Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

him. “I guess there’s no harm in believing. I’ll help you with your warrior training. Da and Mum are going to be thrilled to pieces, you realize.”
    The very next night, Clay began training like he was some sort of hero owl from the legends. He really dove into it, beak and claw. Master Benard, the old master-at-arms, was astounded. Da was outright shocked—happy, but shocked. Where Clay used to be timid around weapons, he became more daring. His began to fly farther and into stronger winds. He became very interested in warcraft, studying it and researching it with the intensity he previously had only for music. He grew stronger in wing and talon.
    For a while, it all seemed to be going very well for Clay. I was proud of him. My big brother was finally starting to live up to my family’s expectations, and he seemed to be pleased. Only…his approach always seemed a bit aca demic. His head was in it, for sure, but he lacked that certain…oh, how should I put it—gizzardly instinct.
    I’ve always believed it’s something you can’t teach an owl, it has to come from within the second quadrant of the gizzard. Well, even if I couldn’t teach it, I thought I could at least encourage it in Clay. I would go on to find the perfect opportunity to do so when winter came.
    For several nights after our ice weapons practices, Clay and I would gleek about the armory, playing innocent pranks on Master Benard. When he took inventory of the weapons, Clay and I would hide a weapon while he was trying to keep count, and just when he’d think it was lost, we’d put it back in its place as if it had been there all along. Sometimes, we would replace one weapon with another, and he would think he was seeing things. It drove him crazy! Benard had a tough exterior, but inside, he was warm and jovial. We knew he might find our pranks mildly annoying, but we also knew he could take a joke.
    One night, Clay and I went into the armory with Master Benard. We had just had to cut short our battle claw drills as a fierce blizzard was threatening. We were on our way to return our practice claws. As we went past the display area for the Mountain Claws, Benard did a double take. He went toward the wall to take a closer look. All of sudden, his voice rang out with fury.
    “Claymore! Cleve! You’ve gone too far this time! It’s one thing to have a lark with an ice scimitar, it’s quite another to mess with one of the clan heirlooms. The two of you know better than to play games with it. What would your father say? Now, produce the Mountain Claws this instant!”
    We had no idea what he was yelling about. We went in for a closer look. That’s when we saw that the battle claws hung on the display hook were not the Mountain Claws, but a pair of common battle claws polished to look like the ancient weapon. Clay and I were dumbfounded. We hadn’t moved the claws, hadn’t touched them at all. We were innocent! We would never play games with the family heirlooms; we knew better than that. Clay and I spoke out at the same time, proclaiming our innocence. The shocked looks on our faces must have told Master Benard that we were telling the truth.
    It seemed that in the same instant, Master Benard, Clay, and I all arrived at the same conclusion.
    Master Benard called for Jak. There was no answer. He called again, the suspicion building in his voice, and in our minds. He called a third time. By then, we knew there would be no answer. We went looking for him. Clay and I knew that he often liked to take short naps in the library, so we looked there. Master Benard looked in the dining hollow, where Jak would sometimes pilfer snacks. There was no sign of him.
    Jak was gone, and so was our most precious family heirloom. Da was notified at once. There was quite a commotion, as you can imagine. Amid the hubbub, Clay nudged me. Then, he headed toward the back of the armory, where the ice weapons are kept, and signaled for me to follow. As we walked through the increasingly narrow passageway, Clay told me a secret.
    “I know something about this armory that I think few other owls do,” he began. “Remember when I used to disappear to read my books as an owlet? This is where I came.”
    “Here?” I asked. “Why here? And how did no one see you? This place is always bustling.”
    “Well, not in that part of the armory,” he nodded toward the main room, where Da and Master Benard were still talking. “When I was really small, when I first started