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Ezylryb’s idea, shortly before he died. So we both know the crucial wind patterns when the squalls come in from this direction. We’re well trained for this situation, Pelli.”
    Pelli closed her eyes. Situation! How has my darling Bell become a situation? How do I tell Soren? She cut off the thought almost immediately.
    There had been scuppers and baggywrinkles in this gale. One minute, Bell had been dancing—doing the hurly-burly, in fact, the very dance that she had always heard the weather-interpretation chaw owls gabbling about—and then something happened. It was as if the central trough of the gale collapsed. The scuppers fell through and she with them. Her gizzard turned to stone, and she felt like it was dropping out of her, but then suddenly there was a warm draft and she had been sucked straight up. She bounced mercilessly at the top of this strange warm air. It was useless to try to fly, but Bell felt herself blown relentlessly in one direction. Was this a hurricane? Shouldn’t be, at this time of year. But maybe it was. All the horrible stories of owls caught in the rim of ahurricane’s eye, never escaping, sent agonizing surges through Bell’s gizzard. Suddenly, from nowhere, she felt a powerful whack on the back of her head. That was almost the last thing she remembered. Then she was spinning, and then there was nothing.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Tomorrow Line
    T he Chaw of Chaws had never been this far west in the Beyond as they headed to the remote inlet of the Unnamed Sea, where they believed they would find the source of a windkin. They hoped this windkin, if they could negotiate it, would ultimately lead to the high stream of wind that would carry them to the sixth kingdom. An undeniable tension now seized the eight owls. They chatted nervously of everything but that which they feared most—the unknown that lay ahead, and the loss of the familiar world they were leaving behind, perhaps never to see again.
    “Say that word once more, Otulissa,” Martin asked.
    “Jouzho.”
    “And it means ‘Middle Kingdom’?” Twilight, who had never had any interest in any foreign language, suddenly seemed fascinated by Jouzhen, the language of the sixth kingdom.
    “Not exactly. ‘Jouzho’ means ‘middle,’ and then whenyou add the suffix ‘kyn,’ it means Middle Kingdom. Together, Jouzhenkyn.” Otulissa, of course, had gotten her talons on every scrap that had anything to do with the language of the Middle Kingdom. She had kept Bess up often until well past midday with her questions, and together they had compiled a dictionary of sorts. If anyone could learn a language fast, it was Otulissa. Years before, she had almost mastered Krakish by the time of their first journey to the Northern Kingdoms. “It’s not a phonetic language exactly,” she said.
    “How can you tell, if you’ve never heard it spoken?” Digger asked.
    “Well, I just sense it. You know, when you’ve done as much language study as I have you get a feel for these things.” The sound of Otulissa’s voice dwindled off in the increasingly turbulent air, and silence now fell upon the owls. There were thick swirls of fog obscuring the moon, the stars, and even the land below. We might never see what we are leaving, Soren thought, and felt a small twist in his gizzard.
    Ruby broke the silence. “What’s that way ahead?” A sudden wind had cleared off the blanketing fog and, beneath the starlight and the shine of the moon glinting in the distance, there was a silken expanse of darkness.
    “That which lies between us and Jouzhenkyn: that is, the Unnamed Sea,” Otulissa spoke softly.
    All the owls felt tremors pass through their gizzards. As the sea drew closer, they felt they had to keep their gaze even steadier on the land. Just offshore, not more than a quarter of a league from the breaking waves, was a rock that spiked from the water like a wolf’s fang.
    Finally, Digger, who as a Burrowing Owl probably had the closest association