Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

other bits of organic matter had collected in crevices called “trunk pockets,” which, over the ages, had decayed into soil. And into these little patches of earth, seedlings had found their way. Huckleberry mostly. In the lower canopy of the tree, there was a tree-pocket garden that Otulissa thought of as her own, and she tended it lovingly.
    Otulissa discovered that many plants that grew on the ground could grow in the trunk pockets of the great tree. She had brought flowering plants, moss, lichens, even orchids to her hanging garden. Settling down amid the hanging lichens, beneath a clump of lovely liverwort that was spinning in shards of moonlight, she wondered about her lack of excitement over the Band’s expedition. Thatdelicious fizzy feeling she often experienced on the path of discovery was simply not there. If anything, she felt flat and apprehensive. She had stayed behind not just because of her duties. Winifred’s arthritis was a convenient excuse. No, it was something else. Why had she mentioned joke books when she had delivered her little speech about how one must read widely? It wasn’t just the diminished Harvest Festival that troubled her. For some reason, a large part of her anxiety seemed to be related to the library. The library and her precious books. No , she corrected herself, they are not just my books. They are everyone’s .
    Just then, one of the matrons appeared, a bunchy Barred Owl named Glynnis. The matron owls often tended the younger owlets, and worked in the infirmary and the kitchen of the great tree. “Want a spot of milk-berry tea, Otulissa?” she offered. “I have a little left in this pot, and you’ve got a cup there, haven’t you? Chill in the air.”
    “Oh, that would be lovely, Glynnis,” Otulissa said.
    “Working late?” Glynnis said as she poured the tea.
    “Yes, yes. I just have some things to attend to in the library.” Otulissa took a sip of tea and felt a twinge, possibly of defiance, she thought, well up in her gizzard. So much for the calming effects of the hanging garden. She set down her cup, thanked Glynnis, and flew down to thelibrary. She made her way to the back shelves where the young owlets had been perching earlier. She had intended to pluck down the joke book they had been reading, and then she spotted another called Slightly Filthy Riddles for Soiled Minds . She had never read any such fare in her life. But she, after all, was an advocate of reading widely. She only wished that the owl who called himself “the Striga” would appear right this minute and see her. There was one entire chapter devoted to wet poop jokes. She read the first one and began to chuckle.
There once was a seagull named Luke
    Who was hungry and craved some hot soup .
    He spied a swell fish, and exclaimed, “What a dish!”
    But spoiled it with a big splatty poop .
    Otulissa sighed. Such was the humor of very young owls, just the kind of jokes they loved to read and retell in the dining hollow, causing them to be dismissed immediately. But perhaps , Otulissa mused, this kind of foolishness is good for us older owls, too, once in a while. What is that blue owl so wrought up about? Why are his so very few feathers in such a twist?

CHAPTER SIX
Burnt Paper
    T he Band was on the wing again. They had made excellent time, and there was yet another hour left in the night until dawn. It felt good. Almost too good , thought Soren. It was somehow a relief to get away from the great tree. Pelli, his dear mate, seemed to understand implicitly, and even though he had told her that this was a scientific expedition, she sensed that there were other reasons he needed to be off for a while. She knew he was concerned about Coryn. Soren worried about the young king as much as he did about his own owlets. He was, after all, Coryn’s uncle. Perhaps it was because Soren himself had been taken under wing by the revered Ezylryb that he felt he must do the same for Coryn. In Ezylryb, Soren had the finest role model one could have imagined. He attributed all the good things he had learned, all the qualities and virtues that made him the owl he now was, to the grizzled old ryb. And there was not a night that passed that he did not miss that old Whiskered Screech. If hecould do as well by Coryn as Ezylryb had done for him, then all his worry would be worth it.
    Coryn was an owl endowed with mysterious and great gifts. Throughout his entire youth, he had exhibited unparalleled courage against