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place to pick up information, because so manyRogue colliers came to dive the coal beds from all parts of the Southern Kingdoms. But if he waited, he would be forced to fly in daylight, and crow mobbings had been on the rise lately. And how much would he learn if he waited? One really couldn’t interrupt a byrrgis, nor would he be permitted into a Gadderheal. But Coryn would. Coryn had a special relationship with the wolves. With Namara in particular.
    He decided that he must leave immediately for the great tree. The wind had shifted. He should be able to make it at least as far as the border between the Shadow Forest and Silverveil. Of course, if he flew over the spirit woods it would be even shorter and safer. Crows never entered the spirit woods, but he felt himself wilf at the thought. Gwyndor had never encountered a scroom and although it was said they were perfectly harmless he was not anxious to meet up with any, either.
    Another owl far from the Beyond was perched on the very top of the bell tower trying to decide not when she should leave for the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, but if she could leave. Bess had not left the Palace of Mists since she had first arrived years before. The farthest she had ever flown since that time was to the base of the waterfalls to hunt. The mist-shrouded cleft in the ShadowForest provided everything she needed. And the Boreal Owl, as she had grown older, hoarded her solitude like a miser hoarding gold. It was priceless. She had sworn years before after the arduous journey in which she had transported her father’s bones that she would never leave this palace. It was her paradise, her own glaumora on earth. She found all the company she required in books and ideas. Over the years, her long-distance flight skills had become as rusty as the hinges on the palace doors. She knew all one could about navigation, for she had read all the books of the old explorers, but could she do it on the wing? Now, as she perched on the edge of the bell tower, she wondered if she had the courage to leave this place. Her gizzard rebelled at the very thought. Who would toll for her father?
    She was happy that her father had not come to her as a scroom, for that would mean he had unfinished business on earth. Instead her father had appeared in a dream and said, “Wake!” Maybe that meant she should leave her concerns of scholarship and theory and go out into the world. The facts were pretty straightforward. An owl lay dead in the palace. She had killed that owl. He lay in a pool of blood, an arrowhead buried in his breast. And now she must go out into the world. She must fly to the great tree and tell the shocking news of the intruderwho spoke of hags and hagsmire and demanded the ember. And if one owl knew the ember was at the Palace of Mists, did others?
    Bess shut her eyes. I can’t go! I can’t! I am so scared. She felt her gizzard clench. A warm draft of air rose up from below. Such warm drafts or thermals were rare. Was it a sign? These thermals were the easiest to fly, giving owls a sturdy boost, allowing them to soar with hardly a wing waggle for propulsion. It seemed as if the very elements were conspiring against her fear. Or are they conspiring for me? Trying to entice me into the sky?
    She felt pressed now between this rising thermal and that pool of blood in the crypt. She closed her eyes, gave a sudden small yelp, and flung herself onto the warm breast of the updraft. Here goes nothing! she thought. And felt the warm air fold around her like the wings of her da.

CHAPTER SEVEN
I’m Here!
    T he days had shortened and the nights had grown longer. In the few daylight hours left, the owls slept deeply, recovering from all the work and play of the season of long nights. Since her injury of the previous year, Otulissa found that she had to rebuild her strength gradually and often retired earlier than the other owls, taking a few hours of quiet reflection before sleep. There had been a string of sparkling