Guardians of Ga'Hoole 10 - The Coming of Hoole

of the island and show us some of your amusing coals. You know we are determined to establish our retreat as a center for learning. Indeed, curiosity, in the best sense of the word, is what we as brothers celebrate. Everyone thinks of us as rather dull creatures, no fun at all, so much time spent in silence. But it is a loud silence for our heads are always buzzing with questions about the natural world. Yes,indeed, we would be most curious about your preoccupation with coals and fire.”
    “Well, perhaps someday, but for now I’ve got my talons full with this young’un.”
    “Oh, yes. I can see that.”
    It did not take long for Hoole to learn how to fly. In fact, it took him a spectacularly short time. He had begun his branching practice in the fragile lavender twilight and by the time the moon rose into the blackness of the night, Hoole was flying. They had made a lovely First Flight ceremony for him. Theo had tracked down a plump rabbit that Hoole tore into with great gusto. The white spots around his beak as well as the spots on his breast were now all red with blood. It was the first time he had ever eaten rabbit and he loved it. The fur was much finer than that of mice or vole and tickled pleasantly on its course to his gizzard. They had sung the First Flight song and then, as was the custom, took the snowy puff of the rabbit’s tail, which they had not eaten, and threaded it into Hoole’s head feathers. He was then required to fly once around the tree and return. Hoole felt a little bit stupid with the rabbit tail on his head and wished it had been a mouse or better yet a fox tail that would have streamed out behindhim. But he knew not to complain. Besides, he was simply too thrilled with this wonderful new sensation of flight. He felt as though he had stepped into another world. And, in fact, he had. He was part of the sky. As he sailed off into the moon-streaked night, he felt sorry for all those poor wingless creatures that were bound to the earth.
    “Watch this, Uncle Grank! Watch, Theo!” Hoole carved a perfect turn above the forge where several embers now glowed and the first flames rose up since the fires had been dampened three nights before. There was no sense in quitting the fires now that Berwyck knew all about them and the “curiosity” of Grank.
    It seemed to Grank and Theo that Hoole never wanted to quit flying. Night after night he practiced and strengthened his newly fledged wings with their lovely tawny-edged flight feathers. Just like his mum’s, Grank thought wistfully and wondered where Siv was. Siv, mother of Hoole, wife of the late King H’rath, friend of his own youth, and yes, he must admit it, love of his life. He was happy that Hoole had not asked him anything more about “parents” after Berwyck had referred to him as Grank’s son. In truth, Hoole was too intoxicated with his newfound powers to contemplate such questions. All the lad wanted to do was fly, fly, fly. And when Grank or Theo called him home to the hollow, as the dark of thenight thinned into the gray of dawn, he would always say, “Please, just five more minutes.” He had no idea what five minutes was exactly but it sounded like a good long time to skim across the silk of the night, to catch a bit of a rogue wind or a warm draft from the fires and soar upward in effortless flight. Oh, how he loved flying!
    In addition to lessons in flying and hunting, there were other things of a less practical nature that Grank taught Hoole—less practical but certainly necessary for a young prince, even if that prince did not yet know that he was of royal blood. Grank began to give Hoole short lectures on the code of honor that Hoole’s grandfather had established for noblemen and their squires and knights, on and off the battlefield.
    “One never attacks outside the field of battle, Hoole, and one never attacks an unarmed owl.”
    Hoole nodded thoughtfully.
    “An owl who violates this code violates himself in the end. He endangers those seeds of Ga’ that reside in every owl’s gizzard.”
    “I don’t understand what Ga’ is, Uncle Grank.”
    “Ga’ is difficult to explain, my boy. But I shall try.”
    “Are they really seeds?”
    “No, I don’t believe so. And if they were, they would be so infinitesimally small, one could never see them evenif one could look straight into a gizzard. Ga’ means great spirit; a spirit that somehow contains not just all that is noble but all that is humble as well. It