Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

of enchantment. And more important, it was home—it felt welcoming and comforting.
    Just as he was landing on a mossy rock, an owl—an old, grizzled Whiskered Screech—floated slowly by Braithe. Funny, he thought, the owl is silent . In the Brad, owls were constantly talking, reciting the words found in all the books that they were able to collect. If it was not for the thick moss covering every surface, the valley would be reverberating with the hoots of owls, and snatches of prose and verse. Braithe knew every owl in the dell and looked around to see who had just wafted by. Only silence and stillness greeted him. He seemed to be alone in this part of the Brad. He noted to himself that he should find out who that owl was. He always made it a point to keep track of everyone here, like a living catalog. But it would have to wait until night; now it was time for a well-deserved rest.
    Braithe nestled down into the soft moss in the hollow of a heartwood. His hollow was close to the ground. The heartwood’s immense size and the valley’s great depth meant that even during the day, the hollow was in near darkness. Owls who did not live in the Brad often had trouble falling asleep in such conditions, but Braithe was used to it. His head was heavy and he drifted off to sleep and immediately into the midst of a deep and vivid dream….
    Braithe was flying as fast as he could over a large stretch of water on a moonless night. He turned to look back. Something was following him. No, something was chasing him. He turned and searched the sky again. He saw no one, yet he knew he was being pursued. He flapped his wings harder, lifting himself higher. Thunder rumbled above him in a low, menacing groan. I’ll be safer down low, closer to the water. He dove toward its surface. He turned again. And again, he saw no one. But he felt a presence and he knew his pursuer was getting closer. Suddenly, he heard a long, feather-raising screech. It reverberated off the surface of the water. No, it came from the water.
    He looked down into the still, black surface. Lightning lit up the sky, and Braithe saw his own reflection. It glided along with him, wing beat for wing beat. As he watched, his reflection began to grow older and turned into that of his da, Bo. Braithe’s father had disappeared shortly after Braithe was fully fledged. Braithe never knew what happened to him, and it always pecked at the back of his gizzard. His disappearance wasn’t the only thing about his da that haunted him. The reflection of Bo stared up at Braithe from the surface of the dark water. His beak opened, but no sound came out.
    As Braithe flew, the reflection changed again, growing older still. Its feathers began to thin and lose their color. Its eyes grew dull. Its beak lost its luster, and marks—no, scars—appeared on it. If this was truly him, he was aging, withering in front of his very own eyes. The reflection opened its beak again. This time, it let out a chilling, low growl.
    “Lil’s spots,” it said.
    Braithe didn’t understand.
    The voice grew louder and more insistent. “Lil’s spots! Lil’s spots!” it screamed.
    Braithe suddenly felt as if he was being pulled toward the water. He was falling, plunging into his own reflection. He tried to flap his wings but the water made them heavy—too heavy to move. He reached out with his talons in a futile attempt to hold on to something, but they, too, were leaden. He tried to cry out, but no sound came out of his beak. The two owls, one real and one reflected, became one in the darkness of the water.
    “LIL’S SPOTS!” Braithe woke up shouting.
    He took several shallow breaths before he realized that he was safely nestled in his hollow. He looked down and saw that he had unknowingly puffed out his feathers in a threat display. His heart was racing and his gizzard felt like a rock. He peeked out of his hollow. The sun was still high in the sky, so he could not have been asleep for long. Braithe settled back down and tried to fall asleep, but sleep would not come.
    The dreams are back, he thought woefully. Ever since his father disappeared, Braithe had been haunted by dreams of him. Most often in these dreams, he would encounter his da somewhere familiar, but his da would not recognize him. Sometimes he dreamed that he was watching his da go yeep from a perch very high up, helpless to save him. The dream he’d just had of his reflection in the water was a new one, and it was every bit as