Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

quelling the most dangerous kinds of owls, which had found their way into the Middle Kingdom long ago.
    “But I still don’t understand,” Otulissa said to the Striga. “You now have fewer feathers than any of us. Especially on your face.”
    “I strip them out. It is my personal penance. Thus I relinquish the unnecessary things, the distractions.”
    “I’ve never thought of feathers as a distraction, frankly. They are a most essential part of our bodies.” She paused. “Our true owlness, as it were.” She emphasized the word “owlness.”
    “But not your spirit! And how can the spirit rise, become everlasting, when burdened by the vanities of feather and bone?” The Striga blinked his pale yellow eyes.
    What did the Striga mean by “everlasting”? Life was the here and now. One must be able to rise into the air above this earth and fly. Was it not an abuse to pluck the very gifts Glaux had given owls to make a life for themselves? But Otulissa, for whom arguments were like a tonic, had no desire to engage in any further discussion with the Striga on the subject. Indeed, after this odd conversation, Otulissa was rendered speechless for one of the very few times in her life.

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    Text copyright © 2007 by Kathryn Lasky.
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    E-ISBN: 978-0-545-28344-1
    Cover art by Richard Cowdrey
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