Guardians of Ga'Hoole 10 - The Coming of Hoole

two owls and their young charge to himself. Still he was made to feel welcome whenever he came to visit. Brother Berwyck had shown Hoole a cove that furrowed in from the Bitter Sea, which, in the springtime when the ice melted, was his favorite hunting ground. Oddly enough, the brother had a taste for fish even though he was not a Fish Owl. He had promised to teach Hoole how to fish, and although the youngprince did not much care for the taste of fish, the sport of fishing seemed like it might be great fun.
    It was a wonderful time now in the N’yrthghar, particularly in the region of the Bitter Sea. Grank often said it should be called the Sweet Sea at this time of year, for the earth unlocked, much of the snow melted, and even where it did not, wildflowers sprang up at the edge of drifts. There were bright little yellow stars called avalanche lilies and tiny pink blossoms named teardrops of Glaux. Fragrant herbs and wonderfully soft mosses grew everywhere. Game was plentiful, though a bit scrawny after moon cycle upon moon cycle of deep winter.
    One lovely spring evening at the cove, Hoole was having his first fishing lesson as Berwyck coached him from an overhanging limb of an alder. “That’s it, Hoole. You know when you do that downward spiral to break through the water, really lay those wings back close to your body. You want to be as a sleek and narrow as possible, like an ice blade slicing through the water.”
    Hoole felt the water divide as he hit it. Silvery bubbles streamed back from his head. It was as if he were racing through a starry liquid night. His third eyelids slipped into place to protect his eyes from the water and any debris, just as they did in foul-weather flying. A grummyswam by. It was strange but he knew exactly what that fish would do. Indeed, he almost felt like a fish himself. Observing how the creature swam, he realized that in many ways swimming was like flying, and water was like air. There were waves of water just as there were drafts of air one could ride. To turn, the fish had to rudder its tail just as Hoole had to do when flying, and was doing right now underwater while tracking the fish. Then he started backstroking with his wings, which were almost like the grummy’s fins. At this particular moment, he felt himself become more fish than owl. Yet he still had his feathers, his talons. Suddenly, he knew this was the moment to snatch out with both talons. The fish was his! He burst through the surface of the water, the silver-blue grummy flopping about but firmly gripped in his talons. He deposited it at Berwyck’s feet and looked up.
    “Good job. You’re a natural!”
    Hoole hesitated.
    “You know the rule, lad,” Berwyck said. “You catch it, you eat it! We don’t hunt for amusement!”
    “Yes, Brother Berwyck.”
    “Give it a good thwack and put it out of its misery, or its misery will shortly become your misery. You don’t want that critter flopping around inside you. They’re scratchy, especially the tail when you swallow them alive.”
    Hoole gave it a good thwack, and the fish was instantly dead. He looked at it for a few seconds.
    “Pretty, isn’t it?” Berwyck said.
    It was. In death, grummies turned all the colors of the rainbow. The silver and blue flushed into tints of rose and gold and purple and green. It was odd to think that death could have such beauty. Hoole blinked and gulped down the fish.
    Somehow thinking about that question of death unleashed within him the other questions he had been wondering about for so long: questions not about death but about life.
    “Berwyck,” Hoole began slowly.
    Berwyck looked at him intently. He sensed that something of great import was about to happen, that this incredibly bright young owl wanted to know something vital.
    “Berwyck,” Hoole began again. “How did I come to be?”
    “To be?” Berwyck replied in a stunned voice. Although he had expected to be asked something important, he was astonished by the way Hoole put it.
    “You were hatched, Hoole. You hatched out of the egg.”
    “But what was there before the egg? Who made the egg? Uncle Grank?”
    “No, no. It’s…er…well…it takes two owls to make an egg.”
    “Two. Well, who were the two?”
    “Well, a male and a female.”
    “Male? Female?” Hoole had never heard these words.
    “Yes, you’re a male,” Berwyck said.
    “Are you?”
    “Yes, and so is your uncle Grank and so is Theo.”
    “Have I ever met a female?” Hoole