The Journey

“Worse then! You are a disgrace to your species. The Great Grey Owls.”

This really took Twilight aback. “My species?”

“Yes, indeed. All of you are, for that matter. You have all grown fat, lazy and vain, the lot of you. Why … why …” Mrs Plithiver stammered.

Soren felt something really bad was coming.

“You’re no better than a bunch of wet poopers!” With that, there was a raucous outburst from a branch overhanging where they stood at the lake’s edge, on which a dozen or more seagulls had alighted. The harsh gull laughter ricocheted off the lake and the reflections of the owls on its surface quivered and then seemed to shatter.

“We’re getting out of here NOW!” Mrs Plithiver said in a near roar for a snake.

“What about crows? It’s not dark yet.”

“Tough!” she spat.

“Are you going to sacrifice us to crows?” Gylfie said in a very small voice.

“You’re sacrificing yourself right here on the shores of this lake.” And something sharper than the fiercest gaze of eyes bore into Gylfie’s gizzard. Indeed, all the owls felt their gizzards twist and lurch.

“Get ready to fly! And Twilight—”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll fly point with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The Great Grey stooped down so that Mrs Plithiver could slither on to his broad shoulders.

Of all the owls, Twilight had been the most transfixed by Mrs P’s outburst. And if Twilight was to fly point, as he usually did, Mrs P felt she was going to have to be there to keep him on course. He was a ‘special needs’ case if there ever was one. What, indeed, had the world come to if an old blind nest-maid snake had to navigate for a Great Grey Owl? Some sky tiger!

But she had to navigate as Twilight began to circle the lake a second time and dip his downwind wing, no doubt for a better look at himself, and, yes, singing under his breath his next favourite tune –

Oh, wings of silver spread on high,

Fierce eyes of golden light,

Across the clouds of purple hue

In sheer majestic flight –

Oh, Twilight!

Oh, Twilight, most beautiful of owls,

Who sculpts the air

Beyond compare.

With feathers so sublime,

An owl for now –

An owl for then –

An owl for all of time.

Mrs Plithiver had coiled up and was waving her head as a signal to a gull she sensed overhead. Suddenly, there was a big white splat that landed on the silver wings sublime.

“What in Glaux’s name?” Twilight said.

“They like you, Twilight. Blessed, I dare say!”

Twilight flew straight out across the lake and never looked back.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_2f5630ed-954c-5eea-b17b-6e1d8a4028be)

The Ice Narrows (#ulink_2f5630ed-954c-5eea-b17b-6e1d8a4028be)

It seemed as if winter had been waiting for them as soon as the Mirror Lakes dropped behind them. Blasts of frigid air, swirling with ice, sleet and often hail, smacked into them. The rolling ridges of The Beaks had become sharper and steeper, sending up confusing currents. Ice began to form on their own beaks and, in a few minutes, Soren saw Gylfie spin out of control. Luckily, Twilight accelerated and managed to help her.

“Fly in my wake, Gylfie,” he shouted over the roar of the wind. And then he swivelled his head back to the others. “Her wings have started to ice. Ours will too – soon. It’s too dangerous to continue. We have to look for a place to land.”

Almost as soon as Twilight had spoken of iced wings, Soren felt his own suddenly grow heavy. He turned his head and nearly gasped when he saw his plummels, the silkiest of all his feathers, that fringed the outer edges of his primaries. They were stiff with frost and the wind was whistling through them. Great Glaux, I’m flying like a gull!

It was not long before they found a tree. The hollow was a rather miserable little one. They could barely cram into it, and it was crawling with vermin.

“This is appalling!” Mrs Plithiver said. “I’ve never seen such an infestation.”

“Isn’t there some moss someplace?” Twilight asked, remembering the extraordinarily soft, thick moss of the Mirror Lakes.

“Well, if someone wants to go out and look, they can,” Mrs P said. “In the meantime, I’ll try and eat as many of these maggotty little creatures as possible.”

Soren peeked out the hollow. “The wind’s picked up. You can’t even see out there. Snow’s so thick on the ground, I doubt if we could find any moss if we did look.”

“We can always pulp some of the pine needles,” Gylfie said. “First, you beak them hard enough, then let them slide down to your first stomach – the one before the gizzard. Hold it there for just a while, and then yarp it all back up. The pine needles come out all mushy and when they dry they’re almost as soft as moss. Actually, technically speaking, it is not called yarping. It’s burping when its wet and not a pellet.”

“Who cares – as long as it’s soft?” Twilight muttered.

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Digger said. “The thought of going out there into that blizzard is not appealing in the least.”

So the owls leaned out from the protection of the hollow only far enough to snatch a beakful of pine needles. They all began beaking, then swallowing the wads down to their first stomachs and then burping. All the while, Mrs Plithiver busied herself with sucking up maggots and pinch beetles, and one or two small worms known as feather raiders – all of which were most unhygienic to the health of owls.

“I don’t think I could eat another pinch beetle if my life depended on it,” Mrs P groaned after more than an hour.

There was a huge watery gurgle that rippled through the hollow.

“What was that?” Digger said.

“Yours truly, burping here,” Twilight said and opened his beak and let go with another hollow-shaking burp.