Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

become a soldier of the Tytonic Union. She said that not only would he be committing an act of personal sacrifice, he would also be “putting that poor thing out of his misery.” In her mind, the owlet would have led an “impure” life, so why should he have lived at all? With her urging, Uglamore shoved the still flightless owlet from his nest high atop a fir tree. He felt utterly confused and miserable afterward. He was being praised by his mum and his fellow Pure Ones for completing his Special. They told him how proud he should have felt. But the thought of his poor little cousin falling to his death had made him sick to his gizzard. He didn’t sleep for a moon cycle.
    Unlike Uglamore, Nyroc had refused to murder his friend. He fled from the canyonlands as a result. He flew north on tattered wings. When Uglamore learned of this the next night, he was so afraid that the young owl might fall out of the sky on those sad, de-feathered wings, that he took off in pursuit without a command from Nyra. It was an act of defiance, for sure. But Nyra, in her ever-self-important frame of mind, had interpreted it as an act of courage. She actually believed that Uglamore had gone after Nyroc in order to bring him back to her. “Yes, good, Uglamore! Get that little ingrate! I’ll make you colonel yet!” she called after him.
    Uglamore was not the best tracker, but Nyroc’s trail was not hard to find. The poor owl was still losing feathers. Worse, he was losing blood. Blood! When Nyroc had refused to harm Dustytuft, Nyra flew into a rage and savagely slashed her own son’s face. The sight of his blood made Uglamore’s gizzard lurch. He tracked through the night, northward. He almost didn’t notice that he had arrived in a forest. The sun had risen, but tall pine and spruce trees cast long, dark shadows. From the floor of the deep forest, Uglamore could barely tell that it was morning.
    It had been a lifetime since he had been there, but there was no mistake, this was where he came from. Ah, the Shadow Forest! Uglamore was home.
    Uglamore followed Nyroc’s trail as far as the pond, then the trail disappeared. Snow had begun to fall and covered up any clues Nyroc might have left as to his whereabouts. Uglamore looked into the pond, the edges of which had started to freeze. He remembered looking at his own reflection in that very pond as a hatchling. How he had admired his own heart-shaped face and black eyes. “Tyto alba through and through,” his mum had said of him. Uglamore glanced into the water again. He could hardly recognize himself. The years he spent with the Pure Ones had not been kind to him. His face had grown thin. The once-smooth outline of his face, where the white feathers of his facial disc met the brownish ones, had become broken and ragged. He couldn’t help but think he looked like a mean old owl, the kind of owl that hatchlings stayed away from but made fun of when they were out of earshot.
    He looked up at the trees around the pond. Would he recognize the one that he once called home? No, he decided. None of the trees looked remotely familiar. He had only vague memories of this place, and besides, the landscape must have changed since his hatchling days. In fact, just on the other side of the pond, a tree had toppled in a recent storm. He wondered if that could have been where his hollow was. He flew toward the fallen tree out of curiosity. The tree had many hollows and smaller holes. I suppose this could have been my home , Uglamore thought. He approached a hollow about halfway up the trunk, and poked his head in. Uglamore jumped back instinctively. An owl! Owls did not go poking into the hollows of strange owls. He didn’t think any owls would occupy the hollow in an uprooted tree. But those feathers… He knew those feathers. Nyroc!
    The poor hatchling must have been exhausted from his journey. Who wouldn’t be, having flown all this way on tattered wings? Nyroc did not stir as Uglamore poked his head into the hollow once more. He had found him after all. He had followed Nyroc to make sure he was okay. Now that he saw that he was, Uglamore didn’t know what to do next. Would he join Nyroc on the run from Nyra? He decided he couldn’t. He might be of help to Nyroc now, but once the young owl grew stronger, Uglamore would only slow him down by staying with him. Should he just turn around and go back to the Pure Ones? Was that the only way for this old owl? No, he could not. There seemed to