The Siege by Kathryn Lasky Page B

was a creature with enough venom to wipe out an entire owl kingdom.
    “Slynella will fly with us to the sycamore. With a careful application of her venom to the wound, this Barn Owl might be saved.” The eagle paused. “If it isn’t too late.”
    Gylfie was weeping quietly in a corner of the hollow. The other five owls crouched in the shadows, helpless and too stunned with grief to move. Hortense did not hear any deep rasping breaths. He was sure that the Barn Owl must have died. But then he detected a faint movement in the sick owl’s breast feathers. The hollow was not big enough for the eagles. The female merely stuck her head in and surveyed the situation. Then, in that soundless way she had, she communicated something to her mate.
    “Get to work, Slynella, this is a fine owl,” said the male eagle.
    At that moment Digger, Gylfie, and Twilight blinked. These were the eagles who had saved them in the desert.
    “Zan! Streak!” Gylfie gasped. “What are you doing here?” Then there was a huge flutter. The owls all pressed themselves against the sides of the hollow as Slynella, in one sinuous movement, slid in and hung herself in an S shape from a wood spur that projected directly over Soren.
    “Calm yourselves. This snake is Soren’s only hope. Only one side of her forked tongue bears the poison. If she mixes it with the contents of the other side, she can provide a powerful medicine for an infection.”
    The six owls stepped back.
    The snake lowered herself until her head was directly above Soren’s battered tail feather. Flicking madly, hertongue sought out the broken shaft. “Firssst I mussst pull out the shaft. No ssssense having a broken one. Then I can get to the wound with my tongue.” Gylfie sank back against Twilight. The thought of that tongue probing Soren’s wound made her knees weak.
    In his feverish state, Soren saw something green and luminous swaying over him. Had that terrible scar of Finny’s become green? Was it a green bolt of lightning now? He was fascinated. But why were all the others backing away? There was nothing to fear. Of this he was sure. His mind filled with thoughts. Come on, pals. Nothing to fear here. Hey, Hortense! Hortense, I thought you were dead. No, not that Hortense. The real Hortense. The one Finny threw off the highest cliff in the hatchery. Hortense, how did you survive?
    Streak caught me. He flew in at the last minute.
    Hortense, please don’t tell me you’re a scroom. I met the scrooms of my parents. It was too sad. Please, Hortense, you can’t be a scroom. It’s really going to frink me off if you’re a scroom.
    My, my, you have developed quite a coarse vocabulary since we last met.
    Hortense, I’m serious. This conversation isn’t just happening in my head is it—like with the scrooms?
    “Definitely not!” It was Gylfie’s voice piercing through the miasma of pain and fever. “I can’t believe it. It is Hortense!”
    “How many Hortenses are there around here?” Martin asked.
    “Just one, the true one, the original,” Streak said, poking his head into the hollow. “But now she prefers to be called Mist.”
    “Yes, that’s true,” the real Hortense said.
    “What happened to that other Hortense?” Twilight asked.
    “We sent him off. Brave little fellow, wasn’t he? I’d say he did a fine job of living up to the name,” Streak said.
    “Brave fellow,” said the real Hortense. “I think that’s why he was able to see me even in my faded, somewhat tattered condition. But I wanted this to be a true reunion among old friends,” Hortense said, looking at Digger and Gylfie, Twilight and Soren.
    “Is Soren going to get better?” Gylfie asked.
    “I think he’ll make it,” Streak said.
    Soren’s eyes blinked open. The cloudiness that dulled the deep black luster had cleared. “I can’t believe it. Hortense, Streak, Zan—all here. All alive.”
    “And you!” Gylfie’s voice broke. “You’re alive, Soren. Alive!”

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