had invited Dustytuft into the nest in the cleft of the rock to chick-sit while she went off hunting. This was a great honor. Dustytuft had liked Nyroc right from the start. Their friendship began to grow, and Nyra encouraged it. Dustytuft felt so close to Nyroc that he confessed to him one of his innermost secrets, which was that he hated the name the Pure Ones had chosen for him. Once, he told Nyroc, he had had a real name. He thought it had been something rather noble-sounding, like Edgar or Phillip. And Nyroc had asked him which name he liked the best. No one had ever asked him such a personal question. He thought for a minute and said, “Phillip—definitely Phillip.” So when no one was about, Nyroc called Dustytuft Phillip. It was the one thing that Nyroc did that was less than perfect, in the Pure-One sense of the word. It was odd that this one flaw in Nyroc’s otherwise perfect behavior was what Dustytuft most admired him for, and what, unlike Nyra’s strange favoritism, made Dustytuft feel truly honored. He had said to Nyroc many times that it wastoo much of a risk. But Nyroc had simply shrugged it off and told him not to worry. “I’ll call you Phillip and make up for it by being extra good in everything else.” And he had.
    Now the Sooty Owl stood beside Nyroc and looked down at the bones of the owl that had been Kludd, High Tyto of the Pure Ones. He could see that Nyroc was, even after his mum’s reprimand, still stealing looks at the Rogue smith and his bucketful of embers, which seemed to interest the hatchling more than his father’s bones. Perhaps, mused Dustytuft, Nyroc was even less perfect than he knew. He had never seen Nyroc disobey his mother like this. Luckily, she wasn’t watching. Her attention was riveted on the bones.
    “And now the time has come to honor our fallen leader in the manner befitting a great soldier,” Uglamore intoned. Nyra motioned Nyroc to step back toward the wall of the cave. Uglamore kept talking, as Gwyndor, the Rogue smith, came up to the place where the bones of Kludd lay and spread some dry twigs and bark over them. He took an ember from his bucket and set it on the twigs. Flames sprang up from the bones. The darkness of the cave began to flash and sparkle. Suddenly, shadows began