Disclaimer: I don't own Guardians of Ga'Hoole, but I do own the characters created for this story. Please don't steal my characters.

Guardians of Ga'Hoole: Willogren's Story

#1 Song of Destiny

Chapter Two

A Funny Feeling in My Gizzard

“Please, please, Willogren! I've told you about my adopted parents. Surely you've had someone in your life. I can't possibly imagine you growing up all by yourself!” Annah pleaded.

They had been flying for a night and a half. Willogren was beginning to recognize the land below them, having flown over this area once before.

“We're getting close, Annah. We should be there by the end of tomorrow night,” Willogren informed her.

“Stop changing the subject!” Annah touched his wing with her own for a moment as they flew. “You can't keep everything in your gizzard. You'll feel better if you tell me. I can see in your eyes that you've had a difficult life.”

Willogren looked at the land passing beneath them and wondered for a moment how many owl families were in those waving trees. None of their chicks knew how lucky they were to have parents...to have someone that cared deeply for them.

“Can I ask you a question, Annah?” Willogren twisted his head to look at her.

“Ask me anything, Willogren,” Annah said.

“What does the word 'son' mean?”

Annah blinked. Out of all the questions she thought he would ask, this one came unexpectantly. He couldn't possibly be talking about the sun. “You mean, literally, or...figuratively?”

“What does that mean?” Willogren had never heard such a large word as “figuratively.”

“Literally, a son is a male born between a male and a female,” Annah replied. “When a male and a female have a female, they call that a daughter.”

“I already knew that,” Willogren told her.

“Then you're looking for the figurative meaning.” Annah hummed. “There's more than one figurative meaning for son. It just depends on the owl.”

“What do you think son means?” Willogren's gizzard was twitching with anticipation. Finally, someone who could give him more than just “offspring” business!

“What do I think?” Annah seemed surprised he'd ask. “I'm not sure. I would have to think about it. You see, I've never had any children of my own. My adopted parents were too old to have any more children when they adopted me, so I grew up as an only child. I'm their final child, and they're always telling me how proud of me they are.”

“When you do think about it, will you tell me?”

“Certainly, Willogren. Now may I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you ask me about the meaning of 'son?' You've barely told me anything about your past, so the question confuses me.”

“My Uncle called me son before he...passed on.” Willogren twisted his head away from Annah. He didn't want her to see him crying. His attempt was futile, for Annah had heard the tears in his voice.

“Willogren, I'm so sorry. Was it your Uncle who raised you?”

Willogren nodded.

“Then you have had at least one parent,” Annah whispered. “That's better than none. What was his name?”

“Huntley. He...I don't think he was really my Uncle.” Willogren shook his head. “His feathers were white, but I learned that was just because he was so...old. I haven't seen any other owls that look like him, either, and he never told me what sort of owl he was. I know that I am a Striped Owl, from what he told me.”

“What did he look like? I know all sorts of owls. I might be able to tell you what sort of owl Huntley was,” Annah said.

“He had some brown feathers in all the white,” Willogren recalled. “And I always thought something had happened to his face, because it looked as if someone had pulled his forehead down to touch his beak. His beak was black and gray, and his eyes...I remember them the most. They're the first memory I have. They were yellow, with just the tiniest bit of brown.”

Annah thought for a moment. “I have to guess he was a Boreal Owl, Willogren.”

“A Boreal,” Willogren echoed. “Huntley was a Boreal Owl?”

“Possibly. I can't say for sure because I never met him,” Annah said softly. “When did he pass on?”

“Right before I started branching.” Willogren remembered his first hop, just after Huntley had died. “During his last few days, he told me about his past and the basics of branching, flying, and hunting. I ate caterpillars until I taught myself how to hunt.”

“That must not have filled you very much.”

“They kept me alive and strong enough to begin catching mice. After awhile of eating mice, I was strong enough to start getting larger prey, like squirrels.” Willogren remembered the taste of his first squirrel. “That was a very triumphant day for me, when I caught my first squirrel. And I could almost hear Uncle Lee praising me.” Willogren blinked, realizing what he'd just said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.”

“It's okay. There's no reason to apologize,” Annah said. “Huntley sounds like he was a terrific father.”

“Father?” Willogren had never heard the word before.

“You know what a son and daughter is, but you don't know what a father is?” Annah gasped. “Oh, Willogren. A father is the one who gave birth to you, in literal terms. But a father can be the male who raised you, just the way Huntley raised you. He was your...adopted father. Just like my adopted mother and father.”

“Mother?”

“That's the female who raises you. Essentially, you need both, but there are circumstances, such as yours, where there is no female present. For an owl...it can be a great loss.” Annah gave him a sympathetic look. “I don't mean to make you feel bad, but it's the truth.”

“I may not have had a mother, but I had a father who made up for it,” Willogren said firmly. “Uncle Huntley taught me lessons through his stories. I know from him that you don't want to mess with snakes with rattles. That came in handy when I was in Kuneer.”

Annah didn't know what to say to this. It was clear that Willogren thought very greatly of his “Uncle” Huntley.

“He told me I was one of his young,” Willogren remembered. “I didn't know what it meant. I learned later that 'young' is another word for children. It has something to do with the word 'son', doesn't it?”

“Yes, Willogren. It does. Huntley was calling you his son, but in a different way. Do you know what the meaning of love is?” Annah questioned.

“I heard owl families saying that to each other, but I never quite understood what it meant.” Willogren remembered a specific family of Spotted Owls who had allowed him to rest in a hollow of their tree. When the morning sun had come, the two adults had said, “I love you,” to each other, and to all three of their owlets. The owlets had all replied, “We love you, too!” Willogren knew that the word “love” had something to do with families.

“Love is caring for someone else, sometimes even more than you love yourself.” Annah sounded like she was going to yarp a pellet. Yarping was what an owl did when their second stomach, or gizzard, had compressed the indigestible parts of their meal. The “pellet” was yarped back up through the owl's beak.

“Do you need to yarp?” Willogren flew closer to her.

“No, no. I was just thinking about my adopted parents. They said they love Hortense because she saved me and gave them the chance to raise one last chick. But they've never met Hortense. I learned how to love her, too, though I've never met her. She saved my life.”

“How could you...love...someone you've never met?”

“I'm not sure, but I know I love her. It would make me so happy to meet her.” Annah sighed. “But she died saving an egg.”

“Could I...love...my real parents? Even though I never met them?” Willogren was afraid Annah would say no.

“Oh, Willogren, I can't answer that for you. It would be wrong of me if I did.”

“I understand.” He did, after all. Annah wasn't him. He would have to find out if he could love his parents by himself. But he wasn't quite sure how to go about doing that.

“I'm tired, Willogren. The sun's going to rise soon. I can almost see it's rays touching the horizon. Let's settle down for the day,” Annah suggested.

Willogren didn't argue. The two of them found a nice aspen and settled down for a good day's sleep.

At the end of the next night, Willogren and Annah finally found the coast of Hoolemere in The Barrens. The Barrens were sandy, rocky, and had little, to no trees. The few trees that were there were scraggly and bore no leaves whatsoever. Willogren suggested they land beside one of these trees. So he and Annah began to spiral downwards and landed beside a thin, dying tree whose twigs layered the ground beneath it.

“That poor tree. It's too bad it tried to grow here,” Annah sighed.

“Poor tree? What's this about a poor tree?”

Willogren and Annah turned to see a very small owl hopping up over a pile of rocks a few feet away from the tree. It had a yellow and light gray face; a dark gray forehead; a silver and black mottled head, chest, and stomach; dark gray and dark brown wings; and dark, black eyes.

“Who's talking about a poor tree?” the owl demanded.

“I'm sorry if I offended you. I was only commenting on the tree's rather...droopy disposition,” Annah said.

“Offend me?” The little owl churred. “Good Glaux, did I really sound that disgruntled?”

“Don't take it as a compliment, Bumble.”

Willogren and Annah gasped as a large, gray owl stepped out from behind the rocks to join the tiny owl. This new owl towered over them and made the other owl look even smaller. The large owl had a silver and dark brown striped facial disk; a brown and light gray mottled head; dark gray, white, and dark brown mottled stomach, chest, and wings; and light yellow eyes that seemed to pierce through Willogren's gizzard.

“They're only young'uns, Bumble. Of course they'd think you were disgruntled.” The giant of an owl churred. His voice seemed to puncture the air like talons in flesh.

“Young'uns?” another voice said. A third owl appeared from behind the rocks. This was a kind of owl Willogren knew. He immediately recognized that flattish head and long, featherless legs. It was a Burrowing Owl!

“My goodness. How many of there are you?” Annah asked.

“We're only five,” the large owl said as the Burrowing Owl walked down the rocks so that he was standing beside the first owl.

“I'm Annah and this is Willogren,” Annah introduced them.

“I'm Findle, leader and co-founder of The Rogues.” The large owl bowed his head. “We're defenders of owls, and we fight the Pure Ones.”

“The Pure Ones!” Willogren cried.

“We're going to the Great Ga'Hoole Tree, to learn how to fight the Pure Ones,” Annah explained. “We want to be Guardians.”

A soft voice churred as the most beautiful owl Willogren had ever seen stepped out. She had a white face; a white and black mottled head, chest, stomach, and wings; and the softest, most inviting, amber eyes. “Young'uns, you've set a mighty quest upon your shoulders. Surely, you've heard that only those who are noble of gizzard can find the island where the Great Tree thrives?”

“That does not matter because we know we are noble of gizzard!” Willogren's feathers fluffed up, making him look bigger. “I have made a promise to someone that I will go to the Great Tree and learn to fight the Pure Ones. I will stop at nothing to achieve that.”

The Snowy Owl, for that was what the beautiful owl was, Willogren knew, looked at the large, gray owl. “You hear the strength, the wisdom in his voice, Findle? My Glaux, the little dear is a born fighter. Reminds me of...you remember.”

“Yes, my dear Moonsong.” Findle closed his eyes. “The reason we found you.”

“Quite so.” The Snowy, named Moonsong, hung her head.

Willogren felt as if he knew this owl from somewhere; it was as if he had heard her name, Moonsong, in his dreams, but he couldn't quite remember. The more he tried to, the farther it slipped away.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Willogren asked.

“Me?” Moonsong blinked. “My Glaux, no. I wouldn't think so.”

“What's going on?”

Findle spun his head around. Willogren peered around the four owls to see that a fifth, and final, owl had come out. He had gray eyebrows that started above his eyes and then swooped down to either side of his beak. His facial disk was light brown and white; his head, chest, and stomach were mottled in dark brown and light brown; his wings were brown, dark gray, and white; and he had very round, black eyes.

“Everything is okay, Taron. We've just got some company, that's all,” Findle replied.

Taron hopped forward. He didn't look much older then Willogren and Annah. “They're awfully young to be flying around The Barrens alone.”

“They're going to the Great Ga'Hoole Tree,” Bumble, the smallest, who was a Flammulated Owl, said.

“Really?” Taron seemed a little surprised. “That's exciting.”

“When were you two planning on heading out?” Findle wondered of Willogren and Annah.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Willogren replied. “Once we've rested.”

“Not a very good idea.” Findle turned his head toward the sea. “I saw a storm brewing earlier tonight. For two young'uns like you, it would be a disaster to leave tomorrow. I would give it at least two, maybe three, nights before you take off.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Annah said.

“Do you need a place to sleep? Grok found us a burrow in this rock pile here.” Findle nodded to the pile of rocks.

Willogren assumed that Grok was the Burrowing Owl.

“We would greatly appreciate that, sir!” Annah replied.

“No need to call me that.” Findle motioned for Willogren and Annah to follow them. “We don't much like formalities. It's why we call ourselves The Rogues.”

They were led into a nice burrow in the rocks. It was just the right size for the large group. There was moss to sleep on and a pool of water near the back to drink from.

“You two must be hungry. Please, eat something. We've all eaten already.” Findle pointed a wing at the small pile of voles and mice. “The hunting is scarce here and what we did find was scrawny. It's tough, but it's good for the gizzard.”

“Thank you ever so much. You're very kind.” Annah bobbed her head before she and Willogren went to eat.

Willogren felt the eyes of the Snowy Owl, Moonsong, on him the entire time he was eating. The feeling that he'd known her from somewhere kept gnawing at his gizzard. He knew he had heard that name, somewhere, some place, in some time that kept slipping from his mind. The feeling stayed with him the whole time he was sleeping, and he dreamed of a pulsing darkness and cozy comfort.

That cozy comfort began to slip away. There were tiny, cracking sounds. The tiniest noise of something tap, tap, tapping on something until it gave way. Then the feeling of cold, shivering, air...the first breath of air...and the screams...the terrible, awful screams of...

“Willogren, wake up! It's just a dream!” Annah's voice broke through.

Willogren's eyes opened wide. He was in the burrow once more, with Annah and the group of owls that called themselves The Rogues. Moonsong's amber eyes were misty as she looked at him with the rest of them.

“I'm sorry I woke everyone.” Willogren ducked his head down in embarrassment. “It was a bad dream, that's all.”

“No need to be sorry. We all get bad dreams...sometimes.” Findle's eyes were clouded with sadness.

Willogren wondered what could have possibly happened to these owls to make them want to fight against the Pure Ones and help out owls in trouble. Did they have bitter pasts like his?

“Moonsong, take Taron out and fetch us something to eat. We'll be leaving once we've finished,” Findle ordered.

Without a word, Moonsong and Taron left the burrow.

“You're leaving already?” Annah, who was standing quite close to Willogren, looked at Findle with question in her round, black eyes.

“We've been here for three nights,” Findle replied. “We do not stay anywhere for very long. Our next destination is Silverveil, where we intend to speak with a rogue blacksmith to see if she has any information for us.”

“What's a rogue blacksmith?” Annah wondered.

“They use fire to create things out of metal. She made these for us.” Findle lifted a talon, and for the first time, Willogren noticed that there was something different about Findle's talons. They were covered in something shiny that was curved just right so it fit perfectly over his real talons. The ends were sharp; sharper than any owl's talons or the fangs of a bobcat. Willogren had come across a bobcat on his second visit to Kuneer. It was not an experience he wanted to go through again.

“Are those...battle claws?” Annah whispered.

“Yes. The Rogue Smith of Silverveil is very talented. When she heard we were going to defend owls in trouble, and fight the Pure Ones, she made each of us a pair. We vowed to her that we would never tell anyone associated with the Pure Ones where we received them. She refused to make any for the Pure Ones. If they ever found out where we got these, they would kill her.”

Willogren looked at the talons of Bumble and Grok. Both were wearing battle claws as well. He thought about Moonsong, and Taron and realized that both of them had the battle claws, too.

“I've never seen, or heard of, battle claws before. I assume they're used for battle, which would make sense, considering their name.” Willogren looked at Findle with curiosity.

“They are used for battle, yes, and they are vicious, dangerous weapons. They are not to be looked upon lightly,” Findle said. “It takes great skill to wield a pair. You have to get used to their weight while flying, and how to attack, feint, and defend yourself.”

“It sounds like an awful lot of work,” Annah commented.

“They are not for the faint of gizzard, that is for sure!” Bumble said, just as Moonsong and Taron arrived with three mice and a vole.

“Hunter's share,” Findle said.

Willogren watched Moonsong and Taron choose what they wanted before the other three ate. He had heard of the “Hunter's share,” but he had never seen it before. It was only “manners,” as Annah called them, to allow those who hunted the animals to get first choice.

After they had finished eating, each owl gave their good-byes. Willogren and Annah watched them rise into the air. The two raised their wings in good-bye as The Rogues headed off into the night, singing a song.

“We are who we are

you can't change that

and if you try to

we'll turn you to splat!

We're The Rogues

we fight for the owls

who have trouble, distress

and year-round stress!

We are who we are

you can't change that

and if you try to

we'll turn you to splat!

We're The Rogues

we fight against the owls

who call themselves Pure

and we all know for sure

their death is the cure!

We are who we are

and you can't change that

and if you try to

we'll turn you to splat!

Oh, we're The Rogues

The Rogues

The Rogues

and nothing can change that!”

--

Willogren was perched on top of the pile of rocks, watching the storm throw the sea into frothy waves. He silently thanked Findle again for warning them about the storm. He'd never been in such a storm before, and he was sure Annah hadn't either. It had been two days since The Rogues had left, and the storm had lessened in intensity. He guessed they would be able to leave by tomorrow night.

Annah flew up with a mouse in her beak and another in her talons. She dropped one beside him. “These two were the fattest. It took me a little longer, but I was finally able to catch them.”

“Thanks.” Willogren picked up the mouse and gulped it down headfirst. “I would have gotten something myself.”

“I know, but I thought getting two plump ones in one hunt would be good for both of us. The mice and voles here are so scrawny.” Annah gulped down her own mouse.

“We should be able to leave by tomorrow.” Willogren looked out at the storm. “It's lessened a lot since two days ago.”

“It's amazing how quickly they come and go,” Annah mused. “Storms have voices too, you know. Loud ones. The storms that passed our hollow frightened me when I was younger, but when I learned to listen to the sounds, they stopped being scary. Now, sometimes, they almost seem peaceful.”

Willogren looked at the white-capped waves and the dark, rolling clouds of the storm over the sea. How could something like that be peaceful? Annah was one of the most amazing, and rather strange, owls he'd ever met. He looked at her and saw the storm reflected in her dark eyes. Her eyes were so much like his own, though much rounder. There was this feeling in his gizzard that he'd never felt before. It was something unique, something strange, just like Annah.

“Annah, I have a funny feeling in my gizzard. I don't know what it is.” Willogren saw her turn her head to look at him.

“Can you describe it?”

“It's hard to describe. It's similar to my feeling toward...Uncle Huntley.” Willogren blinked. “But it's...different, in some way.”

“I think you're feeling a form of love, Willogren,” Annah said. She tilted her head. “Friendship, maybe?”

“Friendship? What's that?” Willogren couldn't believe there were so many words Annah knew that he didn't, even though he'd traveled to many more places than she had.

“Friendship is the relationship between friends. Friends are...hmmm...that's a difficult one to explain. A friend is someone you know well and are fond of. They might be your...ally...someone who sympathizes with you, or someone who supports what you do.”

Willogren thought about that. “Are friends owls you love?”

“They can be, yes. I had a Spotted Owl friend who lived in the tree next to ours. I loved her almost like a sister. There are many forms of love, Willogren. Your love for your friends, your family, your parents. There's a form for love for your hobbies, such as flying, or hunting, or eating. I had an Uncle in my adopted family that loved to eat.”

“I think you are right, Annah. I am feeling a form of love. I was thinking about how much you've taught me, even though we've only known each other for a few days. I think I'm feeling a form of love, a friendship love, for you.”

Annah bobbed her head and tilted her beak toward the ground in embarrassment. “I consider you a friend, too, Willogren. You've taught me things, too. I learned that not everyone is as fortunate as I am in having a family that loves, and cares, for them.”

“Thank you for being my friend, Annah. You do not know how much it means to me. The only true friend I had was Uncle Huntley.” Willogren looked out at the storm again. “Tomorrow, we'll take flight over that sea. And whatever happens out there, we'll get through it together. Right?”

“Absolutely, Willogren!”

End of Chapter Two