Read Online Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind by authors_sort - Free Book Online

through.”
    “Count off!” Coryn ordered. It had been decided before they left that immediately following a dangerous situation, they would count off to make sure all members of the expedition were accounted for by calling out their own names in alphabetical order.
    “Coryn—here!”
    “Digger—here!”
    “Gylfie—here!”
    “Martin—here!”
    “Otulissa—here!”
    “Mrs. P.—mostly here!”
    “Ruby—here!”
    “Soren—here!”
    “Twilight—here!”
    “Alter course!” Otulissa shouted. “Wings about! Hard alee!” This was the command for making a 180-degree turn. “Now, up and over the last ridge of the windkins!” Otulissa shouted triumphantly as she confirmed the last temperature change with the key now emblazoned forever in her brain. The owls, their plummels stripped from their wings’ edges, staggered over this last rung of the violent windkin ladder and now tumbled gently into a soft, swift current of air untroubled by crosswinds.
    It was perhaps ironic that it was Mrs. Plithiver, anon-flying reptile, who named this tantalizing current the River of Wind. But the name stuck. Each one of the eight owls would describe differently that fabulous moment when they first encountered the River of Wind. In the beginning, it was just rills, tiny streamlets that ran off the river that brushed their wing tips and ruffled their remaining plummels like mere whispers. But then the owls were pulled into the flow, into the very center of the main current. At times it was boisterous, but more often than not, calm and gentle, and always swift.
    The feeling of traveling in this current reminded Gylfie of a pale gray satin ribbon that Trader Mags had once brought for bartering. She had wanted it, but Madame Plonk had outbid her. The Snowy would fly with it on special occasions, and it would unfurl behind her, smooth and languid in the wind. But its texture was what had intrigued Gylfie. It was like touching the softest cool breeze. And for her that was exactly the feeling of the River of Wind.
    For Soren, it brought memories of the down that Pelli plucked from her underfeathers for the three B’s. For Martin, it was reminiscent of the high summer hollow his family had, which was nearly above the tree line on the mountains. There was a special moss that grew there that was even softer than rabbit’s ear moss, and his mum wouldmake their beds with it. For Twilight, it was like the echo of a song—a song from long ago. He could almost remember some of the words, but had no clue as to where they had come from. There had been a wonderful voice singing it, singing this song just for him. A voice like silk? Satin? Like liquid moonlight, it flowed, it curled around him and suffused him with a glowing warmth.
    Overhead the stars drifted, and new constellations they had never seen before melted out of the night. Otulissa had been right. They barely needed to waggle a wing. This strong, warm, flowing wind pushed them along. They moved fast and effortlessly, traveling a great distance in what seemed like no time at all. They even took short naps. They were safe as long as they stayed in the central trough and avoided the edges. They did remain alert, however, to those edges as every once in a while a grim reminder of the danger that lurked within the windkins popped up—the mangled body of a seagull, the detached head of an eagle, and other assorted corpses that through some unknown process became slightly mummified, making them look all the more terrifying.
    “It’s like the living dead,” Martin muttered as he caught sight of a tiny sparrow, its eyes frozen in horror in its stillfeathered face. They were all rather relieved that so far they had not seen the remnant of Mrs. P.’s tail.
    “What’s that?” Ruby said.
    “What?” Soren asked.
    “Straight up,” Ruby replied.
    Mrs. Plithiver braced herself between Soren’s shoulders because she knew what was coming—a maneuver only an owl could make because of the