Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

could your mother, my dear. Just hum along,” the Snow Rose said as she tucked a few random feathers and some twigs into the fan of Hoole’s tail. My goodness, she thought, I am actually tucking a feather into the back plumage of a king! Imagine a gadfeather dressing a king! A little tizzy in the old gizzy, she chuckled silently to herself.
    The Snow Rose then turned to Phineas. “The same goes for you. I’ll do the melody. You do the harmony. Let’s hope no one asks us to sing. Remember, we’re going to plead sore throats—or at least the two of you are.”
    It had been Grank’s idea that Hoole, like his mother, should go disguised as a gadfeather on this flight into the Southern Kingdoms. Although few had seen Hoole, there was always the chance that some owl might recognize him. When three gadfeathers set off from the great tree, no owl would suspect a king was among them.
    Soon Cape Glaux loomed ahead of the trio on the far side of the sea, which the owls of the tree had taken to calling the Sea of Hoolemere.
    Their mission was twofold: to get news of Emerilla and to recruit slipgizzles. They lighted down on the tip of Cape Glaux. “Where to go?” Phineas sighed. “Where to begin?”
    “A grog tree,” the Snow Rose said quickly. “That’s where one gets all the news or gossip. There are bound to be some gadfeathers there and perhaps a few old perch warriors.”
    “Perch warriors?” Hoole and Phineas asked together.
    “Perch warriors. Never heard the expression?” The Snow Rose blinked. Phineas and Hoole both shook their heads. “Well, some are veterans, but many of them have never been to war. Of course, they won’t admit that. Mostly they perch in grog trees quaffing great quantities of bingle juice and clacking their beaks about war, old battles, and notions about how they should have been fought. Moments of great valor, usually their own. They are either too old or too lazy for war now, but they have very definite ideas about it. Glaux forbid they should actually ever have to get off their perches and fly into battle. But they are all for sending the young’uns off.”
    “Hmmph!” Hoole gave a snort of disapproval.
    “Yes, I know,” the Snow Rose said. “But they are a verygood source of information. Some of it could be quite helpful. They’ll talk to anyone. If there has been word of a Spotted Owl from the N’yrthghar who is missing in action, they will know about her. And if there has been a Glauxian Brother around, they will know about him, too.” Here the Snow Rose gave Hoole a look, for he had spoken to her and Theo about his wish to enlist Brother Berwyck in their cause. “They have great contempt for the brothers.”
    “Because they don’t fight?” Hoole affectionately thought of dear old Brother Berwyck, who had taught him how to fish when he was still quite young, Brother Berwyck who had come to the S’yrthghar some time ago on a pilgrimage.
    “Exactly.”
    “Well, where’s the nearest grog tree?” Phineas asked.
    “I believe there is one on the border between Silverveil and the Shadow Forest. But it’s getting on toward morning. What with crows and all, I think we should wait until tween time.” Hoole and Phineas sighed impatiently. These young owls, the Snow Rose thought. “Now, don’t fret. The days are growing shorter. Evening will be here before you know it. We have just enough time before twixt time to get something to eat.”
    It was good hunting on the cape. With few trees, preywas easy to spot, and the rocky outcroppings and scrubby land was scampering with voles, mice, and the occasional rock rat, which were particularly succulent.
    Phineas caught one that they shared but gave Phineas first choice since he was the one who had pounced on it.
    “I say, Phineas,” the Snow Rose nodded at the little Pygmy Owl. “You hunt right good for a little fella.”
    “Size has nothing to do with it,” Hoole said. “It’s all about accuracy. See where he punctured it—right between the eyes? Phineas has always been a great hunter. No one does the kill spiral like him.”
    A riffle of embarrassment stirred Phineas’s feathers. The little Pygmy was a very modest owl and did not relish being the center of attention. “It was nothing,” Phineas said as he tore off the head of the rock rat.
    The spindly trees that grew on Cape Glaux offered no hollows, but beneath some of the large boulders that were scattered across the land, they found shelter from the wind