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conversation at all. She didn’t know what it was, but it certainly was not two good friends talking.
So Primrose watched carefully for several days. She noticed nothing unusual. But then a week after she had come out of the infirmary, as the days of the summer, the season of the golden rain, began to shorten and the nightsgrew ever longer, Primrose noticed that Eglantine often simply went off by herself during free flight after class or chaw practice.
The third time this happened, Primrose decided to follow her. It was a dark, moonless night. Thick cloud cover obscured the stars and Primrose, not the most silent of fliers, thanked a wind that ruffled off the land and across the water, muting her wingbeats. She was surprised when she saw Eglantine set off due south. It was a long stretch of water between the Island of Hoole and any land. Indeed, the first land in that direction would be The Beaks, a place that they had been warned to avoid. Mrs. Plithiver was particularly outspoken about The Beaks and frequently recalled the time when she and the band went there, and the four owls had fallen into some kind of odd trance. The lakes in that region were considered beautiful but terribly dangerous. Why would Eglantine be setting off for The Beaks? What would ever draw her there? Well, thought Primrose, if it takes going to The Beaks to get to the bottom of this, then I will go. She might be small, but she was strong—strong of wing, strong of gizzard.
So Primrose flew on. She did wonder, however, what Eglantine was carrying in her beak. It looked like papers of some sort. She hadn’t had them at the beginning of free flight, but she had lighted down on some cliffs before setting out across the sea. After they had been flying a while, the cloud cover cleared off, and land appeared like a darker smudge in the distance. The distinct sharp hills of The Beaks could actually be felt before they were seen. The wind curled up from those hills in seductive thermal drafts, even in the coolness of the night. They were lovely to ride. And even on this moonless night, the fabled Mirror Lakes sparkled. Eglantine was heading for a fir tree that grew beside one of these lakes. Primrose knew that she would have to be careful now to avoid being seen. She swooped off at an angle and found a spruce to settle in on the other side of the lake, from which she could observe Eglantine’s movements. A large Barn Owl with a great shining face had come out on the limb of the fir tree.
“Mum!” Eglantine shouted.
Mum! Is she yoicks? And if this is her mum, why hasn’t she told Soren? Primrose blinked. It wasn’t a scroom. It was a real feather-and-bone owl. She could tell. Eglantine handed the owl the papers she had brought.
“Darling!” she heard the owl exclaim.
Primrose strained to hear more. She had to get closer. She carefully lofted herself in short flight to a closer tree, and then a closer one.
“Any centipedes, Mum?”
“Would I forget?”
“Oh, no, Mum. Of course not. Never,” Eglantine said. “Where’s Da?”
“Still hunting.”
“And Soren, too?”
“Yes, still out hunting.”
Primrose blinked in utter confusion. Soren? Out hunting in The Beaks? Soren was back at the great tree. What was happening? And that was Primrose’s second-to-last thought. Her eyes flinched. There was a blinding glare and then nothing. She felt herself being stuffed into some sort of sack.
And this was how Primrose arrived at her last thought: The sack into which she had been stuffed was the same kind in which rogue smiths often carried their tools. And once there had been a rogue smith in The Beaks. A Barred Owl. Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, and Digger had found him dying. At first, they had thought a bobcat had murdered the Barred Owl. But no, the Pure Ones, led by Kludd, had murdered him.
I shall die like the Barred Owl, I shall die.
And that was Primrose’s very last thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Gizzard Begins to Stir
O h, that’s an
So Primrose watched carefully for several days. She noticed nothing unusual. But then a week after she had come out of the infirmary, as the days of the summer, the season of the golden rain, began to shorten and the nightsgrew ever longer, Primrose noticed that Eglantine often simply went off by herself during free flight after class or chaw practice.
The third time this happened, Primrose decided to follow her. It was a dark, moonless night. Thick cloud cover obscured the stars and Primrose, not the most silent of fliers, thanked a wind that ruffled off the land and across the water, muting her wingbeats. She was surprised when she saw Eglantine set off due south. It was a long stretch of water between the Island of Hoole and any land. Indeed, the first land in that direction would be The Beaks, a place that they had been warned to avoid. Mrs. Plithiver was particularly outspoken about The Beaks and frequently recalled the time when she and the band went there, and the four owls had fallen into some kind of odd trance. The lakes in that region were considered beautiful but terribly dangerous. Why would Eglantine be setting off for The Beaks? What would ever draw her there? Well, thought Primrose, if it takes going to The Beaks to get to the bottom of this, then I will go. She might be small, but she was strong—strong of wing, strong of gizzard.
So Primrose flew on. She did wonder, however, what Eglantine was carrying in her beak. It looked like papers of some sort. She hadn’t had them at the beginning of free flight, but she had lighted down on some cliffs before setting out across the sea. After they had been flying a while, the cloud cover cleared off, and land appeared like a darker smudge in the distance. The distinct sharp hills of The Beaks could actually be felt before they were seen. The wind curled up from those hills in seductive thermal drafts, even in the coolness of the night. They were lovely to ride. And even on this moonless night, the fabled Mirror Lakes sparkled. Eglantine was heading for a fir tree that grew beside one of these lakes. Primrose knew that she would have to be careful now to avoid being seen. She swooped off at an angle and found a spruce to settle in on the other side of the lake, from which she could observe Eglantine’s movements. A large Barn Owl with a great shining face had come out on the limb of the fir tree.
“Mum!” Eglantine shouted.
Mum! Is she yoicks? And if this is her mum, why hasn’t she told Soren? Primrose blinked. It wasn’t a scroom. It was a real feather-and-bone owl. She could tell. Eglantine handed the owl the papers she had brought.
“Darling!” she heard the owl exclaim.
Primrose strained to hear more. She had to get closer. She carefully lofted herself in short flight to a closer tree, and then a closer one.
“Any centipedes, Mum?”
“Would I forget?”
“Oh, no, Mum. Of course not. Never,” Eglantine said. “Where’s Da?”
“Still hunting.”
“And Soren, too?”
“Yes, still out hunting.”
Primrose blinked in utter confusion. Soren? Out hunting in The Beaks? Soren was back at the great tree. What was happening? And that was Primrose’s second-to-last thought. Her eyes flinched. There was a blinding glare and then nothing. She felt herself being stuffed into some sort of sack.
And this was how Primrose arrived at her last thought: The sack into which she had been stuffed was the same kind in which rogue smiths often carried their tools. And once there had been a rogue smith in The Beaks. A Barred Owl. Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, and Digger had found him dying. At first, they had thought a bobcat had murdered the Barred Owl. But no, the Pure Ones, led by Kludd, had murdered him.
I shall die like the Barred Owl, I shall die.
And that was Primrose’s very last thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Gizzard Begins to Stir
O h, that’s an
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