Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King by authors_sort Page A

confusing—and very lonely.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
An Old Friend
    I n the northern part of the S’yrthghar, winter weather had set in and the night was aslant with a slashing wind of sleet and snow and rain. The wintry weather reminded Hoole of the dwindling number of nights to Short Light and this made him fly all the faster. Every night the darkness lengthened and the sun grew weaker, staggering up over the horizon like some crippled sky creature until finally there would come that morning when it would not appear at all. That would be the Long Night when they must strike.
    Hoole flew alone on a northeasterly course. He was unfamiliar with sleet. In the N’yrthghar, it was so cold and dry, there was no sleet, only snow.
    “Great Glaux, I’ll wear out my wings flying through this slop,” he muttered as he approached Broken Talon Point. Phineas and the Snow Rose had protested when he said that they must go back to the great tree to report what they had found so far. The Pygmy and the Snowy had wanted toaccompany him, and it took a lot of arguing on Hoole’s part to convince them that he would be quite safe. “It’s more important for you to fly back and share what we have found and to seek out more Rogue smiths who are willing to be slipgizzles.” Finally, they had relented.
    The images in the fire had shown Namara—the wolf once called Hordweard—in the harsh and inhospitable region northeast of Broken Talon Point, not in the Beyond where the dire wolves had lived ever since Fengo had led them there. It did not surprise Hoole that Namara had chosen to leave the Beyond. She had lived most of her life there as one of several mates of the demonic wolf called MacHeath. But she had left her clan and shown great courage and endurance in hunting down the traitorous MacHeath and warning Hoole of Lord Arrin’s approach before the Battle in the Beyond. Had it not been for Namara, they would have never been prepared for the attack. Ever since that day she had been regarded as a hero by all the wolves of the Beyond. But hero or not, Namara wanted no part of their society. In her time alone tracking down her old mate, she had become strong again, and confident and beautiful. She had declared that her name was no longer Hordweard but Namara. “I am Namara now. My clan is MacNamara. I am a clan unto myself.” Hoole needed her now and was determined to find her.
    He knew the way of the wolves. He had lived in Fengo’s cave, breathing the air that the wolves breathed and smelling their scent marks. But his education was not complete until he had joined a byrrgis, the traveling formation of wolves, and hunted with them. And although he had not become a wolf in his shape or body, he had in his mind. His beak had felt like fangs, his feathers like fur. It was almost as if he could read the wolves as he read the flames.
    Those feelings were returning. He knew he was drawing close to Namara. He could feel her hunting nearby—was it a stray caribou? A bobcat? With each beat of his wing, he felt himself becoming more wolf than bird. A confounding but thrilling paradox.
    He spotted her just as the moon was sliding down toward the horizon into another night in another world, and the first gray of dawn began to peel away the darkness. It was a winter-thin caribou she was tracking. Hoole settled in a tree to watch the ritual of lochinvyrr that was about to be enacted. He dared not interrupt it. An agreement was being made between predator and prey. The prey, in a silent language, said, “My meat is valuable, my meat will sustain you. I am worthy.” It was not a moment of victory or defeat but one of dignity.
    When Namara had finished with the kill, Hoole swept down from the tree. She lifted her blood-soaked muzzle.“Hoole, dear Hoole!” How odd those soft words seemed coming from that blood-drenched face. “What brings you here, young’un? Oh, forgive me—you are now king.”
    “No, I shall always be just Hoole. I care not for such