Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

the three B’s.
    “I’ve known about that place for a long time,” she went on.
    For a split second he was not sure what place she was referring to.
    “That place with the damp moss and the ever-wet stone and the thrumming roar of…of water, and I think mist. The mist that clings to your feathers when you come back. The mist that carries the mossy smell.”
    Soren shook his head in disbelief. “You know all this—but how, Mrs. P.?”
    “Soren.” She slithered off the perch and wound herself up into a neat coil on the floor of his hollow. She cocked her head and regarded him. It was as if those sightless dents bore directly into his own eyes. “Really, Soren. You know better than to ask how or why. I was with your family before you hatched, and I’ve been with you ever since—except for that unfortunate time.” The “unfortunate time” was when Soren, a mere pre-fledged hatchling, had been captured by a St. Aggie’s gang that roamed the forest skies searching for owl chicks who had fallen from their nests. Of course, in Soren’s case, he had been shoved out of the nest by his older brother, Kludd. She always referred to Soren’s capture and imprisonment in St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls as “that unfortunate time.” Mrs. P. was given to understatement.
    Soren coughed slightly. “Yes, foolish of me.”
    “Not foolish, Soren. You just don’t want me to go.”
    “No, no. You know I have no trouble flying with you. Nearly every member of the Chaw of Chaws has transported you at one time or another.”
    “Then what is it?” Mrs. P. persisted.
    “Well, what would be the point of your coming?”
    Let’s see …Mrs. P. thought. How to say this diplomatically? “Well, Soren. I think if I could accompany you to this place of the mists—”
    “It’s called Palace of Mists, but close enough,” Soren said, astonishment just on the edge of his voice. How in the world does she figure this stuff out?
    “Yes, Palace of Mists. I think I might be able to help you understand these fragments of documents.” Soren’s beak hung open in amazement. There was no use trying to disguise his wonder now.
    Mrs. P. continued. “You know, get a feel for what this new kingdom, this distant land is. What do you call it?”
    “You know about the sixth kingdom, too?”
    “Oh, yes, dear. The whole thing came together for me when Otulissa kicked Twilight at tweener. The vibrations were quite overpowering. I thought I might collapse. Although it’s hard for a snake to collapse. You know that offensive expression ‘lower than a snake’?” Soren merelyblinked. “You see, Soren, if you do decide to go on to this sixth kingdom, after you visit the Palace of Mists…”
    “You mean you don’t know what we’ve decided?” he said with mock wonder.
    “Now Soren, don’t get sarcastic with me. It does not become you at all.”
    “Sorry,” he replied, immediately contrite.
    “As I was saying, I thought that if you go to this Palace of Mists place and then on to…”
    “And then on to what?” Soren blinked.
    “Well, I don’t quite know what to call it. ‘Sixth kingdom’ doesn’t seem to be a proper name, really.” The space between the indentations for her eyes furrowed. “It’s rather nameless, I suppose, like the Unnamed Sea.” She gasped. “Oh dear. That’s it. The Unnamed Sea—you want to cross it!!!”
    “Mrs. Plithiver.” Soren shook his head in wonder. “You are incredible.”
    “No, no, not at all. I just want to go with you, accompany you, and…” She hesitated and then waggled her head slightly as if considering her next thought before she spoke it aloud. “I think, Soren, I might be of help. I mean, this could be a new world for you. If there are owls, they are going to be different owls, with different sensibilities…” She let the last word linger as shestretched herself up. Then, slinging herself over a lower perch, she let herself hang in a configuration that seemed halfway between a question mark and an exclamation point. Mrs. P. was a subtle manipulator of punctuation—bodily punctuation—in service to her discourse.
    Soren knew she was absolutely right. She had not exactly called the owls oafish creatures or dunderheads, but she had elegantly made her point about the benefits, the advantages, that her rare sensibilities could confer on this undertaking.
    “All right. But I’ll have to discuss this with the others first.”
    “Of course, dear, of