Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

Hiram’s face. He fell back in shock. When he cleared his eyes, there was a Barn Owl crouched in front of him. Hiram had never seen a Barn Owl up close in all his days in the desert, much less in his own burrow. The Barn Owl lowered her head menacingly and squinted her brown eyes at the Burrowing Owl, who was half her size. Hiram instantly knew that the Barn Owl was not there for a pleasant chat. He turned to run. Before he could take a single step, the Barn Owl reached out with her talons and slashed at him. Hiram fell. Blood ran from his nape where she had cut him, and soaked into the earth. As he lay there, feeling the life drain from him, the Barn Owl smiled and whispered to him, “That’s right, old-timer, the Pure Ones are here.”
    “I’m starving, brother. I’m beginning to wonder if I can eat a cactus,” Tavis said to Cletus.
    It was another night, and the two brothers were out on another hunt. It seemed as if they had been searching for prey for ages, flying low over the land in wider and wider circles. They had been used to the scarcity of food in their part of the desert, but this was becoming exhausting. There was not a mouse or a gopher to be found. They’d even settle for insects if they could find any of those. The last time they had seen their neighbor Saul, he told them he was afraid there wouldn’t be enough food to feed his chicks when they hatched. It was a subject that worried all their fellow desert-dwelling owls.
    All they had to do to figure out what happened to the prey was look down at the desert landscape. More new burrows had cropped up since their reconnaissance flight. There must be an influx of Burrowing Owls in this part of the desert. But it was baffling—owls usually went where the food was. Why on earth would all these owls move to this area when it had so little food to begin with?
    Before they knew it, they found themselves at the southern edge of the desert. Tavis and Cletus landed on a cactus to rest. They had been flying for far too long on empty stomachs. The tumbleweeds were beginning to look like fat squirrels to them.
    Out of the corner of Cletus’s eye, he noticed movement from one of the burrows. He instantly turned his head to focus on whatever it was that moved. What he saw startled him—dark eyes on a white, heart-shaped face—the unmistakable face of a Tyto alba. This was most unusual—not only because Barn Owls were almost never found in the Desert of Kuneer, but also because Cletus recognized that particular burrow. The Barn Owl took off in silent flight toward the north, having not spotted the two Great Grays that perched nearby.
    “Hey, Tavis,” Cletus whispered to his brother, “ain’t that Hiram’s burrow over there?”
    “I’m certain it is,” answered Tavis.
    “I must be seeing things on account of my being so hungry. I swear to Glaux I just saw a Barn Owl fly outta there.”
    “No, you ain’t seeing things. I saw it, too.”
    As Cletus looked at his brother, Tavis wilfed ever so slightly. Cletus, too, felt an alarming twitch in his gizzard.
    Silently, the two owls approached the burrow. They made themselves as small as they possibly could, which, by desert standards, was still huge, and crouched near the opening. They couldn’t get a very good look into the burrow, but they heard an earful. It sounded as if there were dozens of owls in that burrow! They knew the burrow to be very small. But tonight, it sounded as if it stretched across the desert, underground.
    Tavis and Cletus looked at each other. They knew that if they talked aloud, they’d surely be found out, so they kept quiet.
    There was quite a commotion in the burrow. Several owls were trying to speak at once, and it was hard to make out what they were all saying. After a little while, however, the owls in the burrow began to settle down. One voice rose above the rest.
    “What are we supposed to do about these desert dwellers?” an owl asked. “While they’re here, we can’t even go outside to stretch our wings without fear of being seen.”
    “Yeah!” another owl added. “This part of the desert is ours now, why are we still hiding?”
    Hoots of agreement ensued.
    “Quiet!” a voice called out.
    Both Cletus and Tavis instinctively ruffled their feathers, lowered their heads, and assumed a defensive posture. They recognized that voice. Tarn! That nasty Burrowing Owl neighbor of theirs.
    The owls in the burrow heeded Tarn’s command and instantly became