Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

before Hoole spotted the perfect hideout; a large cave in the side of a low sandstone shelf with some outlying rocks. As soon as they had settled into this natural fortification, Hoole took command. Perched on one of the rocks, he looked around.
    “My thought is that this place, so perfect for us, would also offer protection to the hagsfiends. We found itquickly. I think that there are similar formations that might give them shelter. My plan is to fly out at dawn and reconnoiter. The hagsfiends will be asleep.”
    “But what about the crows, Hoole?” Fengo asked.
    “The desert does not seem their kind of territory.”
    “‘Seem,’ Hoole?” Fengo asked. There was a low grumbling among the wolves. “I think you should fly with a guard.”
    “I’ll go!” “Count me in!” “Me as well.” A dozen wolves called out to accompany the young king.
    “I am sure,” Hoole said, “that three will be enough.” He scanned the pack. “Donneghail, Cailean, and Camran, you will run with me.” The three wolves were among the largest of the entire pack. They would defend him well. Donneghail, in addition to being fast and strong, was alert to the smallest things. If there was tumbledown in the brush, Donneghail would spot it.
    Following sunrise, Hoole had not been flying long when he saw a depression in the sand with big boulders along one side. He slowed his flight and then spiraled down to alert the three wolves.
    “Donneghail, you go out ahead and see if you spot any of the tumbledown. Remember it is not as black as their flight feathers—just soft balls of gray fluff.”
    “Yes, Hoole.”
    When he came back, he reported that there were no such telltale signs, neither tumbledown nor hag scent.
    Hoole lofted himself once more into flight, and the three wolves loped along beneath him. Perhaps, Hoole thought, these hideouts are not as plentiful as I thought. But at just that moment, he saw the wolves suddenly stop below him, and then about a quarter league ahead, he saw them, their immense black shapes billowing in a sandpit. Hoole flew a little closer for a better look. Even though they were only about twice the size of owls, their wings were huge and it appeared as if the darkest storm clouds had settled on the earth. There must have been at least thirty of them, their black-feathered bodies rising and falling in the rhythms of sleep. Hoole carved a turn and flew back to a boulder where the three wolves waited.
    “There are at least thirty of them.”
    “The sun is high. So there are hours left until they rouse themselves,” Cailean said. “Should we go back and get the others and then attack them?”
    “Sounds like a good idea,” Donneghail said. Camran agreed.
    “But, my friends, there is a problem.” Hoole spoke thoughtfully. “We would have the element of surprise, but the brightness of the day would rob the greenness of your eyes’ light.”
    Hoole had thought about this deeply since he had first looked into the flames of Rupert’s fire and had seen the green light that had so reminded him of the ember. It had come to him at that time that Grank himself had told him long ago that he had first seen the image of the ember in the eyes of Fengo. Hoole, most of all, was suspicious of the power of the ember in many ways. He had seen evidence of how it could alter those who came near it. Was it its light, its heat, that caused these altered states? And was there an affinity between some of the ember’s powers and that of wolves? They both shared this intense green light. Was it possible that the wolves had a power equal to—if not greater than—that of the fyngrot of the hagsfiends? How then might it be used to greater effect?
    “We must have the darkness of the night for my plan to work,” Hoole said.
    “Aaah!” All three wolves realized at once that what the young king said was true. Hoole had explained to them that the green light in the eyes of the wolves was so similar to that of the ember, he felt in his gizzard that it could shatter the fyngrot. They must trade the element of surprise for the effectiveness of the dark. And this would be a perfect night because the moon had dwenked and the newing had not yet begun. It would be black as pitch.
    “There are at least thirty of them,” Hoole explained when they returned to the other wolves. “They sleep in a shallow pit. Much shallower than this one. My plan is this.” Hoole lofted down from the rock where he had perched and dragged one