The River of Wind by Kathryn Lasky Page A

back to the point of breaking this owl’s feathers. I think the Blue Owl might be a victim, too.”
    “Well, one thing is clear. They seem to be heading for the desert. I don’t think we have any choice but to continue,” Eglantine said, further examining the feathers.
    “Should we send for reinforcements?” Primrose asked.
    “I think we have to find out more first,” Eglantine concluded.
    Being experts in search-and-rescue and familiar with tracking techniques, both owls were not only experienced in uncovering tracks but in covering up their own. Stealth was part and parcel of any rescue or tracking operation. Whatever owls had abducted Bell and the blue owl had done their work in the sloppiest manner imaginable. In fact, as soon as they had come across the hollow where the owl-napping took place, it was simple to follow the track. Eglantine and Primrose were not sloppy owls. Theywould fly low but fast. If necessary they would use camouflage. Although few trees grew in this desert, there were plenty of scrubby bushes.
    They flew a dark sky for the better part of the night, as the moon was still young in the newing. The track of the abductors had extended far into the southeastern section, avoiding the more heavily populated regions of the desert, where there were scores of Burrowing Owl settlements as well as cactus hollows for smaller owls.
    “We need to get higher and look down. I can see the trail clearly. Great Glaux, these fellows are messy fliers. There’s tumble feather all over the place,” Eglantine said. The downy underfeathers were only shed if the owl was a noisy flier, which also meant the owl was a messy flier. She felt a slow dread creeping through her gizzard. The Pure Ones were just such fliers—strong, fast, and incredibly sloppy. Eglantine and Primrose clawed against a stiff headwind to a higher altitude but then found a buoyant warm thermal that gave them a good boost. Here they virtually soared, never having to flap a wing as they examined the landscape below.
    “I’m seeing a pattern,” Eglantine said as they flew over the easternmost region of the Desert of Kuneer. “Look at those humps in the sand. I’ll wager there’s a mess of burrows down there, more or less connected.”
    “If Digger were here, he’d know how to get in.”
    “Well, he’s not,” Eglantine said tersely. “We’re going to have to figure this one out for ourselves.”
    “Look,” Primrose said. “There’s an owl flying low and it’s heading for that rock.”
    Eglantine, however, had heard something even before Primrose had spied this low-flying owl. She was angling her head this way and that as they flew. Tilting her ear slits, she scanned what was quickly becoming a narrow vector from which vibrations were issuing. She listened as only a Barn Owl can. Barn Owls were known for their extraordinary hearing abilities, superior to those of most owls. She had already sifted through a hodgepodge of irrelevant noises, from the slitherings of a rattlesnake through the sand to the gasp of a rabbit as a desert bobcat sank its fangs into its back. She could even hear the snap of that rabbit’s spine as it was torn apart, the trickle of its blood, the weakening pulse, and then the crunching of the bobcat’s teeth. But through all this, she heard something much more alarming and familiar. Not words yet, but a vibration, a tone that she recognized.
    “She’s down there!” Eglantine whispered as she began a banking turn. Primrose followed in Eglantine’s wind groove as she carved the turn.
    “Who?”
    “Nyra.”
    “Great Glaux!” Primrose’s gizzard clenched. “But if we can hear her, she might be able to hear us.”
    “Doubtful. The Pure Ones listen as sloppily as they fly. Besides, we’re in the better position. These rocks are streaked with long fissures. They are great for transmitting sound above the ground. I have an idea…a plan.” They alighted on a rock not far from the one toward which they had