Free The Coming of Hoole by Kathryn Lasky Page B

planned to fly toward the end of the island where she had spied the smoke rising but as she flew over a cove on the southwest side of the island, she thought she heard the splash of a fishing bird. A Fish Owl? she wondered. And being cautious, she thought she should stop and make sure exactly who was about. From hearing the brothers talk, she had thought that there were no other owls except themselves and the three at the very southernmost tip of the island. So Siv alighted in a spruce tree, its branches dense with needles. She watched as she saw not a Spotted Owl nor a Great Horned Owl but a tiny Pygmy attempting to dive for fish in the cove.
    “He’s just too small. He can’t do it, Hoole.” The voice was the unmistakable hoot of a Great Horned Owl. Siv saw him fly out from an aspen tree. Then she caught herbreath as another young owl flew out. His spots shone like a thousand tiny moons on this nearly moonless night.
    “No! No!” the young Spotted Owl protested, as he flew up to the drenched Pygmy who was perched on a log and shaking himself off. “Phineas, you are not too small. No one is too small for anything. You just have to think big!”
    Siv caught her breath. She knew this was her son. And Grank has named him Hoole! How many times had she heard H’rath before going into battle encouraging his knights in just this way. “Our numbers may be fewer, the hagsfiends may have their charms, their nachtmagen, but we fight for a good cause. We need no charms for we are bold in our gizzards, firm in our task, our wits are keen, and our hearts are strong. They are nothing but flying fakirs and on our side, there is discipline. Nachtmagen is cheap, and we are owls of quality, of passion, of commitment.” This, indeed, was the son of H’rath! She watched him for hours, until the night melted into the dawn.
    Night after night, she returned but always Hoole was in the company of the owl named Phineas or the Great Horned Owl he called Theo. Once he came with Grank and she saw that Grank had aged. Her gizzard trembled at the sight of him. He seemed smaller than she had remembered. Could he take care of Hoole until the owlet was safely grown up? But what must I look like? she thought. I, too, have aged and with this mangled wing I must appear piteous. Although she longed for the other owls to go away so she could approach Hoole, she was at the same time happy they were there. They must be a help to Grank.
    Then one night when she came, she saw that Hoole was alone and diving with abandon into the cove. Would it be so wrong if I just flew down there and talked to him? she thought. I’m a gadfeather, after all. Gadfeathers go everywhere and talk to everyone. Nothing unusual about that.
    Siv lighted down on the end of the branch where Hoole perched. He blinked at the strange Spotted Owl. It wasn’t the oddly shaped wing that startled him. It was all the stuff she had tucked into her plumage—feathers from other birds, bits of moss, and even a few berries.
    “What are you?” he asked her. “And why are you wearing all that…that stuff?”
    “I’m a gadfeather,” Siv answered. She hadn’t thought that because of the extreme isolation of this island, Hoole might never have seen a gadfeather before. “You haven’t heard of gadfeathers?”
    “No, and my uncle Grank teaches me a lot.”
    Siv felt a pulse quicken in her gizzard. He calls Grank uncle.
    At the very same time Hoole felt a deep stirring in hisown gizzard. He took a step closer to her. Siv began to quiver all over. This was her son! H’rath’s son. She desperately fought the urge to preen him, to run her beak through his feathers, to pick out mites, debris. She must not. Hoole was looking at her hard. It was almost as if he were peering right into her gizzard, which was in a complete tumult.
    “I know you,” he said suddenly.
    Siv began to wilf, so great was her alarm. She shook her head. “Oh, no, my dear, I am sure you don’t.”
    “But I do.