Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

completely scornful of what he called such “stupid and outrageous vanity.” He threw the thing out of the hollow.
    Nonetheless, he felt a great affection for the little Barn Owl. When she slept, he often watched her. For Striga,she represented the vigorous, wholesome life he had yearned for but never had. In the days and nights of caring for her, putting her needs before his own, and suffering the privations of life in the rustic hollow, a hope dawned in his gizzard: Maybe this little owl could be his redemption. Maybe he could do more than just wait for the completion of the cycle of his fate. They said there were no shortcuts. But there were—there had to be. He was a good owl now, no matter what he had been before. He could change his fate. This was his chance.
    Other owls had mourned their existence at Panqua Palace, Striga reasoned further. But that was all they did: mourn. They had not become sickened, literally sickened, by the excess as he had: the jewels, the rubies, the sapphires, the constant preening of their glorious feathers, feathers as brilliant as the jewels that imprisoned them. While those owls had grown fat and ungainly, had he not lost weight? While their feathers grew long, had he not cut his? It was a sign that he was different. That his spirit was more refined. He knew that some force had chosen him, some force even greater than that of fate had dared him to change his destiny. So he had defied them. He had escaped, borne by the Zong Phong, into a new world. And now this little owlet, whom he had saved,confirmed to him that he was chosen for something else, something grander than the antiquated notions that governed the owls of Panqua, notions that they merely subscribed to and had no power to change. Well, he had power. And his mission must now be to warn others of the deadliness of excess, luxury, and the vanities. This was his duty, his sacred duty, and by fulfilling it, he would free himself.
    But he was no fool. He still had much to learn. And why not, given the life he had led? It was embarrassing that this little owlet who called herself Bell knew so much more about hunting than he did. Earlier today when he had brought back an especially mangled mouse, she had asked if he had lost altitude too fast at the beginning of his kill spiral. The kill spiral is the plunging dive that an owl makes as it closes in on prey. Striga was completely ignorant of such a maneuver. “Kill spiral?” He had blinked. Bell explained in more detail.
    “Yes, it’s important to keep it very tight. You do it by using your wing tip as a pivot. You drill the air. That’s the expression.” Bell had nodded authoritatively.
    “Sounds complicated.”
    “No, not really. Takes some practice. But I learned it really fast, faster than my two sisters, and I’m the smallest of the lot.”
    Bell, too, remembered the hunting tips she’d given Striga earlier. Her eyes had brimmed with tears when she mentioned her sisters. Now, as he was off hunting again, she felt herself getting all weepy just thinking about them. She sniffed and tried to think of something else to pass the time until Striga returned from the hunt. Imagine, she thought, me teaching a grown-up owl about the kill spiral. Blythe and Bash won’t believe it! A sob welled in her gizzard. She swallowed. Would she ever see them again? And Mum and Da? Her wing felt a lot better. Maybe she could try just a short flight. A teeny-weeny one. She stepped tentatively out of the hollow. I’ll start with branching. Just the way I did when I was little in the days leading up to my first flight ceremony.
    She hopped to the nearest branch. Then hopped again and again.
    Only two trees over from where Bell was testing her strength, in the thick, gnarled branches of an oak, an owl with weathered, ragged wings and a huge moon face watched the little owl’s progress. “Will you look at that!” Nyra whispered to herself. Amazing, she thought. Same speckled pattern around the fringes of her facial disk. Same tilt to her eyes. That’s Soren’s chick—I’ll stake my gizzard on that.
    There was no time to think. One minute Bell was hopping from branch to branch. She paused to waggle herport wing a bit and was thinking that it was still a bit sore when a horrendous glaring disk appeared in front of her from out of nowhere. It looked as if the moon had fallen from the sky. The thought flashed through her mind, It’s the hagbogey! Her gizzard cringed and twisted