Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

how’d you ever do that?” a very young owlet who had barely fledged peeped up.
    “Oh, it wasn’t all that hard,” Twilight said and dipped his head almost modestly.
    “Not that hard!” Mrs. Plithiver piped up. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done!”
    “You!” the male Masked Owl exclaimed.
    “She certainly had nothing to do with the defeat of the crows. She’s a nest-maid,” his mate said in a haughty voice.
    Mrs. Plithiver seemed to fade a bit. She nudged one of the worms that had begun to crawl off Digger’s wing.
    “She had everything to do with it!” Soren bristled up and suddenly seemed almost as big as the Masked Owls. “If it hadn’t been for Mrs. P., I would have been dive-bombed from the rear and poor Digger would have never made it back.”
    The Masked Owls blinked. “Well, well.” The large female chuffed and stepped nervously from one talon to another. “We just aren’t used to such aggressive behavior from our nest-maids. Ours are rather meek, I guess, compared to this…What do you call her?”
    “Her name is Mrs. Plithiver,” Soren said slowly and distinctly with the contempt in his voice poorly concealed.
    “Yes, yes,” the female replied nervously. “Well, we discourage our nest-maids from socially mingling with us at any time, really.”
    “That was hardly a party, what happened up there in the sky, ma’am,” Twilight said hotly.
    “Well, now tell me, young’uns,” said the male as if he was desperately trying to change the subject. “Where are you heading? What are your plans?”
    “We’re going to Hoolemere and the Great Ga’Hoole Tree,” Soren said.
    “Oh, how interesting,” the female replied in a voice that had a sneer embedded in it.
    “Oh, Mummy,” said the young owlet. “That’s the place I was telling you about. Can’t we go?”
    “Nonsense. You know how we feel about make-believe.”
    The little owlet dipped his head in embarrassment.
    “It’s not make-believe,” said Gylfie.
    “Oh, you can’t be serious, young’un,” said the male. “It’s just a story, an old legend.”
    “Let me tell you something,” said the female, who Soren disliked more and more by the second. “It does not do any good to believe in things you cannot see, touch, or feel. It is a waste of time. From the look of your flight feathers’ development, not to mention your talons, it is apparent that you are either fly-aways or orphans. Why else would you be out cavorting about the skies at such dangerous hours of the morning? I think your parents would be ashamed of you. I can tell you have good breeding.” She looked directly at Soren and blinked.
    Soren thought he might explode with anger. How did this owl know what his parents might think? How dare she suggest that she knew them so well that she knew they would be ashamed of him?
    And then there was a small soft, hissing voice. “I am ashamed of anyone who has eyes and still cannot see.” It was Mrs. Plithiver. She slithered from the corner in the hollow. “But, of course, to see with two eyes is a very common thing.”
    “What is she talking about?” said the male.
    “What happened to the old days when servants served and were quiet? Imagine a nest-maid going on like this,” said the female.
    “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Plithiver. “And I shall go on a bit more, if you permit me.” She proceeded to arrange herself in a lovely coil and swung her head toward Soren.
    “Of course, Mrs. Plithiver. Please go on,” Soren said.
    “I am a blind snake, but who says I cannot see as much as you?” And then she swung her head sharply toward the female Masked Owl, who seemed startled, and it did appear indeed as if Mrs. Plithiver was looking directly at her with her two small eye dents. “Who says I cannot see? To see with eyes is so ordinary. I see with my whole body—my skin, my bones, the coiling of my spine. And between the slow beats of my very slow heart, I sense the world here and beyond. I know the Yonder. Oh, yes. I have known it even before I ever flew in it. But before that day did I say it did not exist? What a fool you would have called me, milady, had I said your sky does not exist because I cannotsee it nor can I fly. And what a fool you are to believe that Hoolemere does not exist.”
    “Well, I never!” gasped the Masked Owl. She looked at her mate in astonishment. “She called me a fool!”
    But Mrs. Plithiver continued. “Sky does not exist merely in the wings of birds, an impulse in their