Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

favorite color,” Matty, a young Snowy Owl, said.
    “Mine’s pink,” said another. “For my hatchday, Cook says she’s going to make me a pink Ga’Hoole nut cake.”
    “Oh, great Glaux!” Eglantine muttered. “If they start talking about hatchdays…”
    “Now, young’uns!” Pelli said sharply. “This isn’t about favorite colors. It’s about coals. All eyes on me, please!”
    Finally, the young owlets settled down. They were then divided into three chawlets for evening exercises: ember hunting, weather interpretation, and navigation. Pelli saw to it that the three B’s were separated because when they talked and giggled together, they could be quite disruptive. So Blythe was sent with the weather-interpretation chawlet to fly the squally front passing through. Bash was dispatched to some coal beds that still smoldered on the edges of the forest fire, and Bell flew with the navigation chawlet under the direction of Fritha, an up-and-coming young Pygmy Owl who often assisted Gylfie, the navigation chaw’s ryb.
    “She’s not as good as Gylfie,” Heggety, a Short-eared Owl, whispered. They were engaged in a very basic exercise of tracing the constellation of the Golden Talons, which had ascended a few nights before and would now be visible through spring and summer and well into autumn.
    “I know,” Bell replied. “And she’s not that much older than we are.”
    “She’s a preenie weenie,” said another. Preenie weenie was one of the worst things a young owl could call another.
    “Yes, she’s always combing Otulissa’s primaries,” Heggety whispered.
    “No whispering, please,” Fritha called back. “The best way to learn these configurations is to fly them. Heggety, right behind me now, on my tail. Bell, you fly behind Heggety. Matty, to my port wing, and Max, you to my starboard.” Max and Matty had a near midair collision as they became confused about which side was port and which was starboard. “Port here!” Fritha waggled her left wing in an exaggerated manner. “Starboard here.” She waggled the other. “I knew this by the time I was your age.”
    “Oh, go on! Stuck-up Pygmy!” Max muttered.
    “No talking now!” Fritha said. “Concentrate. I might give you a pop quiz when we get back to the tree and have you draw the constellations.” There was a groan from the four young owls.
    “Gylfie never gives pop quizzes!” Bell piped up.
    “Gylfie is not here tonight. I am here. I’m the substitute and what I say goes.”
    “I can’t stand substitute rybs,” whispered Matty.
    The owlets took their positions.
    This is so borrrrring! thought Bell. She was a quick learner and knew all the constellations. She could already draw them in her sleep. She wished she had been sent with the weather-interpretation chaw. Maybe this squall wouldhave scuppers with real baggywrinkles. The scuppers were the side trenches of a gale or squall where the edges of the wind spilled over. The baggywrinkles were the shredded air currents that lay just outside the scuppers. Oh, Bell knew all about the structure of a gale or squall, although neither she nor any of these young owls had flown in a true storm yet. Just her luck to miss out on climbing the baggywrinkles, and dancing in the scuppers! Blythe was so lucky!! Tonight would be the night and here she was, stuck with a substitute, missing all the fun.
    There was a rowdy old song that the weather-interpretation chaw used to sing when Ezylryb was the ryb. Soren had sung it to them once but Pelli, their mum, got very angry and said it had too many naughty words and wouldn’t permit it. But Bell could remember the melody and many of the words, which began to stream through her head now as she followed Heggety.
We are the owls of the weather chaw.
    We take it blistering.
    We take it all.
    Roiling, boiling gusts,
    we’re the owls with the guts.
    For blizzards our gizzards
    do tremble with joy.
    An ice storm, a gale, how we love blinding hail.
    We fly forward and backward
    Upside down and flat.
    Do we flinch? Do we wail?
    Do we skitter or scutter?
    No, we yarp one more pellet
    and fly straight for the gutter!
    There was another verse that she couldn’t remember because it was just at that point that her mum had cut her da off. It was something about stinky nights. Bell gave a small start, for at that moment she felt the curling edge of a dampish wind. Maverick swillage? she thought. Spun off from a nearby gale? The night had suddenly become