Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

an extra feature. Tavis reached up with his beak and gave a good tug at the tumbleweed branch that stuck out of the roof of the tunnel. The tumbleweed, along with rocks and sand, fell into the tunnel and blocked it completely from the Pure Ones on the other side. The tunnel was suddenly filled with silence.
    The two Great Grays and the family of Burrowing Owls emerged into the twilight at the northeastern edge of the Desert of Kuneer. They were all tired and dirty, but they were alive. The two eggs had not a scratch on them, and the newly hatched chick was sleeping peacefully. Tavis’s wounds still burned, but they would heal.
    “You saved our family,” Trixie said to the brothers. “We can’t thank you enough.”
    “We’ve decided to call this young’un ‘Gray,’ for his Great Gray saviors,” Saul added.
    “I think that’s a fine name,” Cletus replied. Tavis nodded in agreement.
    From where they stood, the brothers could see the stands of tall trees in the Forest Kingdom of Ambala in the distance. They had run away from Ambala all those years ago in part to get away from the Pure Ones. Now, here they were, once again homeless because of the Pure Ones. But there was one big difference. This time they were saviors. This time they had not let themselves or others be bullied by the Pure Ones. They prevented other owlets from being orphaned, as they had been. And they kept families together.
    Here at the great tree, Tavis and Cletus have found their permanent home and been reunited with their long-lost brother, Twilight. Their astonishing desert rescue is being taught to young owls in the search-and-rescue chaw so others may be saved. These brave brothers have exemplified ingenuity, courage, teamwork, and coolheadedness in the heat of battle. And perhaps most important, they’ve taught us that sometimes victory is found in retreat.

FIVE
A Secret in Braithe’s Gizzard
    O f the great tree’s many friends, I can think of few as intriguing as the Whiskered Screech, Braithe, the founder of the Brad, the Place of Living Books in the forests of Ambala. There, every owl who loves to read becomes a book—memorizing every word on every page until he or she is able to recite the entire work at will. As if that were not enough, Braithe, along with the rest of the Greenowls of Ambala, bravely flew to the aid of the Band and the great tree in the Battle of Balefire Night. The Guardians and the Greenowls came together to defeat the Blue Brigade and the Striga.
    Braithe’s story is one of self-discovery. It was shortly after that fateful Balefire Night that the truth began to unfold. With the help of friends in this world and beyond, Braithe uncovered clues that helped him to solve a mystery that had plagued him since his fledgling days. I was touched that Braithe chose to share his story with me, and then allowed me to share it with you.
    It was near dawn. Braithe flew silently over the Forest of Ambala. He had just visited the library at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree again, and had found several volumes of poetry that he wanted to commit to memory. He carried one of them in his botkin now. He would have much work to do in the Brad in the coming nights. Braithe looked for the distinctive rounded crowns of the heartwood trees that marked its presence and banked toward home.
    The entire kingdom of Ambala was verdant. But the Brad, the place Braithe called home, was especially lush. The Brad was hidden in a valley so densely covered with thick moss that it was known as a moss hole. The grove of heartwood trees that Braithe flew toward grew to enormous heights there, and hid the valley’s great depth from above. Unsuspecting birds overflying the Brad would never guess there was such a drop in the land below.
    As he spiraled downward into the dell, the early morning light changed from bright and clear rays to a dim and dreamy green glow. Some have compared the Brad to the spirit woods. True, there was something not quite real about this place, but Braithe never thought of it as eerie as he did the spirit woods west of the Island of Hoole. He had visited the spirit woods just once before, having been drawn to it for no particular reason he could name. In the short time he was there, he heard voices in the wind and saw strange reflections in the mist. He found it cold and disquieting, even though he didn’t really believe in scrooms, and left as quickly as he had come. This place, the Brad, on the other wing, was a place