Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

disturbing as the others. For many moon cycles now, Braithe thought he was free of these dreams. All the activity recently—meeting Soren and the other Guardians of Ga’Hoole, helping the Guardians in their battles against the Blue Brigade and the Pure Ones, and discovering new libraries—had kept his mind busy and driven the dreams away. But now, as things quieted down again, the dreams were making their return. They would rob him of sleep, Braithe knew, and make his waking hours miserable.
    Braithe reached with a talon into what looked like a knot in the heartwood, opening a tiny, hidden compartment behind the knot. He pulled out a small pouch. He hadn’t looked at its contents since last autumn, when the crowns of the heartwoods were a fiery shade of red. He reached between the layers of worn lemming leather and pulled out several fragments of a parchment.
    He had found the fragments in his mum’s nest after she had died of gray scale two summers ago. The first time he had read the parchment, he was confused. Then, as he digested what he read, his confusion turned into devastation. It was his da’s writing; he recognized it easily. The letter had been written to his mum. It mentioned things, puzzling and alarming things, that Braithe wanted desperately to make sense of, but never could. He knew every word written on those fragments, they were seared into his memory, but he read them again.
    My work at St. Aggie’s is going well…my devotion to Skench and Sporn…am most loyal to St. Aggie’s…be more aggressive on raids…We are preparing to raid nests in the Forest Kingdom of Tyto.…deliver the next egg to them…that the last egg I snatched from…happy to raise it as my own…
    St. Aggie’s was the despicable group of owls who owl-napped hatchlings and eggs from their nests, who moon blinked them to make them docile and unquestioning, who made the owl families of Ambala live in a constant state of fear, season after season. Braithe grew up hearing stories of their villainy and was no stranger to the evil deeds of Skench and her cohorts. He also heard myriad stories of a Spotted Owl named Hortense, who bravely infiltrated St. Aggie’s to rescue countless eggs. Braithe had heard the saying all his life: “A hero is known by only one name, and that name is Hortense.” Ambala never took for granted the sacrifice made by Hortense, nor did it ever forgive the atrocities committed by the owls of St. Aggie’s.
    How was it possible that Braithe’s own father was working for St. Aggie’s, as the fragments of parchment implied? Over and over Braithe reviewed the damning letter for clues: My work at St. Aggie’s is going well… …That certainly sounded bad. The last egg I snatched… …Was his da really an egg snatcher? Happy to raise it as my own… …Could Braithe himself have hatched from a snatched egg? Was Bo not even his real da? And why had his mum never spoken of this? Did she know of her mate’s treachery all along? The letter must have meant a great deal to her if she kept its fragments. Now it was too late to ask either of them. Braithe feared that he would never find the answers.
    He read the fragments again. Each time he looked at the words, he hoped he would discover something, a new tidbit of information, a revelation he had previously missed. But the words were the same, as were the pieces of soft, worn parchment. Same, too, was the potent mix of shame and doubt gnawing at his gizzard. My father, an egg snatcher working for St. Aggie’s! How can it be true?
    Braithe carefully tucked the parchment back into the leather pouch. He took out one of the books of poetry he had brought back from the great tree and began to read. He knew sleep would elude him today.
    A few nights later, Braithe found himself perched in a heartwood in front of three eager owlets. It was story time for the family of young Spotted Owls. Sasha, Patch, and Avi were very excited because they were about to hear one of their favorite tales from the Others: “The Ransom of Red Chief.” And Braithe was one of their favorite storytellers in all of the Brad.
    “It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you…” Braithe began.
    “The Ransom of Red Chief” was a simple tale written by O. Henry, one of the Others. In it, two criminals kidnap a little boy for ransom. But their young captive, a bratty and mischievous boy who calls himself Red Chief, actually enjoys staying with his kidnappers, thinking it a