Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

Brunie, I told myself it was just a rumor. Forced it out of my mind. But I should have known. Her constant questioning, all the times she disappeared, supposedly to hunt but never brought back any food…I should have known all along,” his anguished voice began to trail off. “I am such an old fool.”
    Rodmilla and three Ice Talons guards approached Dark Fowl Island from the east. She wasn’t happy about having to move faster than she had planned, but it would have to do. It was awfully bold of the Resistance to fly right into the heart of Ice Talons territory to attack a storage hollow, and after Rodmilla and her troops finished this short reconnaissance mission and reported back to headquarters, the rebels would suffer dearly for their daring: It was time for payback. She’d finally discovered the location of the Resistance’s hideout—a quick search of the secret compartment behind Berrick’s nest had given her that. To think, she had thought her mate was a dotard—an old fool looking for adventure, gathering herbs, tending to the occasional wounded rebel he chanced to stumble upon. No, her Berrick turned out to be much more than that! Who knew that the key maps and all the information she’d been searching for were right under her beak the entire time! The Great Horned guard, who was flying point, signaled to Rodmilla and the others that it was time to make their descent.
    Their mission was to scout out the rebel hideout in advance of an attack by a larger force. The four owls would approach the Resistance pretending to be locals wanting to join the Resistance. No one would recognize Rodmilla as an Ice Talon, after all, and the guards flying at her side were new recruits. The Ice Talons would return with a larger team later, after she gave them a report of the reconnaissance.
    The plan was for Rodmilla to enter first and speak to whoever was in charge. She had always been the best sweet-talker in the Northern Kingdoms. But as soon as Rodmilla entered the cave of the rebel hideout, she knew her mission had fallen apart.
    “Rodmilla!” Thora shouted. She had almost said “Mother” but that just felt wrong under the circumstances.
    Rodmilla was only stunned for a moment. Then her voice turned venomous. “Well, well…Thora, fancy meeting you here, among the rebels!”
    “Turnfeather! How dare you?”
    “Oh, no, I’m not a turnfeather, dear. I have always been on the same side—the winning side. An Ice Talon through and through. I should have known that you would join this sad little Resistance. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. And I should have known that you would be the one to ruin all my hard work.” Rodmilla eyed Sig, who was trying desperately to get up. “Is that your intended , then? I blame him, too. His little raid made against our storage hollow forced us to set things in motion earlier than I had wanted. It really is too bad for you lovebirds, and for your little sister and your pathetic father, too.”
    “Brunwella? And Da? What have you done to them?” Thora asked.
    “Nothing…yet. I had it all figured out for both of you. I got Henryk to propose to our pretty little Brunwella, and I was about to accept on her behalf. It would have been quite an alliance. The marriage would have solidified the firths’ allegiance to the Ice Talons, and your father would have had to make certain…concessions when it came to his involvement in the Resistance. And you, well, you were too ugly to marry off, but your voice isn’t half bad, and I thought I could have gotten rid of you by sending you to the Southern Kingdoms to be a singer. I was going to get rid of both of you without hurting either of you, so don’t blame me when it ends otherwise. You’ve gone and ruined it all. Whatever happens now, it’s your fault!”
    Rodmilla’s eyes glowed a deadly yellow as she took to the air inside the small cave with battle claws extended. Thora stumbled back in shock, not knowing what to do. Rodmilla was almost on top of her.
    “NO!” Sig screamed and threw himself in between Rodmilla and Thora.
    There was a blur of gray and white feathers and the sound of metal tearing into flesh. The next thing Thora knew, Sig was lying in a heap on the cave floor, and Rodmilla was still advancing. Thora reached for the battle claws, the ones that she had made in Orf’s forge. She had never flown with battle claws before, and had no idea how to use them, but they would be better than nothing. As