Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

had witnessed Coryn’s amazing feat, and he had hoped that Coryn would come to visit, but so far he hadn’t. The gnaw wolves of the Sacred Watch were not encouraged to socialize among themselves or with any creatures, for that matter. But Hamish had a feeling this rule might be relaxed in the case of Coryn. Banquo was very impressed that Hamish was the young Barn Owl’s good friend. Hamish hoped that Coryn hadn’t become too proud with his accomplishmentsto visit his lame friend, who was, in fact, getting stronger with each day. But he couldn’t believe that Coryn would ever be that way. He was such a modest owl. So modest that he had not even tried to repeat the great feat. Hamish had not even seen him flying since that day. So he was somewhat relieved when he heard some other owls saying that they had not seen the young Barn Owl since the night of the triple-bonk catch.
    One evening it began to snow. The she winds had died down and the red sparks from the volcano traced lazy patterns between the flakes as Hamish patrolled the trail between Dunmore and Morgan. He loped by two Rogue smiths who were swapping coals.
    “I’ll give you three of my best bonks for one of them you got in your bucket.”
    “Nay, them’s the ones the young’un caught on the fly. He meant them for me.”
    Hamish slowed down. He recognized the Masked Owl Gwyndor, who was a friend of Coryn’s from his earliest days. Coryn had told him about Gwyndor, and he had finally met him when they had all come here. But Hamish had not seen him since. He was anxious to talk to Gwyndor, but not while the other Rogue smith was around and, of course, it was forbidden when he was on watch. But he would soon be off duty. He only hoped that the Roguesmith would still be there. Why not circle back now and have a quick word, asking him to wait for him someplace? Yes, behind one of the piles of weathering bones.
    The moon had only just begun to rise when Hamish rounded behind the bone pile. Gwyndor was perched on it.
    “My, my,” Gwyndor said. “Look how you’ve grown already. Look at that chest on you, lad.”
    “Yes, sir. What they say is true. This training does make one stronger.”
    “I’ll say. Have you started practicing the leaping yet?”
    “Just, sir. It’s very hard. Especially being lame and all. But I guess I’ll learn to do it.”
    “Sure you will, laddie. I tell you, there used to be an old gnaw wolf on the watch and he had but three legs. Well, one night, along comes one of them gray whatchamacallits—graymalkins. Oh, this was years ago. By Glaux, if that old gnaw wolf—Macbeth MacDuncan, I believe was his name—if old MacBeth didn’t leap right up there in the sky and pull that old fiend down! But what did you want to talk with me for, lad?”
    “Coryn. He’s my best friend, you know.”
    Gwyndor nodded.
    “And I haven’t seen him for days, or at least not since the night he caught the coals on the fly.”
    “Aaah, yes,” the Masked Owl churred softly. “Quite a night, wasn’t it?”
    “Has something happened to him?”
    “No, lad. He just went off to have himself a think. He has much on his mind and his gizzard troubles him. He just needed a spell to think. But I’ll be sure and tell him when he comes back that you’ve been wanting him to come see you.”
    “Oh, you will, sir? That would be ever so kind of you.”
    “Certainly, lad, certainly.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
From the River’s Mist
    Y ou must discover your own strengths, Coryn, your own powers.”
    Ever since Coryn had made the spectacular retrievals of the three bonk coals from the eruption, Otulissa had been pressing him, but he was not quite sure what it was about. She didn’t seem to want to come right out and say it.
    “Powers?” Coryn asked. “I don’t have any powers.” He was hesitant to say anything about his ability to read flames. Otulissa was nosy. She would want to know what he had seen.
    “Look at what you did, catching those bonk coals on the fly, Coryn.”
    “Maybe it was luck. Did you ever think of that?”
    “It was not luck. You flew those columns of flame and coals like a seasoned collier. Listen to me.” Otulissa stopped. “No. What I really mean is, listen to yourself. Listen to your gizzard and your heart, Coryn.” Her yellow eyes grew morelustrous. He could see in them that she wanted so much for him to understand something. He nodded slowly.
    “Maybe I need to get away for a while,” he said.
    “Yes, that might