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number, 25-2. Indeed, when Gylfie had told Soren how her pit guardian had asked her to call him "Unk" it was almost identical to the way in which Aunt Finny had insisted on Soren calling her "Auntie."

    "It was all so weird," Gylfie had said. "I called him sir at first, and then he said, 'Sir! All this formality.
    Really, now! Remember what I asked you to call me? 'Uncle,' I answered. 'Now ... now ... I gave you my special name.'"

    The special name was Unk and the way in which Gylfie described Unk drawing that name of endearment from her, well, Soren could just imagine the Great Horned Owl dipping low to be on eye level with the little Elf Owl, the huge tufts above his ears nearly scraping the ground.

    "The pit guardians go out of their way to be nice to us," Soren had said. "But it's still kind of scary, isn't it?"

    "Very!" Gylfie had replied. "It was after I called him Unk that he gave me the bits of snake." She had then sighed. "I remember so well, as if it was yesterday, my First Snake ceremony. Dad had saved the rattles for me and my sisters to play with. And you know what, Soren? It was as if Unk had read my mind because I was thinking about my ceremony and just then he says, I might even have some rattles for you to play with.' And then I thanked him. I over-thanked him. It was disgusting, Soren."

    And Soren knew just what the little Elf Owl meant.

    But now they were separated and Soren hoped desperately that Gylfie would come up with some solution. And Gylfie, once more stuffed with some extra snake bits that Unk had given her, had become very drowsy in her pit. Unk had even allowed her to sneak in some extra sleep -- another little treat, or was it a bribe? But Gylfie could not sleep. She would be on the brink of sleep, drowsy with the succulent snake meat she had gorged on -- much too much for an owl of her size, but just as she was about to fall asleep something would prick her dim consciousness, some thought. Soren, in the pit next door, was concentrating as hard as he could. "Think of something, Gylfie! Think of something!"

    Auntie had been so nice. When Soren returned to the stone pit, she had said that she'd never seen a more tired- looking owl. "Didn't sleep a wink, huh?"

    " 'Fraid not, Auntie," Soren had replied.

    "Now, you hear me. Why don't you hop up there in that little stone niche, just your size and out of prying eyes, and take yourself a little blink or two?"

    "You mean sleep?" The question just slipped out. "Sorry about the question."

    "Of course, dear, I mean sleep and don't apologize about the question. We'll get stricter with that later."

    "But it's against the rules. We're suppose to be getting ready for our work assignments."

    "Sometimes rules are made to be broken. In my opinion, they should go much easier on you owlets after you first arrive. You're orphans, for Glaux's sake."

    It still disturbed Soren deeply to be called an orphan.

    He had a mother and a father and a sister and a brother. He wasn't sure why, but there was something shameful about being called an orphan, especially when one wasn't. It was as if you were this disconnected, unloved creature.

    "I know," Auntie continued. "I'm just an old broody" What was a broody? Soren wondered, but he suppressed the urge to ask. Soren hopped up into the stone niche. My goodness, he thought. I did that rather well. Could have passed my branching test on that one. And then he became very sad when he thought that he had not even been able to begin his first branching lessons with his father.

    Sleep indeed was hard to come by -- even a blink or two, because when Soren started to think about branching, he, of course, could not help but think about flying and remembered watching Kludd's attempts and finally his first very small flight. Something pushed at the back of Soren's brain, a memory.
    Soren was not sure how long he had been sleeping but it was not Auntie who woke him up. It was something else, something unspeakable. Once more he