Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

Nyroc could not think of anything worse than losing his gizzardly senses—except maybe losing his wings.
    “For others,” Mist, also known as Hortense, continued, “it disrupted their navigational abilities. But for me, I just suffered from being quite small. It took forever for my flight feathers to come in, and I was never a very strong flier.”
    “But were you always so…so…”
    “So faded?” she said. “No, that has come on with age. My feathers whitened, and some became transparent.” She paused a moment, then stuck her beak into her breastfeathers and plucked one. “Here, take a look.” She held out a small feather to Nyroc but he could not see it well enough to reach for it with his talon.
    “By Glaux, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
    “Few have, obviously. Because I’m so transparent.” She churred as did the eagle. Even Zan managed a sort of hic-cuppy laugh. And the snakes, who had woven their bodies like bright green filaments through the branches of the nest, also laughed. “However,” she went on, “being transparent has its advantages.”
    “That’s how you were watching me, wasn’t it? I’ve felt your presence since I first arrived.”
    Mist nodded. The air around her seemed to shimmer whenever she moved or churred.
    “But now I have some questions for you. We have introduced ourselves, but you have not introduced yourself.”
    “I…I…” Nyroc felt his gizzard clinching. He might as well get it out. “I have no name. I have no family. I have no home.”
    “No…no…no…” Mist repeated and turned her head each time. The air once again shimmered. “How curious. Because I could have sworn—couldn’t you, Streak and Zan?—that he bears a great resemblance to…”
    Nyroc could hardly stand to hear it. He instinctively closed his ear slits. They’re going to say it! I know they’re going to say it! It’s the scar.
    “To Soren,” Mist said.
    The two syllables of the name seeped through despite his closed ear slits.
    “What?” Nyroc nearly shrieked.
    “Oh, definitely,” Streak said.
    “But look at my face.”
    “I am,” Mist replied calmly.
    “Look at my scar!”
    “Oh, yes. That’s plain to see,” she said.
    “But…but…” Nyroc stammered.
    “You see, my dear, I look at an owl’s eyes. That is where character resides. Deep within the glistening black of your eyes is a flicker of light, just as in Soren’s eyes. Your father’s eyes never had it. Nor do your mother’s. Her eyes are as black as river stones, polished as river stones, but dead, with not a flicker of that incredible dark light of Soren’s.”
    Nyroc’s gizzard was absolutely twitching. His brain was spinning. “So…so…so you knew all the time who I was, and where I came from?”
    “Oh yes, my dear. I did.”
    “Why didn’t you say so?”
    “I guess I wanted to hear it from you. You see, I saw you last evening by the lake when you—how should I put it?—formally renounced your birthright, your parents, your home, and finally your name. And by the way, you are right. You are more. Much more!”
    The thoughts that had streamed through his mind last evening came back to him now: I am of the same blood as my parents but not of the same gizzard, brain, or heart. The egg that held me came from the body of my mother, but I am not my mother’s son, nor my father’s. I am more. I know that with all my heart and with all my gizzard. I reject all that they were. I have no parents. I have no home. I am what I am but I shall never call myself Nyroc again. I have no name.
    “But how could you know all that? I didn’t speak that out loud by the lake. They were just my thoughts.”
    “That is another odd thing that I suspect was caused by the flecks. I have discovered, but only in my old age, that I can, on some occasions, read an owl’s mind. Rather like my grandfather who could see through rock, no offense intended. You hardly have rocks in your head. As I said, you are much more, much more than you ever could believe, Ny—” She started to say his name but then stopped. “By the way, you must find a new name for yourself. We must call you something.”
    “Yes, I suppose so…but are you suggesting that I stay here for a while?”
    “For a while, my dear. Yes.”
    That is all, just a while. Will I ever have a home? Nyroc thought.
    Mist knew what he was thinking but she also knew that she had been intrusive enough. There were boundaries that must be respected, the