I still remember the first time we met. I thought you were your mother, for you had her scar. I remember how my parents cried out in fear, feeling that you had come to slay us, or lay waste to our home. Oh, how we feared you. But that was before we knew you.
You rescued our egg, Coryn, you brought it back to us. Why? You had no reason. We had feared you, practically driven you away. Yet you brought it back. I remember our first discussions, and I remember how shocked I was to learn how little you knew. Your mum had taught you nothing about the world outside, about its beauty and splendor, and about the simple miracles of life.
Nonetheless, I was attracted to you. My little brother was named after you, and even after you left, he reminded me of you. Oh, you were nothing alike! But yet each time I looked at young Coryn, I remembered how you brought him back to us. I kept waiting, long into the mornings, waiting for you to come back to us one night.
And then I learned that you had become king. King! King of Ga'Hoole! You wouldn't remember me, then, would you? I was sure you would not remember. What king would remember a young Burrowing Owl, way back in his childhood? Surely, there were more important things for you to think about now. I still waited, but still you did not come.
I loved you, Coryn, know that. But when Grom came to me, in all his handsomeness, with his proposal of marriage, oh, I accepted him! I never thought I would see you again, and so I had a child with him. Siv...she was a beautiful young'un. And I delighted in my family life, and I almost forgot you. Only Cory, little Coryn, stayed there to remind me of you.
And when the Blue Brigade came, I was proud to declare that I had once known you. But my heart nearly stopped when I learned that you had declared the burning of books! Why? You loved reading so much, Coryn, you had worked so hard to learn. Why would you ask for the burning of what you loved so dearly? So I went, to seek out the answers.
I helped you in the battle, when I saw those owls advancing on you. But I know I would have died, been burned to death, if the rabbit hadn't come, if you hadn't come. I knew then, that whatever had made you burn books, it was gone. Oh, I was glad to see you again! But I now have a husband, a daughter. Forgive me, Coryn, for now I know we can never be together. I'm so sorry...