The waters of the Sea of Hoolemere rushed quickly below Flint and Cresla in their flight far above. It was the time of the copper-rose rain, when leaves turn color and fall from their place, the air above the sea was still warm from the last days of the golder rain, and the air was turbulent with storms.
Flint utterly disliked water except for occasional bathing on very warm days and the salty spray of the sea water below was especially abhorrent to him; he was sure to fly high to avoid the moisture.
He and Cresla had been flying through the night and daybreak was only an hour away and up until now, it had been a long, hard flight. The adrenaline of escape had silenced them for the first few hours and they had maintained no conversation since. As the night drew on and weariness of the flight and the silence began to set in and both itched for a break in the silence between them. Such came about when an opening in the thick overcast appeared above and revealed the starry sky.
"Blast it! I think we are flying the wrong direction." She cursed. "Who knows how far off course we are."
"I don't know. The cloud cover and wind make it hard to navigate." Certainly, Flint, with his disused wings and abhorrence of water, was not fond of the idea of flying any longer over the sea than absolutely necessary. "We should correct course as soon as possible."
"I can't see the constellations we should follow; they are blocked by the clouds." Cresla replied.
"I think I know where they are." Flint replied skeptically. "I think I can see enough constellations to fly by."
Cresla, looking up at the patch of stars that she could see, there was less than a tenth of the night's sky visible and it was a particularly unremarkable section with no notable constellations. It seemed doubtful that Flint could possibly extrapolate the right position with the given information. "Are you sure Flint?" She asked doubtingly.
"Yes." He sounded firmly. "I've memorized all the star charts I have and I can figure out where any given constellation is if I can see but a few stars."
It sounded as if Flint was bragging, but there was little other choice but to follow his word. Cresla just hoped that Flint is not full of hot air.
Their change of course was drastic and Cresla more than voiced her concerns at such a major manipulation which was over about forty five degrees from their previous heading. "Such a change," she insisted, "Seems like will make us head in the wrong direction."
Flint frowned. "I am making a correction in our flight to fix where we have been off before. We will change course once we have made up for the wrong path we took."
"Are you sure that you are not fooling yourself?" Cresla voiced concernedly, "I don't see how you know where the guiding constellations to the Great Tree are."
"Believe me, I know which direction to fly. Just wait until we find a thinner covering of clouds." Flint assured her, himself still not keen on the thought of going to the Great Ga'Hoole Tree where the Guardians live.
Feeling the leather strap buried under his feathers and the coolness of the metal canister, Flint still carried the container filled with death - threvenge he planned to enact on Soren - and he did not know what would happen if he were actually to meet the owl in question. Would he be able to fight the temptation to kill the owl that he so despised. He knew the temptation would be just as real as the leather carrying strap that held the container firmly under his wing, and the connected emotions would be as present as the cold tin pressed against his skin where his feathers had parted.
Cresla, existing outside of these thoughts, continued with her side of the conversation with no awareness of Flint's troubles. "If you say so." She conceded. "You must really be committed to knowing the star patterns."
Nodding, Flint agreed with her. "You are right. My sister loved the stars, and I have learned as much about them in memory of her, hoping someday that if I ever find her that we will have something to talk about."
"You've mentioned your sister before, and when you were trufynkken you were screeching that she had been killed. But you just now sound as if you hope to see her again, so I am confused if she is actually dead." Cresla asked, digging for more information.
Flint shifted uncomfortably in flight, not proud of his time spent intoxicated. "When I was in my drunken stupor, I had forgotten about when I discovered she was still alive. I had been so intensely focused on Finnic and my anger towards him that I did not remember. So yes, to my knowledge, there is a chance she is still alive."
"How did you find out she is still alive?" Cresla asked concealing her worry. "Why did you think she was dead?"
"Finnic had threatened her life after she broke his beak. The next day, my mentor Eric told me that she had been killed by Finnic. After Eric died, though, I found a letter he had written to Felic and me, and one of the things it said was that Stellaris, my sister, was still alive at the time of the letter's writing. I've looked for her and searched across the kingdoms for her, but I can only assume she was killed during the Battle of the Burning. In those moments when I was bingled, somehow I had gotten my memories crossed and was dominated by an irrational thought line, so just... forget everything from then. Please?"
"Hmf." Cresla said thoughtfully for no real reason. "I am sorry for you Flint, I know what it is like to lose family." Cresla empathized with Flint. "But why was she at the Battle of the Burning?" Cresla asked, prodding Flint for information despite already knowing about his past from Felic.
"It is a long story." Flint replied coldly, not wishing to let Cresla know about his past as a Pure One.
Silence passed between the two for several seconds before Cresla asked another question. "If you don't mind me being curious, I remember you saying that your sister was a black Barn owl. Was that statement affected by your state of mind as well?"
Flint shook his head. "No. I was right about that. She hatched in the day during the exact middle of a solar eclipse. She had that coloration her entire life."
"That's uncanny." Cresla marveled. In her mind, she mused with the implications of what Flint said. It was very fortunate that she had picked up on the possibility of this link early on when Flint was in his drunken rage and acted accordingly. She was glad that Flint had not seen Caligna and that she had the foresight to order her to remain with the others back on the mainland. Who knows what might happen if Flint were to see her? It is doubtful that any serious complications would arise that would threaten her ability to return to her kingdom with Flint, but she did not want summon undue risk.
More silence passed between them before Flint, in a dreamy, hopeful tone spoke. "Sometimes I like to think that she turned out normal, that she now has a family and a wonderful life, though I guess she would be too young still to have a mate and chicks. But I can always hope that she found some good owls to become friends with." Flint sighed and his tone became more depressed. "I just don't know..." He trailed off.
"You don't know what?" Cresla asked Flint.
"I just don't know what to do." Flint replied. "I am actually thinking about once we reach the Island of Ga'Hoole, that I will fly west to the mainland and start searching for her again. It's been a while since I tried last."
"So, you're saying that you want to risk getting caught." Cresla said flatly. "You don't want to come with me back to the Beyond?"
Flint shook his head. "The fear of being caught is the only reason I am still indecisive. There are plenty of smiths and colliers in the Beyond. I'm sure you can find someone better than me to help your kingdom. I frankly don't even know why you bothered to even talk with me about helping you. You can find someone else to fill the job you need me for, but I only have one sister. That takes precedence."
"I see." Cresla responded flatly to Flint, worrying in her mind that she could lose one of the sole experts on flecks that she could ever find.
"Don't get me wrong." Flint replied. "I appreciate that your kingdom would be so interested in me and-" Flint cut himself off.
"And what?" Cresla asked.
Flint made deep, soulful eye contact with Cresla, "Thank you for everything. Thank you for encouraging me to escape earlier, and thank you for treating me like a normal owl..." Flint sighed. "It has been so long since I have even gotten to just talk with anyone but Felic and Griedawl."
Cresla smiled, slid next to Flint in flight, and put her wing over him in a loose hug. "You're welcome Flint."
Stiffening slightly in flight, Flint could not remember the last time he had ever been touched by another owl, let alone hugged. It was such a comforting feeling, and he was sad that it lasted such a short time.
Cresla entered back into her normal position relative to Flint, about two wingspans away, and looked ahead. "I can see sky in front of us. I think we are nearly out of the storms." Looking harder, Cresla noted the constellations. "What about our heading?"
"I can see the Raven's Feather is at the horizon to our port side. Judging by its placement, the Whale's Fin must be directly in front of us. We're on track."
"Are you sure that the correction we made is... well, correct?"
"Mostly. I think we should fly this course for another thirty minutes then bank about twenty degrees right to get back on course."
Cresla was silent as she pondered the course they were plotting. The stars of the Beyond, those she was familiar with, but not those here. Yes, they are the same stars, mostly, but what landmarks they correlate with and which ones she should follow were other questions. She supposed that her only choice was to follow Flint's guidance.
"If you say so."
Flint made no response and for the next few minutes, they were silent. Whether it was the weariness of the flight or the hours they had spent without speaking, Cresla was made uneasy by the standing quietness maintained between them both. Further, she feared that she was going to be forced to keep Flint more engaged with the prospect of coming with her to the beyond lest he forgo his promise to come to the beyond. Just being friendly might help. He had said, after all, that he appreciated that she talked with him...
Idly, Cresla struck up a conversation. "You know, in the Beyond, the Whale's Fin is actually called The Wolf's Fang."
"Really?" Flint asked. "What is the story behind it."
"Well, you see, ages ago, there was a dire wolf named Mc'Thalamue..."
And so began a long conversation between the two where they told stories to each other about the different constellations seen by the cultures of the Southern Kingdoms and The Beyond the Beyond. The conversation lasted until sunrise as the two together traced out the connections between the stars.
"Come on Flint, just a little bit farther. The Tree is at the horizon. You can see it from here!" Cresla urged a weary and beaten Flint onward.
"My wings are too tired." Flint moaned out, "I've been flying for too long."
"You can't give out. There's nowhere to rest. Just a few more leagues and we will be there!"
"I'll be fine. I'll be fine." Flint replied.
Cresla slowed her pace and let fall directly behind her hoping that he might be able to take advantage of the draft she was cutting through the air. "Glaux." She exhaled in annoyance, "I didn't realize that you didn't even get to stretch your wings while you were held."
"Yah." Flint replied wearily. "No flight for a long time... it really takes your stamina away."
"Just hold out for a little longer." Cresla pleaded with Flint.
Ahead lie the Island of Hoolemere and its Great Tree which stood with its many limbs and immense trunk a golden, monolithic tribute to this kingdom of owls. Flint had seen drawings and illuminated illustrations of this natural marvel copied down in books, but the sense of scale and stature which glistened with a subtle, golden aura was truly conveyed only when viewed in person as he and Cresla approached it. It truly was a marvelous sight as it shone with a Glaumorian brilliance that shimmered like a halo lit by sunset and whose majesty sung praise to those who call this gallant tree their own.
For the first time, the young owl was not utterly humiliated that those from this tree had defeated the mighty Pure One regime. Surely if the inhabitants shared even a fraction of the glory and splendor of this tree there would be no dishonor in losing a war to them.
It was a gorgeous sight, one that he indeed would like to get nearer to to awe upon. Just to get close to it and be engulfed in its light...
It was then the majesty of the tree spoke to Flint and urged him onward with renewed strength and heightened vigor. Pulled and drawn by its luster, Flint felt its energy seep into him and be transformed into his own – his weakness was supplemented and filled in total by the gold infused air he now breathed as the tree, in the distance drew closer with each strengthened wingbeat. Much as if acted upon by an external force, Flint felt himself move forward with greater power and vigor by a force which, Flint felt, was comparable to the feeling of a large fleck held in one's talons tugging with great might towards a iron bar or other flecks. There was no nausea, just a simple, primal, elemental call of power.
Flint's wingbeats evened out and his breathing softened.
Cresla ahead, perplexed yet quite relieved by Flint's revitalization looked behind at her tarrying companion peered back over her shoulder and studied his posture in flight.
Her expression asked a question – one that Flint answered by moving up alongside her and touching wingtips. "I just got my second wind."
"You do look a lot better."
Smiling back, Flint admired the irradiance of the Great Tree of Ga'Hoole. "Its gorgeous. I never suspected it would be so beautiful." Bristling with irrational excitement, Flint coursed with glee like an owlet. "Come on, let's race!"
"Flint?" Cresla questioned as he shot ahead without the slightest trace of fatigue. "Flint!"
What a high this was! Flint's heart pulsed and he, for the first time in a long time, felt alive. With incredible strength, he flew towards the Great Tree with Cresla lagging behind.
The sheer immensity of the Great Tree overwhelmed Flint as he came within only a few hundred yards of its tremendous canopy of shimmering, golden leaves. The iridescent hues glowing from the canopy of leaves shimmered with breathtaking beauty born from beyond this world and cast their golden aura upon all within the bloom of light which blossomed like a flower made of fire.
The branches atop the crest of the tree christened the brow of the its canopy with illuminate effulgence of crimson gold as the leaves, catching the red rays of the setting sun, blossomed with the light they captured and glowed a soft glare of red which accented the golden halo cast around the tree.
These highest branches Flint flew amidst and awed at the splendor with which they were adorned. By virtue of Flint's flight, weaving through this grandness like a burlap thread embroidering cloth woven from gold, he was basked in the irradiate glory cast upon him by the mystical aura flowing forth from the leaves of this tree. Marveling at the beauty surrounding him, Flint's eye was caught upon the ethereal leaves adorning the branches where the natural leaves, having died and fallen away, no longer remained. Glistening like aerial glass in sunlight, the intangible forms captured light and spread it about, mixing it with the divine, golden aura which gleamed forth.
"What magic was given to this tree?" Flint wondered.
He alighted upon a branch adorned with many of the golden afterimages of the leaves that hung as if imprinted or even burned into the fabric of nature. What marvels they were to look at with their subtle yet complexly intricate beauty.
This power they radiated - this lustrous light - He felt it to be the same power which he had attributed to excitement that acted upon his gizzard and filled his body with vitality, and he was struck in awe by the incredible phenomenon.
Cresla alighted next to Flint as he gazed at his surroundings to let his experiences be made one with the grandeur which lie around him and a moment later, as the sun passed from behind a cloud which had shielded many of its rays from sight, the hues of gold and white cast from the tree brightened and intensified. Flint shielded his eyes with a wing, but to no avail. "Have you seen anything like this before? It's so beautiful, but so bright and painful to look at."
"It is beautiful." Cresla replied with awed tones in her voice, "But it isn't particularly bright."
But in the time it took Cresla to state this, Flint was overwhelmed by the light which shone golden like the sun. The light, blinding as the presence of a celestial being, stung yet warmed Flint's skin under his feathers as he sensed its power flowing about him. In that brief instant's transpiring, the blinding light ended for Flint and he opened his eyes and saw the world was enveloped with a golden sheen.
The limb that he and Cresla perched upon appeared to have become transparent, and indeed, the tree itself had appeared to have turned to a golden tinted glass, transparent through and through.
"Flint. Are you okay?" Cresla asked Flint in a worried tone.
"I'm fine." He replied, looking down at the tree. Near the base of the tree, there was a large hollow where a burning orange glare shone. Smiling wildly, Flint stated. "It's amazing, Cresla."
Flint looked closer at the core of the brilliant glare and saw the orange shine below flared a blinding glare from an ornate cage suspended near the exact center of the hollow. Flint's vision focused onto the cage, and though he sat high above, he could see it as if sitting within the hollow as he stared through the transfigured cage where metal itself glistened with the magnificence of fine glass with the orange light suffusing gently through its refractive structure with unimaginable energy.
With a fiery orange fringe and center which shone blue like the sky on the purest of days, a lick of vivid green crowned the blue with its crest. This was an ember, Flint being a smith knew, that surpassed not only the greatest of quality of coals but also overpowered all known earthly powers. There was the Ga'Hoolian ember; this was their power. And Flint, feeling a connection with this ember, felt its radiance emanating outward like how energy flows from the sun.
His vision focused in sharper on the ember and he felt his tie to its power grow stronger. How he wished he could fly down and take it, to feel its power warming his talons as he grasped it. Indeed, the ember was now all Flint could see, and he craved insatiably after its power. He felt it pulling harder with ever increasing strength onto his gizzard and mind.
It was instinct which was speaking to him, as if it were his destiny to take this ember and become one with its power. To be engulfed within its glow, within its shimmer – yes, that was what he was hatched to do. All else paled in comparison.
"I want to go down to the base of the Tree." Flint told Cresla.
"Sure. I imagine it is every bit as impressive from down there. We need to find out if they will let us stay for the day to rest up anyway, and I believe the hollow we need to visit to find out is somewhere near the base."
The two lofted off their branch and spiraled down the trunk of the tree, admiring its beauty the entire way down.
Flint knew where the brilliant glare had emminated from, so he took the lead and Cresla followed him to the large hollow wherein he had seen its glory.
Landing on a broad wooden platform in front of the hollow opening, Flint and Cresla were met by many different species of owls going through with their daily business walking to and fro different hollows along the wooden pathway carrying heavy loads. Two armed guards flanked the immense wooden doors that sealed off the hollow. A third stood where the two doors met in the middle.
By now, the world had lost its glass like surroundings and Flint's perceptions had returned to normal while, within his gizzard, he felt far less draw from the ember. Upon seeing the guards, immediately, Flint realized that he may not be getting into the hollow, but still he approached the Eastern Screech owl who was standing at the doors' entrance.
"Where do you think yourself to be going?" He antagonistically asked Flint and Cresla.
"I was just following him." Cresla said, pointing at Flint with a wing.
"Well?" He snarled.
"I've never seen a hollow this big before, and I was curious to see what is inside." Flint quipped, not quite sure how to approach the subject of seeing the Ember.
"Refused." The guard denied Flint. "By order of the Guardians of the Guardians of the Ember, or GGE, I herefore am unable to permit you entrance to the sacred chamber of the Ember of Hoole. The ceremonial first flight of three young Barn owls is currently being honored by the presence of the Ember inside this hollow. Furthermore, we do not let just anyone enter." The owl snarled the words 'just anyone' contemptuously. The owl tilted his head upwards and in a very pretentious tone continued, "You must first be properly cleansed in the Ceremony of Renewal before you attend the next scheduled hour of condoned worship, lest you defile the sacred Ember of Hoole with your presence."
The words flabbergasted Flint and Cresla, and their jaws hung open in disbelief. Never before had either of them heard such insane talk from an owl. Yes there were superstitious owls, but this... something like this was unheard of.
"Excuse me..." Cresla said in a questioning tone with utter perplexion.
The owl bristled his feathers. "Please talk with the cleansing supervisor if you wish to come closer."
Flint and Cresla both shook their head in disbelief, turned, and walked away.
Up until this point, Flint had actually begun question his negative feelings towards the Guardians, perhaps because he was coming to grips with the fact he still held a Pure One's perspective and such a perspective was wrong and even unhealthy. But just now, Flint realized that his initial dislike and hatred may not be incorrectly placed.
"It all seems very idiotic." Flint griped quietly.
"Yes." Cresla agreed but said nothing more.
With those words, a tremendous creaking issued from the two massive doors and Flint looked behind him over his right shoulder. When he saw that he could not see the ember through the opening doors, he turned his head back to Cresla to ask where they should go next, but a loud, excited screech broke his conversation.
"Da!"
Flint had no reason to notice that the joyous squeal was directed at him, but in just a few seconds three young Barn owl fledglings flew over to and landed next to him, one of which quickly snuggled up under Flint's left wing.
They three were immediately surprised to see that Flint was not, in fact, their beloved father and that they were sorely mistaken. Flint, meanwhile, was equally surprised to see them there.
"Uh... hello?" He asked hesitantly.
The three wilfed while looking up at him and his scarred face. "Do I know you?" Flint asked.
"I'm so sorry." A female Barn owl, presumably the fledglings' mother, yelled out, in a hurried, embarrassed flight toward Flint.
"I thought you were da." One of the fledglings nervously blurted out.
"Well, I'm not." Flint stated a little too coldly than he intended.
"I'm so sorry." The female stated again right after she landed next to Flint. "I don't know what got into them."
"It's okay." Flint replied.
The female Barn owl replied with a certain degree of disbelief. "By Glaux, you look and even sound just like my mate Soren."
A knot immediately formed in Flint's gizzard. "This is Soren's mate, and these are his chicks..." Flint morbidly pondered in his mind, distracted for a moment from making a reply. He snapped to and quickly formed a response Soren's mate's statement. "Well, that's better than a lot of things owls say about my appearance."
"Well, my name is Pellimore. Are you maybe related to Nocutus and Marella Alba? Those were Soren's parents." Pellimore asked Flint.
Flint shook his head. "No. My name is Flint by the way." Meanwhile, Flint's mind and gizzard were turbulently frothing over with rushed thoughts and emotions. This was his chance to get back at Soren - this was his chance to make him suffer as much as he, Flint, has. All he had to do was release the contents of the metal canister under his left wing into the feathers of the fledgling who was standing yeepishly under his wing.
Pellimore gave a subtle smile. "My mate has mentioned on occasion that he knew his parents had other broods, and that he had more siblings than just Eglantine and Kludd. I hoped that maybe you were maybe related."
"No. I... Well... I lost my parents when I was just a chick." Flint broke eye contact by pretending to preen his ragged feathers, feigning difficulty of bringing the sad events of his past to surface. He looked back up at her. "I mean... maybe somewhere back, perhaps we are related... But I really don't know. I don't think my parents and their families were from around these parts, though. I don't like to talk about it." Flint lifted his left wing and groomed a few of the feathers on the outside edges. His pulse was racing and he could feel adrenaline coursing through his blood. In just the few split moments it took Flint to move his beak from his primary feathers, down closer to his body to open the canister, Flint experienced what seemed to be an eternity.
He knew perfectly well what he was doing, but not so well did he know why he was doing it. These were three adorable and beautiful young owlets, and Flint knew that he would most likely be killing them all including their mother if he went through with this.
He could feel his beak drawing closer to the canister, and he questioned himself why he was doing this. He was not particularly angry at anyone at this moment, but yet the rage and hatred he had brooded in times past, though not present in tactile emotions, were controlling him as if by predetermined compulsion. It was as if he had set his will in motion to kill this family of owls when he was imagining the death of Soren.
And even in this time of morbid retrospection, Flint did feel anticipation for Soren's misery. Part of him wanted Soren to lose his family as he, Flint, had lost his family the Pure Ones, even though Flint knows the evil that the Pure Ones had committed and that they deserved judgment for their actions. But revenge was what Flint wanted, and it was what he would get.
In one swift and elegant maneuver, Flint popped off the lid to the canister and let it fall dangling by a strap that held it to the container. His agent of death spilled out into the feathers of the young owlet and the powder settled down close to her skin. With any luck, she and her siblings and mother would spread it to each other in during their evening preening and the entire family will die a miserable death. Flint hoped Soren would survive, though, to feel the agony of loneliness and loss; he wanted Soren to know the subjugation to depression he had suffered.
"I'm so sorry that you lost your parents." Pellimore responded to Flint. "I would be willing to wager that the Pure Ones were at fault."
Flint made eye contact with her and resumed normal interactions as if all were normal.
"They were taken by them." Flint lied half lied. "I never saw them again."
"I'm sorry." Pellimore repeated. "My beloved lost his family, but in time he has found many friends and, well... he found me." She smiled pleasantly. "I hope you have the same luck he has."
Flint smiled at Pellimore. "Thank you. I appreciate what you said, but..." Flint's face saddened, "I only have two friends, everyone else that I have met despises me."
Tilting her head slightly, Pellimore smiled back at Flint. "I don't see why that is. You seem to be a fine, charming young owl. It isn't your... well... uh..."
"My scarring?" Flint asked in a light voice which dropped to a melancholy sadness when he continued. "Yes... But I also don't have the best past, and let's just say that it keeps following me everywhere I go." Flint gave the owlet under his wing a solemn look. He then pulled away from her. "I'm sorry for the confusion."
"It's fine." Pellimore chimed back, gathering her daughters. "Would you care to come back to my hollow to have a cup of milkberry tea? I haven't met you before, and I want to be acquainted with all the owls of the Great Tree."
Flint shrugged her off. "I'm just passing through, don't mind anything about me."
"Well, it was nice talking to you Flint, but I've got to get these little ones back to the hollow and get them spruced up for their first night time flight." Pellimore grinned very widly. "Oh my darlings, I am so proud of you all. Your first flight was wonderful." She lovingly nudged her three daughters before looking again at Flint. "Have a good night."
She then proudly led her daughters into flight.
"Have a good night too!" Flint called back and then stood there for a moment watching them fly away. As the distance between them and him was becoming greater and greater, Flint thought about what he had just done.
He had, in effect, just killed an entire family while having a pleasant conversation with them, and he could not for the life in him could not understand why. He could still save them, all he had to do was fly to them and warn them, but that would present a whole new can of problems.
"Glaux!" Flint swore to himself. "Why did they have to be Soren's family? They were such a beautiful family."
And for what good had Flint just done this? He felt no pleasure; even the anticipation of Soren's misery had faded away. As he watched the family fly off, he felt no different toward them than if they had simply flown by him and he had no interactions with them. He certainly could feel no positive emotional reward in the fact that he had just sent them to their deaths. He just felt dead inside which was in stark contrast to how he felt just moments earlier.
"Well that was a waste of time." Cresla snorted. "I suppose we should think about acquiring temporary accommodations." She then stated rather flatly. "We have been flying for over a day strait, and we need rest."
"Oh, yes." Flint replied, a sudden wave of desperate guilt and remorse began rushing over him now that he realized he was not going to turn back on his actions. "That would be nice."
Cresla nodded. "I suppose we could ask that snooty guard if he knows what to do."
And so Flint and Cresla did just that. The guard directed them to the Ga'Hoolology department stationed at the base of the tree in with the roots.
Flint told Cresla that he would prefer to fly to one of the small rocky islands that was satellite to the Great Tree and watch the sunset while she took care of sleeping accommodations. Cresla said that would be fine and she would join Flint once the hollows were prepared for them.
So Flint lofted away, keeping his emotions to himself for the first half flight, but once he was away from any other owls and was heading out to sea, he could hold it in no longer.
Tears began streaming from his eyes as the true depth and evil of his action began to sink in. He had just killed an entire family, young ones and all, and he had been so passive while doing so. He maintained a normal conversation to those he was condemning; he looked them in the eyes and smiled with them as they talked. And for what? Flint could think of no foundational reason for doing so, other than his premeditated hatred for Soren. But there was so little emotion involved this time that Flint could honestly say that he felt cold in the gizzard the entire time he was committing the act.
Now, he was tempted to fly at his top speed to warn the family and save them. But it would be too late even now. They surely have returned to their hollow, and as Pellimore suggested, they would be tidying up their feathers for the coming night. The entire family by now has been exposed, and once the powder has been inhaled or swallowed, there is nothing that can be done.
Pellimore and her chicks reached their hollow in expedient time in comparison to how long it took to walk from place to place in the tree. They landed and Pellimore turned to her daughters. "Oh my little ones, you are growing up so quickly, and I am so very, very proud of you all. You flew beautifully today." Her voice was filled with pride and the love she felt for her chicks could be heard through it.
"Oh, it was so exciting!" Blythe peeped with joy.
"So fun! So Fun." Bell exclaimed.
But bash was downcast and sad. "I wish da were here to have seen us. I miss him. Why did he leave us?"
"Oh my darling." Pellimore comforted Bash, "He didn't leave us, he just is with Coryn on kingly business. Very important. And he was here with us."
"He was?" Bell asked.
"Yes he was." Pellimore replied. "He was with us in spirit. I know he was thinking about you and wants to get back as soon as possible to see you."
She hugged her daughters, and they hugged her back.
"Now." Pellimore continued. "It's time for more preening lessons. You will need to take care of your feathers, else you won't be able to fly and will look very bad."
So Pellimore began teaching her daughters the business of preening their feathers and keeping them clean. She ran through the basics of running their beak through their feathers, and nibbling them to keep them in the right place. She then gave examples by running her beak through her daughters feathers, though something odd appeared when she began on Blythe's back.
A thick, dark, dusty material surfaced when Pellimore preened Blythe's back feathers.
"What is that?" Bell asked.
Pellimore replied. "It looks a little like soot, but it is so fine..."
Blythe shivered. "Eww. That's yucky." She then shook her feathers, sending a plume of the material into the air that enveloped those in the hollow.
In a brief moment, all were coughing, wheezing, and sneezing as the particulate matter entered their lungs and eyes, burning and itching both. Quickly, they vacated the hollow, and the three fledglings stood nearby fearfully with their mother between them and the hollow. With great caution, they looked around their mother's body into the hollow.
"What was that?" Bell asked.
"I think it was ash, it must have been from the Ember. But I don't know." Pellimore answered. "I honestly don't know."