Read Online (GoG Book 02) The Journey by Kathryn Lasky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Lasky
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lovely.”
“I dropped the egg. I don’t deserve to live.” Primrose emitted a long sound halfway between a whistle and a wail.
“Don’t say that!” Soren exclaimed. “Of course you deserve to live. Every owl deserves to live. That’s why we came here.”
Matron stopped what she was doing and cocked her head and regarded the young Barn Owl. Perhaps he was learning; just perhaps he was beginning to catch a glimmer of the true meaning of a noble deed. She would leave him to comfort this little Pygmy Owl and send in an extra cup of tea and some milkberry tart.
Soren stayed with Primrose for the rest of the evening. She was sometimes a bit feverish and would begin to mumble about the little brother she was sure she had killed. She had wanted to call him Osgood. Other times, she was quite lucid and would blink and say to Soren, “But what about Mum? What about Da? What will they think when they come home and find our forest burned, our tree gone? Will they look for me?”
And Soren simply did not know how to answer her, for, indeed, he had asked himself the same question so many times. Near daybreak, Primrose was sound asleepand Soren decided to make his way back to his own hollow. He meandered through the central hollow of the tree and more than once took a wrong turn that led down another passageway. While wandering down a particularly twisty one, he met up with an elderly Spotted Owl.
“Ah, one of the new arrivals, part of that band that flew in from the Ice Narrows,” she hooted softly.
“Yes, well, we don’t come from the Narrows. We were blown off course. We’d left from The Beaks but somehow…”
“Oh, dear…Yes, The Beaks, only for the strongest gizzards.”
Soren blinked. Now what did she mean by that?
“I’m Strix Struma, here. Perhaps you need to sharpen your navigational skills. I am the navigation ryb. It’s getting to be First Light, so I suggest you hasten to your hollow. And if you are very quiet, you shall hear the music of Madame Plonk’s harp. It is lovely to go to sleep to and she has a fine voice.”
“What’s a harp? What’s music?” Soren asked. He remembered the awful songs of St. Aggie’s. Surely this must be different.
“Oh, dear. It’s hard to explain. Listen and you’ll begin to know.”
When he got back to his hollow, they were all having cups of milkberry tea. “It’s amazing, Soren,” Gylfie said. “Nest-maid snakes brought the tea around on their backs.”
“Yes, I really think there will be a place for me here, Soren. I think I can serve.” Mrs. P. almost glowed as she said the word.
Everyone seemed quite content except for Twilight. “I didn’t kill those two fiends of St. Aggie’s, I didn’t battle crows and tear out the throat of a bobcat to sit on my tail feathers and be served tea.” Twilight seemed to swell to twice his size.
“Well, what can you do, Twilight?” Gylfie said.
“I think we have to have a word with the head owls—Boron and Barran. I don’t think they know what real evil is. This border skirmish up there that they are talking about—it has nothing to do with St. Aggie’s. You heard what little Miss Stuck-up Spotted Owl said. I don’t think they know what they’re in for. But we do!” He slid his yellow eyes about the hollow. “Right?”
“You mean the ‘You only wish’?” Digger whispered the words of the dying Barred Owl. They had never really spoken about the meaning of those words, but they knew that the Barred Owl had meant, in no uncertain terms, that there was something out there that was far worse than St. Aggie’s.
“Yes,” Soren said hesitantly. “Maybe we should go talk to the king and queen. But not now. It’s daylight. Time to sleep.”
The hollow was lined with the finest mosses and the fluffiest down. Soren made his way to a corner near the opening to watch the breaking dawn. The very last of the evening stars was just winking out and a lovely pink-ness began to spread in the sky. The
“I dropped the egg. I don’t deserve to live.” Primrose emitted a long sound halfway between a whistle and a wail.
“Don’t say that!” Soren exclaimed. “Of course you deserve to live. Every owl deserves to live. That’s why we came here.”
Matron stopped what she was doing and cocked her head and regarded the young Barn Owl. Perhaps he was learning; just perhaps he was beginning to catch a glimmer of the true meaning of a noble deed. She would leave him to comfort this little Pygmy Owl and send in an extra cup of tea and some milkberry tart.
Soren stayed with Primrose for the rest of the evening. She was sometimes a bit feverish and would begin to mumble about the little brother she was sure she had killed. She had wanted to call him Osgood. Other times, she was quite lucid and would blink and say to Soren, “But what about Mum? What about Da? What will they think when they come home and find our forest burned, our tree gone? Will they look for me?”
And Soren simply did not know how to answer her, for, indeed, he had asked himself the same question so many times. Near daybreak, Primrose was sound asleepand Soren decided to make his way back to his own hollow. He meandered through the central hollow of the tree and more than once took a wrong turn that led down another passageway. While wandering down a particularly twisty one, he met up with an elderly Spotted Owl.
“Ah, one of the new arrivals, part of that band that flew in from the Ice Narrows,” she hooted softly.
“Yes, well, we don’t come from the Narrows. We were blown off course. We’d left from The Beaks but somehow…”
“Oh, dear…Yes, The Beaks, only for the strongest gizzards.”
Soren blinked. Now what did she mean by that?
“I’m Strix Struma, here. Perhaps you need to sharpen your navigational skills. I am the navigation ryb. It’s getting to be First Light, so I suggest you hasten to your hollow. And if you are very quiet, you shall hear the music of Madame Plonk’s harp. It is lovely to go to sleep to and she has a fine voice.”
“What’s a harp? What’s music?” Soren asked. He remembered the awful songs of St. Aggie’s. Surely this must be different.
“Oh, dear. It’s hard to explain. Listen and you’ll begin to know.”
When he got back to his hollow, they were all having cups of milkberry tea. “It’s amazing, Soren,” Gylfie said. “Nest-maid snakes brought the tea around on their backs.”
“Yes, I really think there will be a place for me here, Soren. I think I can serve.” Mrs. P. almost glowed as she said the word.
Everyone seemed quite content except for Twilight. “I didn’t kill those two fiends of St. Aggie’s, I didn’t battle crows and tear out the throat of a bobcat to sit on my tail feathers and be served tea.” Twilight seemed to swell to twice his size.
“Well, what can you do, Twilight?” Gylfie said.
“I think we have to have a word with the head owls—Boron and Barran. I don’t think they know what real evil is. This border skirmish up there that they are talking about—it has nothing to do with St. Aggie’s. You heard what little Miss Stuck-up Spotted Owl said. I don’t think they know what they’re in for. But we do!” He slid his yellow eyes about the hollow. “Right?”
“You mean the ‘You only wish’?” Digger whispered the words of the dying Barred Owl. They had never really spoken about the meaning of those words, but they knew that the Barred Owl had meant, in no uncertain terms, that there was something out there that was far worse than St. Aggie’s.
“Yes,” Soren said hesitantly. “Maybe we should go talk to the king and queen. But not now. It’s daylight. Time to sleep.”
The hollow was lined with the finest mosses and the fluffiest down. Soren made his way to a corner near the opening to watch the breaking dawn. The very last of the evening stars was just winking out and a lovely pink-ness began to spread in the sky. The
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