Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

dream, I guess,” Hoole replied.
    “What was it about?” Phineas pressed.
    “I can’t really remember. Something about fog, I think, because when I saw Rose’s feathers, I thought I was still flying in the fog.” He paused and raised a talon to scratch his head, then gave himself a little poke in his belly feathers near his gizzard in an attempt to jolt his memory. “For the life of me, I can’t remember what the dream was about. But it wasn’t all bad,” he said. It was as though a wisp of something sweet and dear had blown through that dream. “Is it tween time yet?” he asked.
    “Just,” the Snow Rose replied. The three owls peeked out from under the overhang. The sky to the west was purpling and streaked with clouds of burning orange. The moon was just rising behind the clouds, which cast an eerie yellow light on it. Hoole felt a twinge in his gizzard and a riffle passed through his feathers. Phineas looked up at his friend. “Scroom fly over your deathspot?”
    “Huh?” asked Hoole.
    “For Glaux’s sake, he’s spooked enough!” the Snow Rose scolded.
    “It’s just an old saying from Ambala. It doesn’t mean anything,” Phineas said apologetically.
    “I only wish it were a scroom,” Hoole replied cryptically.
    “Now, what do you mean by that?” Phineas asked.
    Hoole gave a soft churring sound. “You know, I’m not quite sure. But let’s get on with our business.”
    So, as the orange clouds were engulfed in purple, and the purple darkened to black, the owls rose into the night along with the first stars.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Perch Warriors
    “ S o, as I was saying, I had just confronted that young lieutenant who didn’t know his pin feathers from his flight feathers, ‘That ain’t the way you fight these creatures—begging your pardon, sir,’ I told him. ‘When you got them hagsfiends with their cursed fyngrots, you chase them toward open water.’ So that’s exactly what we did. I took charge of the operation and…”
    Hoole, the Snow Rose, and Phineas had alighted in the grog tree, just as the Great Horned Owl had begun to hold forth. When he finished, he turned to the three new arrivals. “Bless my gizzard, what have we here? Three gadfeathers. Come from the north, did you?”
    “Any good fighting up there?” a Great Gray asked. Hoole recognized him. He had come with the hireclaws Siv had gathered when she had flown to the Beyond for that last battle. He hoped that the Great Gray would not recognize him in his gadfeather disguise.
    “Good fighting in the north,” a Barred Owl interrupted.
    “I’ll say. Me cousin says that the Glacier Palace has been invaded by hagsfiends led by a young hothead. Some claim he’s mad.” Hoole felt his gizzard still.
    The Great Gray turned to the Snow Rose and Phineas, ignoring Hoole, for which he was thankful. “Then you fellas missed the big battle down here. In the Beyond,” the Great Gray said. “Spectacular. I’ll never forget the sight of the young king coming through that wall of flames with the ember.” Hoole wilfed a bit and kept his head low between his shoulders. “Some bingle juice, will you? And some for my friends here.” The Great Gray summoned the grog tree keeper, a disreputable-looking Screech Owl, who arrived with nutshells that held the potent liquid. They would only pretend to drink the juice. Hoole, Phineas, and the Snow Rose had to keep their heads clear.
    Just then, a completely Trufynkken Short-eared Owl staggered through the air. “Another one, please, Harry! Medicinal purposes, you know.”
    “She was wounded up on the H’rathghar. Lost half of one foot,” a Barred Owl whispered to Hoole and Phineas. They looked at her port-side foot, which had only two talons left.
    “Must make hunting hard,” Hoole said.
    “We look after her. She should lay off the juice a bit, though,” the Barred Owl said.
    “Whatcha be sayin’ about me, Alastair?” The Shorteared Owl suddenly spun her head around. Some bingle juice spat out with her words.
    “Nothing, dear. Nothing.”
    “It is for medicinal purposes—the brother who tended me when I got down here said…He said to me…‘Lolly, darlin’, nothing like a little touch of the old bingle to ease the pain, especially when winter comes on.’”
    “Brother! A Glauxian Brother?” Hoole asked.
    “Well, certainly not my own. Me own brother ain’t worth a seagull’s splat.” Hearty laughter roared through the tree and shook the branches. A couple of