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own suddenly grow heavy. He turned his head and nearly gasped when he saw his plummels, the silkiest of all his feathers, that fringed the outer edges ofhis primaries. They were stiff with frost and the wind was whistling through them. Great Glaux, I’m flying like a gull!
    It was not long before they found a tree. The hollow was a rather miserable little one. They could barely cram into it, and it was crawling with vermin.
    “This is appalling!” Mrs. Plithiver said. “I’ve never seen such an infestation.”
    “Isn’t there some moss someplace?” Twilight asked, remembering the extraordinarily soft, thick moss of the Mirror Lakes.
    “Well, if someone wants to go out and look, they can,” Mrs. P. said. “In the meantime, I’ll try and eat as many of these maggotty little critters as possible.”
    Soren peeked out the hollow. “The wind’s picked up. You can’t even see out there. Snow’s so thick on the ground, I doubt if we could find any moss if we did look.”
    “We can always pulp some of the pine needles,” Gylfie said. “First, you beak them hard enough, then let them slide down to your first stomach—the one before the gizzard. Hold it there for just a while, and then yarp it all back up. The pine needles come out all mushy and when they dry they’re almost as soft as moss. Actually, technically speaking, it is not called yarping. It’s burping when its wet and not a pellet.”
    “Who cares—as long as it’s soft?” Twilight muttered.
    “I suppose it’s worth a try,” Digger said. “The thought of going out there into that blizzard is not appealing in the least.”
    So the owls leaned out from the protection of the hollow only far enough to snatch a beakful of pine needles. They all began beaking, then swallowing the wads down to their first stomachs and then burping. All the while, Mrs. Plithiver busied herself with sucking up maggots and pinch beetles, and one or two small worms known as feather raiders—all of which were most unhygienic to the health of owls.
    “I don’t think I could eat another pinch beetle if my life depended on it,” Mrs. P. groaned after more than an hour.
    There was a huge watery gurgle that rippled through the hollow.
    “What was that?” Digger said.
    “Yours truly, burping here,” Twilight said and opened his beak and let go with another hollow-shaking burp.
    “Oh, I’ve got to try that!” Digger said. In no time the four owls were having a burping contest. They were laughing and hooting and having a grand old time as the blizzard outside raged. They had figured out prizes as well. There was a prize, of course, for the loudest, but then one for the most watery sound, and the one for the most disgusting,and one for the prettiest and most refined. Although everyone expected Gylfie to win with the prettiest, Soren did, and Gylfie won for the most disgusting.
    “Absolutely vulgar,” muttered Mrs. P.
    But soon they became bored with that and they began to wonder when the blizzard would let up. And although not one of them would admit it, secretly their thoughts turned to the Mirror Lakes and they grew quieter and quieter as they tried to remember their lazy beautiful days, flying in spectacular arcs over the lakes’ gleaming surface. And the food, the food was so good!
    “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a nice vole.” Soren sighed.
    “You know, young’un, I think the wind is lessening. I think maybe we should take off.” Mrs. Plithiver sensed the four owls’ thoughts turning to the Mirror Lakes. She simply couldn’t allow that. So even though she truly did not believe that the wind was lessening, it was essential to get them flying again.
    “You call this less?” Digger hooted from his downwind position.
    “A bit, and believe me, dear, sitting there burping pine needles isn’t going to get you any closer to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.”
    But what would? thought Soren. They could barely seeahead, behind was thick with swirling snow, below was