Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

playing with a small chunk of ice from a broken ice mirror. She held it this way and that in her talons, examining it. She tilted the smooth, triangular chunk of ice, catching the light of the setting sun. When she held the ice at a certain angle, the sunlight burst through it, splitting into a rainbow.
    “Look, Da!” she exclaimed, holding the prism steady in the light so that Flinn could see what she saw.
    “Lovely, my dear!” he replied.
    “They’re all here, Da!”
    “What’s there, Fritha?”
    “Colors! Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet…All the colors you’d ever want to see,” she answered. Then she added, “You don’t need sedges and berries to make colors. You can have all the colors your want in this little chunk of ice!”
    What a smart little owl , Flinn thought, and churred.
    Fritha waved the ice in her talons excitedly. The sunlight reflected from the polished surface and hit Flinn right in the eye. For just a moment, he was blinded. He shielded his eyes from the beam with his wing. When he looked up again at his daughter, he was reminded of an owl from his youth—Gylfie, another smart little owl.
    Flinn watched Fritha play with the chunk of ice until twilight, all the while thinking about what that Elf Owl might be doing at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. They probably taught proper lessons there—lessons about how a chunk of ice could contain all the colors of the rainbow, lessons about the properties of mirrors and light. Here, a small owl like himself was often overlooked. But there, perhaps, they were valued and respected as much as the bigger owls.
    Just then, a small raiding party flew toward them from the south. There was a huge commotion in the sky. The owls, a dozen or so of them, landed raucously, boasting of their spoils. Some of them looked to be painted a brownish red, but Flinn immediately knew that it was not paint or dye—it was blood.
    Among them was a Screech Owl named Drusilla—one of Fritha’s young friends. She was but half a moon older than Fritha, and was already going out on raids. Fritha had been quite taken with the slightly older owl. Drusilla was covered in dried blood, and proud of it.
    “I wish you could have seen me, Fritha,” Drusilla bragged. “I was ferocious!” She mimed slashing at another owl with her talon.
    “I’ll bet!” Fritha replied excitedly.
    Flinn saw Fritha’s eyes light up as she listened to Drusilla boast about having killed an owl for the first time. He wilfed. In that moment, Flinn knew that he would not, could not, let his daughter become like that.
    The next night, Flinn brought Fritha to the hot springs south of Pirates’ Lair. He found a small pool of tepid water in a natural depression in the ground.
    “Tonight, I will teach you how to wash all that dye off your feathers,” he told her.
    “So that I can dye myself different colors next time?”
    “No, Fritha.” Flinn had been thinking about his daughter and the great tree all day, and he had brought her here for a reason. “I don’t think you’ll want to paint your feathers for a while.”
    Fritha looked at him with inquiring eyes.
    “You know that in other parts of these kingdoms, owls don’t paint their feathers at all,” Flinn continued.
    “No other owls in all of the Northern and Southern Kingdoms paint their feathers, only we kraals do.” Fritha repeated one of the things that her father had taught her.
    “That’s right. And what if I told you that I think you would be happy in one of these other places?” Flinn didn’t know exactly how to tell his daughter what he was planning, but he went on. “I knew of an owl once, a little owl like you and me, who was as smart as any owl I had ever met. She came from a place far away from here, a place called the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. It’s in the Southern Kingdoms…”
    “What are you trying to say, Da? Am I going away?” Fritha asked nervously.
    Of course Fritha figured out his meaning immediately. She began to wilf, making herself even tinier than she already was. The last thing Flinn wanted to do was to make his daughter sad, but he had made up his mind.
    “Yes, Fritha. I’m sending you away to a better place.” He girded his gizzard, and had answered emphatically.
    “Sending? Does that mean you won’t be coming with me?” She wilfed completely.
    Her sadness broke his heart. “No, dear, I won’t. I’m an old kraal. What would the Guardians want with the likes of me?” he said wistfully.