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Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

Titel: Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
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called out to Kalo’s mate, hardly more than a heap of feathers collapsed in a corner of the burrow. The Burrowing Owl looked up. His face had featheredgray overnight. The white swag of feathers above his eyes had thickened, as had the one beneath his beak. “She’s gone,” he sobbed.
    “Then she saw it? The blue feather?”
    “I guess so. She left me this note.” He handed Cory a scrap of paper.
    My dear mate, my brother Coryn, and my little owlet ,
    You must understand, all of you, how deeply I regret endangering my own family. But in truth, every owl in every one of the five kingdoms is endangered, for we’re not talking about losing our “vanities” here. We’re talking about losing the right to think. Books can be burned. But the ideas and the knowledge in them cannot be killed. Owls can die, but books, never. Fear of ideas is the most extreme form of cowardice. I have love in my gizzard and heart; they only have hatred. I have inspiration from the books I have read; they only have terror from the lies they have chosen to believe. I have heroes, like Siv and King Hoole; Grank, the first collier; and Theo the peaceful blacksmith. They have no one but that twisted blue owl. So don’t worry about me. These owls who hunt me are more cowardly and more defenseless than I am, for they have stopped thinking .
    Glauxspeed ,
    Kalo
    “I’m going to find her,” Cory said.
    “I knew you would say that.” Grom looked up as if seeking an answer. “But what has happened to thatfriend of hers, that Barn Owl we thought was to be the noblest of kings? The one you were named after?”
    It was then that an idea came to Cory. He turned around to leave the burrow.
    “You’re leaving?” Grom asked. “Going to find her, right now?”
    “No, I am going to see a king, a king who was once noble.”
    As Cory angled north by northeast to catch the wind, he noticed that the border between Silverveil and his own scoured landscape, The Barrens, seemed different. The verdant lushness of one of the most beautiful forests in the Southern Kingdoms, like a cloth of green plush with trees and undulating meadows and valleys, usually rose up in sharp contrast to The Barrens. But now he noticed bare patches in the tree line along the border, and when he crossed over, the terrain below appeared scarred and scorched in places. He saw smoldering pyres and his gizzard writhed. They are everywhere , he thought. Wherever will Kalo hide? Yes, Balefire Night was coming, but these piles of wood and brush were much more numerous than those usually prepared for the celebration.
    In a clearing below, he saw a gathering of owls. Something was about to be ignited. Great Glaux! It’s an owl—it’s four owls . He felt his gizzard turn to stone. I am going yeep , he thought. The ground was rushing toward him. His vision suddenly narrowed, tunnel-like, its edges a radiant blur as the ground rushed up. He felt the wind press through his feathers. His eyes dried out. A hiss filled his ear slits. It was the noise of his body gathering speed. I am going to die , he thought. But then he felt something grab his neck. Talons gripped him. He was floating up again. The ground receded. He could see the moon, the stars, and then the dark embroidery of pine needles.
    “There’s a hollow right up here, buddy.”
    Cory looked up. A Masked Owl was clutching him.
    “Thought you bit it.” The owl smelled like charred wood, coal, fire!
    “You going to burn me?” Cory asked.
    “Are you yoicks? There’s enough burning around here. It’s these blue-feather thugs. They steal coals from my forge to start their haggish fires.”
    Cory almost fainted with relief. The Masked Owl was a Rogue smith. There was a famous one in Silverveil he had heard of from Kalo. In fact, if he recalled correctly, this Rogue smith had been a good friend to the king, when the king was a young’un living with his terrible mother in the canyonlands.
    “Well, that was certainly a close one,” the Rogue smith said, tucking Cory into the hollow.
    “What are they doing down there? Are they burning owls?”
    “Not yet. Just dummies—effigies, I think they call them.”
    “Effigies of whom?” Cory asked.
    “Well, I’m not sure. Let’s have a peek. You feel steady enough?”
    “Yes,” Cory replied and followed the Rogue smith out to the end of a long limb.
    Below them on the ground were four figures made from bundles of twigs and dried grasses. One was very large and was covered

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