shall finish the flight.” Mrs P’s voice swelled in the growing light of the morning and somehow it filled them all with new courage.
Now Soren flew in so close to Digger that his wing was touching the tip of Digger’s good wing. They were ready for the transfer. “Now, Mrs P! Go!”
The old nest snake began to slither out on to Soren’s wing. Soren felt the pressure of air around his body and the cushions of wind under his wings shift. The air surrounding him seemed to fray. He had to concentrate hard not to go into a roll. But if he was frightened, he could not imagine what Mrs P was feeling as she blindly slithered out to the tip of his wing and began the precarious transfer to Digger.
“Almost there, dear, almost there. Steady now. Steady.”
Suddenly, she was gone. His wing felt light. Soren turned his head. She had made it. She was now crawling up towards the base of Digger’s wing. It was working. Digger’s flight grew even.
“We’re bringin’ him in! We’re bringin’ him in!” Twilight shouted triumphantly. Creating direct updrafts that supported Digger’s flight, Twilight flew below, along with Gylfie who, under the injured wing, was doing the same.
Finally, they landed in a large spruce tree. There was a perfect hollow for them to spend the day in, and Mrs Plithiver immediately launched into a frenzy of action. “I need worms! Big fat ones, and leeches. Quick – all of you! Go out and get me what I need. I’ll stay here with Digger.”
Mrs Plithiver crawled on to Digger’s back. “Now, this won’t hurt, dear, but I just want to feel what those awful crows did to you.” Gently, she began flicking her forked tongue over his wound. “It’s not deep. The best thing I can do is to curl up right on the wound until they come back. A snake’s skin can be very healing in many cases. We’re a little too dry for the long run, however. That’s why I want the worms.”
Soon the owls were back with the worms and leeches that Mrs P had ordered. She directed Soren to place two leeches on the wound. “That will cleanse it. I can’t tell you how filthy crows are!”
After the leeches had done their work, Mrs Plithiver pulled them off and gently replaced them with two fat worms.
Digger sighed. “That feels so good.”
“Yes, there’s nothing like a fat slimy worm for relief of a wound. You’ll be fit to fly by tomorrow night.”
“Thank you, Mrs P. Thank you so much.” Digger blinked at Mrs P, and there was a look in his large yellow eyes of disbelief that he could have ever considered such a snake a meal – which, as a desert owl, Digger often did.
Within the spruce tree where they perched, there was another hollow that housed a family of Masked Owls.
“They look almost exactly like you, Soren,” Gylfie said. “And they’re coming to visit.”
“Masked Owls look nothing like me,” Soren replied. Everyone was always saying this. He had heard his parents complain about it. Yes, they had white faces and buff-coloured wings, but they had many more spots on their breasts and head.
“They’re coming here to visit?” Mrs P said. “Oh dear, the place is a mess. We can’t receive company now. I’m nursing this poor owl.”
“They heard about the mobbing,” Gylfie said. “We’re even a little bit famous.”
“Why’s that?” asked Soren.
“I guess that gang of crows is really bad. They couldn’t believe we battled back and survived,” Gylfie replied.
Soon, they heard the Masked Owls arriving. One poked her head in. “Mind if we visit?” It was the female owl. And although Masked Owls belonged to the same species of owls as Soren’s family, which were Barn Owls, and they were all known as Tytos, they were hardly identical.
“See what I mean?” Soren whispered to Gylfie. “They are completely different. Look at how much bigger and darker they are.” The point was lost on Gylfie.
“We wanted to meet the brave owls who battled the crows,” said the owl’s mate.
“Yeah, how’d you ever do that?” a very young owlet who had barely fledged peeped up.
“Oh, it wasn’t all that hard,” Twilight said and dipped his head almost modestly.
“Not that hard!” Mrs Plithiver piped up. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done!”
“You!” the male Masked Owl exclaimed.
“She certainly had nothing to do with the defeat of the crows. She’s a nest-maid,” his mate said in a haughty voice.
Mrs Plithiver seemed to fade a bit. She nudged one of the worms that had begun to crawl off Digger’s wing.
“She had everything to do with it!” Soren bristled up and suddenly seemed almost as big as the Masked Owls. “If it hadn’t been for Mrs P, I would have been dive-bombed from the rear and poor Digger would have never made it back.”
The Masked Owls blinked. “Well, well.” The large female chuffed and stepped nervously from one talon to another. “We just aren’t used to such aggressive behaviour from our nest-maids. Ours are rather meek, I guess, compared to this … what do you call her?”
“Her name is Mrs Plithiver,” Soren said slowly and distinctly, with the contempt in his voice poorly concealed.
“Yes, yes,” the female replied nervously. “Well, we discourage our nest-maids from socially mingling with us at any time, really.”
“That was hardly a party, what happened up there in the sky, ma’am,” Twilight said hotly.
“Well, now tell me, young’uns,” said the male as if he was desperately trying to change the subject. “Where are you heading? What are your plans?”
“We’re going to Hoolemere and the Great Ga’Hoole Tree,” Soren said.
“Oh, how interesting,” the female replied in a voice that had a sneer embedded in it.
“Oh, Mummy,” said the young owlet. “That’s the place I was telling you about. Can’t we go?”
“Nonsense. You know how we feel about make-believe.”
The little owlet dipped his head in embarrassment.
“It’s not make-believe,” said Gylfie.
“Oh, you can’t be serious, young’un,” said the male. “It’s just a story, an old legend.”
“Let me tell you something,” said the female, whom Soren disliked more and more by the second. “It does not do any good to believe in things you cannot see, touch or feel. It is a waste of time. From the look of your flight feathers’ development, not to mention your talons, it is apparent that you are either fly-aways or orphans. Why else would you be out cavorting about the skies at such dangerous hours of the morning? I think your parents would be ashamed of you. I can tell you have good breeding.” She looked directly at Soren and blinked.
Soren thought he might explode with anger. How did this owl know what his parents might think? How dare she suggest that she knew them so well that she knew they would be ashamed of him?
And then there was a small soft, hissing voice. “I am ashamed of anyone who has eyes and still cannot see.” It was Mrs Plithiver. She slithered from the corner in the hollow. “But, of course, to see with two eyes is a very common thing.”
“What is she talking about?” said the male.
“What happened to the old days when servants served and were quiet? Imagine a nest-maid going on like this,” said the female.
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs Plithiver. “And I shall go on a bit more, if you permit me.” She proceeded to arrange herself in a lovely coil and swung her head towards Soren.
“Of course, Mrs