Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

said. “There is a lot of rabbit’s ear moss that grows in the Shadow Forest. It’s the best moss in the whole world for lining a young’un’s bed. I always bring some back for Pelli and the chicks. Maybe it doesn’t grow in the sixth kingdom.”
    “Brilliant!” Bess exclaimed. “Yes, I think that would be just the thing. Much better than those geegaws you tell me Trader Mags is always dragging around.”
    “Absolutely!” Otulissa nodded firmly in approval. She then swiveled her head toward Bess. She blinked her eyes shut for several long seconds. “Bess, your revelations this evening…”
    “Oh, do not call them revelations, Otulissa,” Bess protested. “That sounds so…so emotional. I prefer to think of them as evidence. These are documents, dare I say primary source documents, that you can hold in your talons. You can see that these are the writings of owls.”
    “Yes, yes, of course.” Otulissa nodded in great deference. She had understood for a long time that Bess was ascholar equal to herself. “I just mean to say, if I may put it plainly…”
    “Oh, please do.”
    “Bess, this is simple. It would be helpful, since you understand this language, or at least many of the words beyond the one that we share in common—Glaux—that you would come with us.”
    They all looked at Bess expectantly. The slender Boreal Owl wilfed, suddenly growing much slimmer. “No…no. I don’t leave the Palace of Mists. Ever!”
    “Never?” Martin asked in wonder.
    “Never,” Bess repeated.
    It was decided that the Chaw of Chaws would stay on for several more days at the Palace of Mists. They would study the charts of the windkins, memorize the key, and Otulissa and Bess would embark on an intense study of the random fragments of the peculiar language they had found on the documents.
    Soren reminded them that he had charged Primrose and Eglantine with the duty of informing the Parliament of their mission.
    “And if we do not return? If Eglantine and Primrose go to search for us and they do not return?” Digger asked.
    All of the owls turned their heads slowly toward Coryn. “The search will be given up. They cannot risk the entire great tree and its Guardians for this…this venture.”
    “But can we risk our king?” Gylfie asked quietly.
    “Kings are replaceable—but all of the Guardians of the great tree?” He paused. “Never!”

CHAPTER SIX
Where’s Bell?
    T he dozen young owls and their rybs were huddled in the large many-chambered hollow of an immense beech tree. Pelli perched on the edge of the hollow looking out into the buffeting winds. All the owls were back except for the navigation chawlet led by Fritha. Pelli hoped it hadn’t been a mistake to send them out with such a young owl. Fritha was clever, though still young in her judgment. But who would have expected these squall lines that had come bashing through! There had been only one to begin with—no sign of an entire line of them one after the other. Pelli hoped against hope they were not a prelude to westers. But that was a definite possibility.
    “I see them!” Eglantine cried out from a branch she was perched on outside the tree.
    “They’re coming, Mum,” Bash said.
    “Don’t worry, Mum. Bell is fine, I’m sure.” Blythe tucked in beneath her mum’s wing and gave her a snuggle.
    “Yes, Bell will be here soon,” Bash said, and squeezed between the feather trousers of her mum’s legs. Both owlets were trying to be very brave, but they had never seen their mum this worried. They could feel her heart pumping and a terrible grinding in her gizzard even though they had not eaten for a while, so there were no bones in there.
    Pelli blinked, then wiped her eyes clear twice with the third eyelid that owls use often in foul weather. The figures melted out of the darkness. There should be five, including Fritha. She spotted Fritha flying the point position, and there was Max to port and Matty to starboard as well as Heggety. Surely she is not having anyone fly double tail in this weather , Pelli thought, and felt her gizzard seize, then give an anguishing wrench. “Bell! Where’s Bell?” she shreed in the high-pitched cry of a Barn Owl, as Fritha landed on a wildly tossing branch of the beech tree. The young Pygmy Owl gasped and gave an anguished cry.
    “She was right behind Heggety! And Heggety was right behind me, and then suddenly she was gone!” Fritha could barely speak coherently through the sobs that wracked