Guardians of Ga'Hoole 10 - The Coming of Hoole

creature in this N’yrthghar is but gadfeathers?” She did not wait for Svenka to reply. “They fly constantly. They are everywhere, all over the kingdom. They see everything. They hear everything.”
    “But they are stingy with their information, Siv. I know that for a fact. Ask them about herring runs and they want payment for it—a tuft of my fur, a whisker, a tooth I might have shed. Greedy, they are.”
    A sly sparkle glinted from Siv’s amber eyes. She cocked her head and looked at Svenka. Svenka was a quick study.
    “Oh, no, Siv! Not you, too!”
    “Just one little whisker, please, Svenka. And look at that fur ball Second coughed up this morning.”
    “That disgusting thing! You’re welcome to it.”
    “Oh, Svenka, thank you! Thank you!”
    “Don’t thank me, thank Second. And yes, you can have a whisker. Step up and pluck it out yourself but be quick about it. I still don’t feel good about any of this, Siv.”
    “I know. It’s probably all foolishness.”
    Svenka’s eyes glistened. “No, Siv, it’s never foolish to love a child, even when you cannot see him. I do understand.” Svenka took her enormous paw and ever so gently touched Siv’s shoulder.
    It did not take Siv long to collect a few more gadfeatherish trinkets with which to adorn herself. She found a rather fine blue-black cormorant feather and a dried-up fragment of a fishtail and with Svenka’s help wove them into her feathers. When they had finished, Siv steppedgingerly to the edge of the berg and looked down at her gaudy reflection in the clear still water. “Great Glaux, what a sight!”
    “You certainly look less than regal. No one would mistake you for a queen.”
    “That’s just the point,” Siv replied.
    “So you’re ready to go?”
    “Almost.”
    “What do you mean, almost? I told you that the gadfeathers always gather up at the mouth of the firthkin on that island this time of year. If you don’t want to miss them you had better fly soon.”
    “There is one thing that I want to happen before I go,” Siv said, looking straight and unblinkingly into Svenka’s eyes. The polar bear was clearly puzzled.
    “What is it, Siv?”
    “I want you to name First and Second.”
    “You do?” Now Svenka was completed bewildered. “But why?”
    “Because you love them dearly, as do I, and you are not going to love them any more or any less if they are named or unnamed. I think you owe it to them. They are fine cubs. They put up with my dreary ways. They are already calling me ‘Auntie.’ You heard them the other day when they were sliding down your back.”
    Svenka nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. Siv was right. The cubs deserved to have names of their own. “So we shall have to have a Naming ceremony,” Siv said.
    Svenka chuckled to herself. Oh, these owls and their ceremonies! Was it simply not enough to give them a name? No, it never was enough with owls, especially Siv. The polar bear remembered that when Siv’s beloved servant, Myrrthe, had been slain by the hagsfiends, Siv had climbed atop Svenka’s head holding a white feather of Myrrthe’s and had sung a beautiful song into the night. She had told Svenka that this was part of what owls called the Final ceremony. When an owl died, a special song was composed and sung at this ceremony. The song celebrated the memory of the owl who had died and who had hopefully found glaumora, the heaven of owls. Now Svenka roused her sleepy milk-drunk cubs so the Naming ceremony might begin.
    Second blinked her huge dark eyes. “Auntie, what did you do to yourself? You look so pretty!”
    “Oh it’s just for fun, really, dear.”
    “We’re going to give you names now,” Svenka said gently.
    “Names? What are names?” First asked.
    “They are what we call one another.”
    “But I’m First and she’s Second.”
    “Yeah, and I want to be First for a change.”
    “But I don’t want to be Second.”
    “Neither of you will be First or Second. You shall be Anka,” Svenka said nodding at Second. “And you”—she turned to First—“shall be Rolf.”
    “Rolf!” Rolf said with great delight. “Rrrrrolf!” He growled his name now. “I like that.”
    “Ahhhhnka!” Anka opened her jaw wide and let the sound roll around in her mouth and throat. “Ahhhhnkaaaa.”
    “Now quiet, dears,” Siv said as she climbed atop Svenka’s head, “and I shall sing you the song we owls always sing at the Naming ceremony when we have chicks. I’ll change it a bit