The Capture by Kathryn Lasky Read Free Book Online

Owl stumble last night. No one said, 'Oh, sorry' or 'Move it!' or 'You clumsy bird.' All the owls simply parted and went around the Grass Owl. So what if we pretend to march and stay under the shadow of the arch each time? Get it? We would march in place and give the appearance of motion."

    "It's a great scheme, Gylfie!" Soren's voice was filled with awe.

    "We'll try it tonight. I can't wait," Gylfie said. "But I'm hungry now."

    "This is it?" Soren blinked as a large rusty-colored owl shoved one dead cricket toward him on the stone ledge. "I mean, this is it!" Soren quickly said, correcting what had been a question, as he stared down at what St. Aggie's called breakfast. No mouse meat, no fat worms -- oh, for a hummingbird! But one cricket! This was ridiculous. He would starve.

    As the owlets stopped to eat, there was only the sound of their beaks crunching the crickets. Soren couldn't believe that no one talked. Owlets always talked when they ate. His little sister, Eglantine, jabbered so much sometimes that his mum had to remind her to eat. "Eat the feet on that bug, Eglantine. Eat the feet. You talk so much you're missing the very best part of the beetle."

    So the silence began to bother him and there was indeed a terrible quiet to the stone canyons that made up St. Aggie's. Always, of course, there was the hollow whistle of the wind and the endless clicking of talons on the hard rock surfaces. Other than that, there was not much sound. Instead, there was an overwhelming sense of being cut off, separated from Earth, and even from sky. Soren began to realize that the entire lives of these owls, if one could call it living, were carried out in the deep stone boxes and slots, the canyons and ravines of St. Aggie's. There was very little water -- just a trickle here and there into which they could dip their beaks for a drink. There were no leaves, no mosses that he could see, no grasses -- none of the soft things that wrapped the world and made it tender and springy. It was a stone forest with its jagged outcroppings, rock needles, and spires and ledges.

    They had almost finished eating, so there was not even the clicking, just the sound of crickets being crunched.

    An owl next to him muttered, "I'd love a little piece of rat snake."

    "Oooh." Soren sighed and thought of Mrs. Plithiver. His family avoided serving snake out of respect for Mrs. Plithiver. Mrs. Plithiver said it was nonsense. "Show me a rat snake or a bull snake that anyone really loved." She would say, "Don't worry about my feelings. I have no feeling toward such snakes." But still his parents avoided such foods. Soren's father called it "species sensitivity." Soren had no idea what that meant, except he didn't want to hurt Mrs. Plithiver's feelings and she had just said she had none.
    Soren, of course, didn't really believe this. He thought Mrs. Plithiver had plenty of feelings. She was a most lovable creature, and his heart beat a little harder when he remembered her calling down to him from the hollow high in the fir tree. It almost made him cry to remember her voice. What had happened to her that night? Had Kludd done something to her as well? Or had she gotten away to get help? Did she miss him? Did his parents miss him? Once more, there was that sharp pain of missing and Soren nearly staggered with the very idea of never seeing his parents. Then he thought of Kludd and began to tremble all over again.

    "You all right?" Gylfie asked. She was so small that she barely reached up to Soren's wing tips.

    "No, I'm not all right," Soren gasped. "Nothing is right. Don't you miss your parents? Don't you wonder what they think happened to you?"

    "Yes, yes. I just can't think about it," Gylfie replied. "Listen, pull yourself together. We have our Great Scheme, remember?"

    "What do you mean pull yourself together? Do you know what I just figured out about my brother?"

    "Look, we don't have much time," Gylfie said quickly. "Make sure you get assigned to the