Guardians of Ga'Hoole 10 - The Coming of Hoole

so it will fit for you cubs.
In the mighty roiling waters
    of this cold and icy sea,
    may you swim ’neath Ursa’s eyes
    may you grow up strong and free.
    May you be true to your nature,
    swift in water and on land,
    for you stand the tallest of the tall
    in this white and icebound land.
    The greatest of the great in stature
    and in power,
    there is nary a living thing a polar bear
    cannot devour.
    And like your mum be massive in matters of the heart.
    Be of good cheer and loyal, dear Anka and dear Rolf.
    Siv left at First Black and headed for the mouth of the firthkin where Svenka had told her the gadfeathers gathered each year as the time of the spring equinox approached.

CHAPTER SIX
A Gathering of Gadfeathers
    S he heard the strains of the ice harp as she approached the point on which throngs of gadfeathers had gathered. She was nervous, but she knew that gadfeathers did not pry. They were very close-beaked about who they were and where they had come from. It was part of their culture, the gadfeather way of life. All of them at sometime or another had left something they called home or family for whatever reason, and it was considered a grave transgression to ask a gadfeather about his or her personal history. Theirs was a journeying way of life. They considered themselves free of loyalty to any region or clan or hollow. The words “free” and “freedom” threaded through many of their songs. They mostly traveled alone or sometimes in small flocks, but these flocks changed constantly. So even though they were known to be rather solitary creatures like polar bears, they did gather several times a year to meet and sing. The gift for making song and lovely music was one thing that all gadfeathers seemed to havein common. Among the most musically gifted of the gadfeathers were the Snowy Owls. As Siv drew closer, she could clearly hear one of the Snowies singing to the beautiful liquid notes of the ice harp. It was a mournful, soul-searing song.
Fly away with me,
    give my loneliness a break.
    Fly away with me,
    so my heart will never ache.
    Fly away with me this night.
    Fly away with me,
    I’ll find a feather for your ruff.
    Fly away with me till dawn.
    Fly away then we’ll be gone.
    Hollows we shall leave behind,
    fly to places they’ll never find.
    Fly away with me right now,
    I can’t wait.
    Fly away with me,
    don’t hesitate.
    I want to soar the smee hole drafts
    where the steam rises from the sea.
    I want to cross the mountain ridge,
    I want to see the other side.
    We’ll preen each other in the moon’s light.
    Fly away with me.
    We shall wake up in the snow,
    go where the winds always blow.
    Fly away with me!
    “Lovely, ain’t it?” A Whiskered Screech lighted down on the ice cliff where Siv had perched.
    “Oh, yes,” Siv replied. The song had awakened so much loneliness in her. How she missed her beloved H’rath and the chick she had never met, and now Svenka and the cubs. She had never felt lonelier in her life. It struck Siv as rather ironic that gadfeathers disdained the life of family and hollow yet sang so beautifully of loneliness. It was as if they craved companionship yet celebrated loneliness.
    “Nothing like a Snowy for singing. They call her the Snow Rose.” The Whiskered Screech nodded at the Snowy Owl who had just finished singing. “Hope she sings ‘Sky of Tears.’ Just wait’ll you hear that one. Your gizzard will be in shreds.”
    That is the last thing I need, Siv thought, my gizzard in shreds! She had to be alert and pulled together and keen for anything she might hear—not just these aching songs.
    She flew onto another perch. Here, gadfeathers were swooping through the air doing one of their jigs while aGreat Horned Owl belted out another song full of hurt and anger, bad weather, and teardrops that froze feathers.
    Enough of this! thought Siv. She flew off to where a group of owls were picking over a pile of herring that some Fish Owls had delivered. She sidled up to a small clutch of gadfeathers who were busily eating and talking.
    “They say the fighting’s moved back to the H’rathghar glacier. Lord Arrin, you know.”
    “Yeah, the last of H’rath’s guard tried holding him off.”
    “Well, if they’ve moved to the glacier, that’ll free up the Firth of Fangs for a bit of sport flying this summer. Nothing like them smee holes up there.”
    “Yeah, but there be kraals, too.”
    Kraals, Siv thought. What exactly were kraals? She had heard King H’rath