The Capture

question."

    "Of course, dear, I mean sleep and don't apologize about the question. We'll get stricter with that later."

    "But it's against the rules. We're suppose to be getting ready for our work assignments."

    "Sometimes rules are made to be broken. In my opinion, they should go much easier on you owlets after you first arrive. You're orphans, for Glaux's sake."

    It still disturbed Soren deeply to be called an orphan.

    He had a mother and a father and a sister and a brother. He wasn't sure why, but there was something shameful about being called an orphan, especially when one wasn't. It was as if you were this disconnected, unloved creature.

    "I know," Auntie continued. "I'm just an old broody" What was a broody? Soren wondered, but he suppressed the urge to ask. Soren hopped up into the stone niche. My goodness, he thought. I did that rather well. Could have passed my branching test on that one. And then he became very sad when he thought that he had not even been able to begin his first branching lessons with his father.

    Sleep indeed was hard to come by -- even a blink or two, because when Soren started to think about branching, he, of course, could not help but think about flying and remembered watching Kludd's attempts and finally his first very small flight. Something pushed at the back of Soren's brain, a memory.
    Soren was not sure how long he had been sleeping but it was not Auntie who woke him up. It was something else, something unspeakable. Once more he felt that terrible queasiness mixed with dread. It was as if his gizzard might burst. But the terrible truth settled like a stone inside him. Kludd had pushed him! It came to him in a flash. So real that he could still feel the swift kick of Kludd's talons in his side and then pitching over the edge of the hollow.

    His legs began to shake. Auntie was at his side. "Need to yarp, dear?"

    "Yes," Soren said weakly. He yarped a miserable little pellet. What did he expect? He had never even had his First Bones ceremony, which again made him remember all of Kludd's strutting about when he yarped his first pellet with bones. Would they have such things as First Bones ceremonies here? They did everything so strangely. The Number ceremony, for example. They called that a ceremony! Ceremonies were supposed to make you feel special. The Number ceremony hadn't made him feel anything. Auntie Finny was nice, but the others really weren't so nice at all, and this orphanage business -- what was that all about? What was the real purpose of St. Aggie's? Skench, the Ablah General, said, "When Truth Is Found, Purpose Is Revealed." No questions, just be humble. The only truth that Soren knew right now was a deep gizzard-chilling one: His brother had shoved him from the nest. Think, Gylfie, thought Soren.
    Think of something!

CHAPTER SEVEN

    The Great Scheme

    Pretend to march, Soren. That is what we must do!" It was just after the first rising shriek had been sounded by the brutish Great Horned Owl, who perched on one of the outcroppings. Soren and Gylfie had met at the stone ledge for morning food rations.

    "What do you mean, pretend to march?" Soren blinked. Between the horrible truth about his brother and missing his parents, Soren could hardly hear what Gylife was saying. His head was filled with the thoughts of his parents. It seemed as if every hour he found a new, more painful way to miss them. One, he decided, did not get used to missing parents. The thought of never seeing his mum or da again was the most unbearable thing he knew. And yet he could not stop thinking of them. He did not want to stop thinking of them. He would never stop thinking of them.

    "Listen to me, Soren. It came to me first that the reason for the march is because of the shadows cast from the
    high cliffs into the glaucidium, and the arch is always in the shadows. Right?"

    "Right." Soren nodded.

    "We are forced to march so that no one group of owls will spend too much time under these shadowy shields against the moon's light. I remembered what you said, how we must pretend to say our names but instead we actually repeat our numbers. And then it was easy. We have to pretend to march but never move, so we stay under the protection of the shadows. I suddenly remembered how my father, who was a great navigator, one of the best in the entire Desert of Kuneer, had tried to explain to me that stars and even the moon do not move in the way they seem to from our view on Earth. Some stars, my