Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

find.”
    “They probably have slipgizzles,” said another voice.
    “No, they probably followed us here from Silverveil. Harry, it’s all your fault. I knew we shouldn’t have spent the summer in that stupid tree in Silverveil. Burrowing Owls do not belong in forest trees. They belong in burrows in barren lands like this or in deserts.” She began to wail again.
    This was exactly the same argument Coryn had heard them having a few months before. The father had wanted to spend the summer in Silverveil. The mother had not, and now she was blaming the father for the stolen egg. Coryn’s gizzard trembled in sympathy, and his heart went out to the family even though they had screeched the most horrible imprecations and insults at him when they had thought he was Nyra. But what was to be done? He had better get out of here right away before they all stormed out of the burrow ready to wreak vengeance on the first Pure One they saw—for which he would undoubtedly be mistaken.
    But wait! Coryn thought. Perhaps there was a way he could help them. Maybe he could find that egg. If the rumors of Pure Ones’ activities in Silverveil were true and if they had been followed, as the female Burrowing Owl had claimed, maybe he could try to retrace their flight path. Instinct told him that the Pure Ones would not be flying these eggs back to the canyonlands one at a time. Since there had been so many tales of them in and around Silverveil, this might be where they had temporarily taken the eggs. Furthermore, since the female Burrowing Owl had been so reluctant to spend the summer in Silverveil, the family most likely had gone to a part of the forest that was closest to The Barrens. This might not be far off his course to Beyond the Beyond. It would certainly be worth it if he could retrieve their stolen egg.

CHAPTER SEVEN
A Heartbeat Calls
    T he border between The Barrens and Silverveil was a long one, stretching from the Shadow Forest to the west, all the way to the Sea of Hoolemere in the east. As Coryn flew, he gave further thought to the Pure Ones’ strategy for snatching eggs. If Nyra was anything, she was practical. She would have her lieutenants set up a cache for the stolen eggs. Then she would borrow or steal a coal bucket from a Rogue smith for transport so that several eggs might be taken at once.
    By Coryn’s reckoning, the egg cache would be limited to a triangle at the juncture of Silverveil and the Shadow Forest, right at the northern corner of The Barrens. He would have to be careful. He was wondering if he should return to his old ways of flying in daylight rather than night. In daylight, he would risk mobbings by crows. At night, he would risk encounters with the Pure Ones. Some choice!
    He flipped his head straight up as he flew, then rotated it in the widest arc possible. Clouds were coming in. Lowwoolly ones. And the moon, being just a sliver, was not bright. He could fly above or even within the clouds. They would camouflage him perfectly and every now and then he could poke his head out to survey the territory. He had flown this country before, and he realized that he had very good instincts for memorizing flight routes and land. No matter what the weather might be, each territory generated its own peculiar wind currents. Not only that, the sounds were different depending on whether they came from the hardscrabble part of The Barrens or the vast prairies, which were covered in grass that made the wind sing. It was the same with the forests. Each forest had its distinct sounds.
    And perhaps most important of all, he was very familiar with the flight sounds of the Pure Ones. They flew fast and they flew noisily. Their plummels, those soft fringe feathers that edged the wings of most owls, were stiff and ratty from lack of care. He had learned from Mist how to take proper care of his plummels, and he remembered swelling with pride when she had told him that he finally was flying as quietly as a Guardian of Ga’Hoole.
    So Coryn began to spiral upward and penetrate the low, scudding clouds. But he had forgotten one thing. Clouds were wet. He plumped up his feathers to disperse the fine droplets. It wasn’t a downpour but he had to givea bit of a shake every once in a while to shed the moisture that was building up.
    He hadn’t been flying long when he sensed a distinct change in the landscape beneath him. Sounds softened. He knew he was over the lush green valleys and thick stands of trees of Silverveil.