Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

and whatever random crows might be passing overhead.
    So as night bleached into day, the three owls nestled beneath the overhang of a boulder and went to sleep. It was the first time that either Phineas or Hoole had ever slept on the ground. The Snow Rose, however, was used to such accommodations because Snowy Owls lived and nested inwhat they called ground scrapes. Just before falling asleep, the three owls were alone in their own thoughts.
    The Snow Rose remembered a fox that she had once caught in Silverveil years before. It had been so long since she had tasted fox that her gizzard gave a little gurgle at the mere memory of it.
    Phineas missed his own family’s hollow and his parents and younger sister, who had all perished in a forest fire in the region known as Ambala.
    Hoole reflected on how curious life could be. He had thought he was an orphan and then discovered that he had a mother. Then she died before he could even get to know her. He had thought he was an ordinary owl and now he was a king. Why had he been able to fetch that coal from the fiery mouth of the volcano? It had all happened in the midst of battle, the battle in which his mother had been dealt her mortal wound. Something had beckoned him during the battle. He had actually flown through a curtain of flames, which had not even singed him. But he did remember something now: The sides of the volcano had begun to turn transparent and that was how he saw the ember. This ember—was it a blessing or a curse? He knew deep in his gizzard that it could be very dangerous. He had seen the subtle changes that occurred in some owls when they were in its presence. He remembered alltoo well how Grank had become oddly agitated, and how Theo, Joss, and Phineas had replied to him in that queerly mindless way before they had left on their missions. As long as the ember was in his possession, however, he felt he could master whatever peculiar emanations it had and, for the most part, protect those around the ember from its influence. But what would happen after he was gone? Death did not frighten him anymore. He knew that his mother, Siv, would be waiting for him in glaumora. Death did not frighten him, but leaving the ember behind did.
    His eyes grew heavy now. He must stop thinking about such things. How wonderful it would be if he could meet once more with Berwyck; how lovely, those lazy evenings of fishing back in Bitter Sea on the island, the two of them perched on the limb of an alder that hung out over the pond. The moonlight scattered across the surface of the dark water, and the fish stirring beneath—just waiting to be caught. There was no ember then. He did not know even what a mother really was exactly, and he certainly had no notion of kingship. Life was very, very simple then. Hoole yawned and fell fast asleep as if into a dense fog.
    The fog thinned to a mist, and from the mist flew a lovely Spotted Owl. Her spots seemed to shimmer. She looked battle weary but strong. Hoole’s gizzard sang. Whata warrior! And she was flying straight into another skirmish. I must help her, he thought. He spread his wings and took off. It was hard to see her. Was the fog thickening now? Was it not fog but the Short Light? Was the Short Light here already? Impossible. Not yet. Hagsfiends? Were they doing this? Was their magic so powerful that they could change the moon cycles? Every time he sensed the Spotted Owl close by, the fog would thicken more. He lost sight of her. The spots of her plumage, which moments ago twinkled with the brightness of the stars, faded away. Now the fog turned dark. Not dark like the night, but a crowish darkness, and didn’t he smell a terrible stench? And almost as soon as he thought this, a dreadful yellow light seeped out of the dark. Great Glaux, it’s the fyngrot — I am going yeep!
    Then the shadow of an owl with a misshapen wing blocked the awful yellow light. It was his mum!
    “Mum, where are you?”
    “Hold steady, my prince. Hold steady.”
    “I can’t! I can’t!”
    “Hoole, wake up! Wake up!” The Snow Rose was shaking him hard, so hard that a small storm of her feathers swirled across his blinking eyes. Just like the fog, he thought.Phineas was standing next to her, looking quite frightened. “You were having a bad dream, I think. Sorry about the feathers,” the Snow Rose apologized, “but I’m just getting ready for a mid-season molt.”
    Phineas hopped over. “Are you all right? What was it?”
    “A bad