Guardians of Ga'hoole has 41 entries in the series. Read "Guardians of Ga'Hoole #1: The Capture (Movie Cover)" by Kathryn Lasky available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first download. Guardians of Ga'Hoole by Kathryn Lasky. About the Book. Prolific author Kathryn Lasky has long had a fascination with owls. After doing a great deal of research.
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Books Legend Of The Guardians Owls Gahoole 1 3 Kathryn Lasky Pdf legend of the guardians: the owls of ga'hoole () - imdb - directed by. Editorial Reviews. From School Library Journal. Grade At the beginning of this new series, a young Barn Owl named Soren lives peacefully with his family. The Capture begins the magical saga of Guardians of. Ga'Hoole, in which four owls band together to seek the truth and protect the owl world from unimagi-.
But perhaps worst of all were the tranquil gleaming lakes themselves. These owls had never been around such clear water. There was no silt, no mud, no muck and bits swirling about in it.
So they could see their reflections perfectly. Not one of these owls, except for Twilight, had ever seen its reflection. And even Twilight had never seen his so clearly. It had all started with Soren, actually, when Gylfie pointed out to him that he had a smudge on his beak from the coal that he had picked up and dropped on the bobcat.
Soren had flown a short distance from the tree where they had found a hollow, to the edge of the lake, to clean up. Until that time, Soren had thought that water was only for drinking and occasionally—very occasionally—for washing. But when he peered into the lake he nearly fainted.
Plithiver said. For although she was blind, Mrs. Slightly it had been, but no more! They were soon all nodding over the mirror of the lake, admiring themselves. Twilight was, of course, the worst of all because he was so boastful to begin with. Plithiver could hear him out there now, hooting about his beauty, his muscular physique, the fluffiness of his feathers, while he tumbled over and under a roll of air.
What is as fleecy as a cloud, As majestic and shimmering as the breaking dawn, As gorgeous as the sun is strong? Watch me roll off this cloud and pop on back. Plithiver could sense, the clouds were too high that day, and Twilight was flying too low to reach them as he admired himself in the Mirror Lakes. In actuality, Twilight was flying off the reflections of clouds that quivered on the glasslike surface of the lake. And that, Mrs. Plithiver concluded, was the heart of the problem with all the owls.
They were mistaking the world of image and reflection for the real world. The Mirror Lakes had transfixed them. And in their transfixed state they had forgotten all they had fought for and fought against.
Had they ever mentioned St. Had Soren even once thought of his dear family except the first time he caught his reflection in the lake? And what about Eglantine? Did he ever think of her and what might have happened to his poor sister? This was a very strange place. It was not just the Mirror Lakes and the thick soft moss and the perfect tree hollows and the plentiful game.
Suddenly, Mrs. Plithiver realized that in the rest of the kingdoms they had flown through it was becoming early winter, but here it was still summer, full summer.
She could smell it. The leaves were still green, the grasses supple, the earth warm. But it was poisonous! They had to get out of here. This place was as dangerous as St. All of you! Soren jerked his head up from admiring his beak in the surface of the pond.
He rather liked the smudge on it. Soren nearly fainted. He never had heard Mrs. It was like venom curling out into the air. The other owls alighted next to Soren. Had Mrs. Plithiver lost her mind? She had actually said racdrops! Look at me. Stop looking at yourselves in the lake this instant. You are a disgrace to your families. You are a disgrace to your species. The Great Gray Owls. All of you are, for that matter.
You have all grown fat, lazy, and vain, the lot of you. Plithiver stammered. Soren felt something really bad was coming. The harsh gull laughter ricocheted off the lake and the reflections of the owls on its surface quivered and then seemed to shatter. Plithiver said in a near roar for a snake. Indeed, all the owls felt their gizzards twist and lurch.
Plithiver could slither onto his broad shoulders. Of all the owls, Twilight had been the most transfixed by Mrs. And if Twilight was to fly point, as he usually did, Mrs. What, indeed, had the world come to if an old blind nest-maid snake had to navigate for a Great Gray Owl? Some sky tiger! But she had to navigate as Twilight began to circle the lake a second time and dip his downwind wing, no doubt for a better look at himself, and, yes, singing under his breath his next favorite tune— Oh, wings of silver spread on high, Fierce eyes of golden light, Across the clouds of purple hue In sheer majestic flight— Oh, Twilight!
Oh, Twilight, most beautiful of owls, Who sculpts the air Beyond compare. With feathers so sublime, An owl for now— An owl for then— An owl for all of time.
Plithiver had coiled up and was waving her head as a signal to a gull she sensed overhead. Suddenly, there was a big white splat that landed on the silver wings sublime. Blessed, I dare say! Blasts of frigid air, swirling with ice, sleet, and often hail, smacked into them. The rolling ridges of The Beaks had become sharper and steeper, sending up confusing currents. Ice began to form on their own beaks and, in a few minutes, Soren saw Gylfie spin out of control.
Luckily, Twilight accelerated and managed to help her. And then he swiveled his head back to the others. Ours will, too—soon. We have to look for a place to land.
He turned his head and nearly gasped when he saw his plummels, the silkiest of all his feathers, that fringed the outer edges of his primaries. They were stiff with frost and the wind was whistling through them.
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. Hold it there for just a while, and then yarp it all back up. Actually, technically speaking, it is not called yarping. 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. There was a huge watery gurgle that rippled through the hollow. 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. But soon they became bored with that and they began to wonder when the blizzard would let up. And the food, the food was so good! I think maybe we should take off. So even though she truly did not believe that the wind was lessening, it was essential to get them flying again.
They could barely see ahead, behind was thick with swirling snow, below was dense fog that not even a treetop could poke through, and, off to windward, sheets of frigid air seemed to tumble from somewhere. The owls had become adept at creating a still place for Gylfie in the center of their flying wedge formation when the winds became too tumultuous for the Elf Owl.
Gylfie moved into that spot now. Crabbing was a flight maneuver in which the owls flew slightly sideways into the wind at an oblique angle so as not to hit it head-on. The owls scuttled across the wind in much the same way a crab moves—not directly forward but in this case taking the best advantage of a wind that was determined to smack them back.
They had been doing a lot of crabbing since they had left the last hollow and something they thought never could happen had. Their windward wings had actually grown tired and even sore. Suddenly, there was a terrible roar.
The owls felt themselves sucked sideways as if an icy claw had reached out to drag them. There was another roar and they felt themselves smash into a wall of ice. Soren began sliding down a cold, slick surface. It was impossible to grab anything with his talons. His wings simply would not work.
He felt himself going faster than he had ever flown. But something huge and gray and faster whizzed by him.
Was it Twilight? No time to think. No time to feel. It was as if his gizzard had been sucked right out of him along with every hollow bone. But then he finally stopped. He was dazed, breathless, but mercifully not moving, on the slightly curved glistening white ledge on which he had landed. The four owls and, luckily, Mrs.
Plithiver had survived. They were all flat on their backs looking up a sheer white wall of ice and, poking their noses out of a hole in the ice above, were the faces of three of the most preposterous creatures any of them had ever seen.
Not birds. That bright orange thing growing from the middle of its, I guess, face? I can assure you that neither I nor anyone in my family is a cactus in bloom—whatever a cactus is and whatever a desert is.
Plithiver finally spoke up. I serve these most noble of birds, owls. Overshot it by five hundred leagues. But with the wind coming from that direction, they just got sucked up into the Narrows and then that williwaw came. Just cold icy air comes over the wall and crashes down.
The wall is not all ice.
Plenty of boulders. Follow us. You eat fish? Better get used to it. As she waddled toward the nest opening, Soren began to appreciate how truly preposterous this bird was. It was not only her face, with its large bulbous orange beak and the dark eyes ringed in red and set in slightly skewed ovals of white feathers, but also her body was the strangest shape. Chubby, with not one slim or graceful line and, with her chest thrust out, she appeared as if she might topple forward at any second.
How this thing flew was a mystery. Indeed, now, tottering on the edge of the nest, it appeared as if she hesitated to take off, but finally she did by windmilling her wings awkwardly until, at last, she seemed to organize them for a direct plunge into the sea.
And that was something to behold. She suddenly grew sleek. Her broad head and thick beak split the icy turbulent waters, which then closed over her tail feathers. She completely disappeared beneath the surface. Soren had been joined by Twilight, Digger, and Gylfie at the edge of the nest.
They waited and waited, then looked at one another. Lot of mouths to feed. Several small fish hung neatly from her beak. There she is! I just love capelin. Please, please, please? Every minute that he stayed in this smelly hollow he was getting less hungry. Down below, it appeared that the female was trying to run across the surface of the water while madly flapping her wings. Got these little air pockets so we can go really deep for a long, long time. Getting back to the nest is the hardest part for us.
Then where will your dinner be? The puffins, in addition to knowing how to dive and fish, knew weather.
And just now they were telling them that there would be a small pocket of time when the wind would turn, and they could leave before the next storm came in. But on the tenth day, it can turn around and suck you right back out. Nice high stream coming through that could pull you right back to The Beaks, if you want to go that far.
The Beaks sounded lovely. This place was so harsh and cold and there was the terrible stench of the fish and the awful oiliness that seemed to make their gizzards greasy. How could they help but think of the Mirror Lakes, where it was always summer and the voles were fat and the flying spectacular? Plithiver nodded. Soren could hear the steady drip as some of the ice began to melt. But finally he fell asleep. Perhaps it was the melting ice that made him think of that warmer place with the pools of crystal-clear water, his lovely white face shimmering on the surface.
Where were they supposed to be going instead? Soren kept forgetting. All he could remember were the rolls of warm wind to play on, the still, glasslike lake, the everlasting summer. No ice, no blizzard. Why not live there happily ever after? The dream tugged on him. In his sleep, he felt his gizzard turn and something begin to dim, while the longing for The Beaks and the Mirror Lakes grew stronger and stronger. You can fly out of here now.
Means warm air, the thermals have come. Easy flying. The wall certainly was weeping. Glistening with wetness, it appeared shimmering, almost fiery as the setting sun turned its ice into liquid flames of pink, then orange and red. They are the masters of silent flight. Never going to hear a wing flap with these owls!
They all wanted to go back. Could it be that wrong if they all wanted to do it? Twilight slid in close to him. You know, just to kind of rest up, get this fish out of our system. Soren felt Mrs. Plithiver shift in the feathers between his shoulders.
Twilight paused. Would that be wrong of us to go? He turned and looked directly at Gylfie. Together, they had survived moon blinking and moon scalding. Together, they had escaped St. He spun his head toward Twilight and Digger. It was in that desert stained with blood that the four of them had, within the slivers of time and the silver of moonlight, sworn an oath and become a band.
That was no dream. That was real. But it was a dream that now threatened them, a dream of the Mirror Lakes and endless summer that could, in fact, destroy their reason for living. What would be wrong with each of us doing what we want to do? And he sheered off toward an inlet near the end of the Ice Narrows that streamed into the Sea of Hoole-mere.
Soren was very thankful that they had found the current quickly. At least for now he could assure them that they were on course. The draw of The Mirror Lakes was powerful.
It was odd, but he often thought of the night that he and Gylfie escaped from St. When Skench, in her full battle regalia with claws and helmet, had burst in on them in the library, something had drawn her into the wall where the flecks were stored. She had actually slammed into the wall and become completely immobilized for a few brief seconds. But it had provided them with the time to escape. Somehow The Beaks and the Mirror Lakes had a similarly powerful draw for them.
How could a dream do this? However, this current of dark green water beneath them was real. All they had to do was follow it. They had been flying hard and fast for a while now. With each stroke of their wings, they felt surer of their course, and their gizzards began to tremble with excitement.
Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls. How dare they call that place an academy? For nothing was learned there. Indeed, one of the worst rules that an owl could break was that of asking a question. The most severe and the bloodiest punishments were reserved for questioners.
The foulest words one could utter at St. Soren at one point had all of his just-budging flight feathers ripped out and his wings left with a slick of blood because he had asked a question. Knowledge was forbidden.
Soon it began to snow, rubbing the pinpoints of starlight into smears, feathering the edges of the moon into a blurry softness, and smudging the dark green line of the current. Soren thought. Everything is turning white. Plithiver shift nervously in his neck feathers. So near but so far! Plithiver, the Yonder.
And right now it felt as if they were just this side of the Yonder. The conditions became increasingly confusing for the owls to fly in.
Accustomed in night flying to opening up their pupils so wide that they nearly filled the entire size of their eyes, on this snowy night the owls had to do the reverse and yet it was not like day flying. There was too much light and it was all the same color, a shadowy gray.
Water would appear no different from the surrounding land. Were they still over water? Or could they be over the Island of Hoole? Or maybe they had been blown off course again! Soren remembered what Mrs. The four owls were bunched together in a tight V—shaped formation with Twilight at the point. Soren realized that flying on one side of the V or the other was not the best place to take advantage of the uneven placement of his ears and his good hearing.
Unlike most birds, owls have extra bones in their necks that allow them to swivel their heads far to each side, in an arc much wider than any other living creature. Indeed, an owl can flip its head back so that its crown touches its shoulders, or turn its face almost upside down as Soren was doing just now. He was not sure exactly what it was but something seemed different.
But Digger began to sing in the thin grainy voice of a desert owl. Soren meanwhile was moving his head in small, minute movements. Now the song came back sharp and crisp. And then there came a moment when the wind died and the snowflakes seemed to stand still.
Twilight spoke. The snowflakes had evaporated into a thick dense fog. The world, the water below, was shrouded in mist. It was time for the vision of Twilight—that time that Twilight had spoken about when Soren and Gylfie had first met him, that time that had given Twilight his name, when boundaries become dim and shapes begin to melt away.
It was the time for the Great Gray Owl, who lived on the edges and saw invisible connections, the joinings in a world that had turned foggy and confusing. Maybe Twilight could find the current again. Soren drifted back as the big owl stroked by him to the point position. It seemed as if they had flown for hours since they had last seen the current. The wind was kicking up again and not in a favorable direction.
You could be dragged right under. Now, amid the blizzarding snow, the spume from the crests of waves spun up. How would he ever see a current in this mess? He flew lower. Still nothing. What if the others had flown off? Just given up. Could he truly blame them? He had the most dreadful feeling in his gizzard. What if he was left alone out here—just him and Mrs. Suddenly, Soren felt something stir in his gizzard. He said nothing but contracted and expanded his pupils.
The world was absolutely white now. Oh, this was when he needed Twilight! You followed me down. Within the depths of the impenetrable white, Twilight saw two even whiter patches. So, welcome to the Island of Hoole. Digger and Gylfie, exhausted, plummeted down near them. But we prefer to be called teachers, or rybs. Now let us guide you the rest of the way. The night turned black again and the stars broke out. We are here! I feel it! Two Great Horned Owls held the moss curtains apart using their beaks as the young ones flew through.
They alighted down inside. Soren thought that this hollow was not only huge but different from any other tree hollow he had ever seen, for it was light even though it was night. On the inside were strange flickering things. Boron came up to Soren and the other three owls. You see, here in Hoole we have discovered how to capture fire and tame it for our own uses. You shall learn all about this, young ones. And who knows? One of you might even become a collier.
It is a very special skill. These shall be your rybs. There were ledges that hung like galleries above. Every kind of owl imaginable was here within the hollow of the great tree, their yellow, black, and amber eyes blinking and winking in the most friendly and inquisitive manner at the five new arrivals.
But just then a series of deep, rolling gongs began to shake the entire tree. Barran stopped mid-speech. Then, it seemed as if the entire hollow suddenly brightened as owls began donning battle claws and helmets, and the flames of the candles flickered off the bright polished surfaces of the armored owls.
Horace Plithiver, nest-maid. I do have references. Come along, all of you. Not much really, just a skirmish on the borderlands between Silverveil and Beyond the Beyond. Off the passageways there were hollows of different sizes. Some, it seemed, were for sleeping, others for study of some sort, some for stores and supplies. Soren peeked into one and saw stacks and stacks of the strange flickering things that Boron said were called candles.
Sometimes Matron led them through a passage to the very end, where there might be a hole from which they would fly to another level of the tree, then reenter through another opening and resume their interior trail through the trunk of the tree.
As best as Soren could figure out, the sleeping quarters were closer to the top of the tree, meeting hollows for large and smaller congregations of owls seemed to be below, along with a hollow that was called a kitchen, from which very good smells issued. There were places along the way where small groups of owls gathered to socialize. These seemed to be near the points where some of the larger branches of the tree joined the trunk.
There were good-sized openings at these points so that owls could either sit inside on specially constructed perches or outside on the branches themselves. Nest decimation. Poor little things. Can you show these new arrivals to that hollow we cleaned out yesterday? They look half starved. Gylfie and I escaped. The Spotted Owl blinked again.
She had said nothing. But now the Elf Owl stepped forward.
There is nothing that noble about slaughtering two bad owls in the desert. Nor do you know the first thing about strategy. I have been here much longer than you and still have not yet become a member of a chaw.
There is more to life than just battles. Each chaw has its own, oh, how should I put it? Navigation chaw tends to have a kind of elegance, they are all superb flyers, as are the members of search-and-rescue, but they, of course, are less refined. Weather interpretation and colliering are decidely rough and uncouth.
Would he be up to it? He had to be. With his friends, he could. Look what they had accomplished so far! I have to go. Soren thought Gylfie was going to spit at her.
Did you see how she looked at me? Her grandmother had been a founder of SOS—the Small Owl Society—whose purpose was to prevent cruel and tasteless remarks about size. Make way! There were many of these passageways and it seemed to Soren that one might get hopelessly lost. But he began to follow the sound. Soon, he came to another hollow. Like most, this hollow had both an inside and an outside entrance so that one could either fly in or walk in from one of the many inner pathways through the trunk of the tree.
He peeked in. He saw the Short-eared Owl called Matron who had led them to their own hollow. She was bustling about, plucking down from her own breast and tucking it in around an owl. Could this little owl be Eglantine? Soren sighed. Soren came slowly into the hollow. The little owl was nearly as small as Gylfie; she was very fluffy, although she smelled of soot and some of her feathers were singed.
Primrose here lost her nest. See, her parents had gone off to fight in the borderlands skirmishes, and they had left her all safe and sound. Mum was really only off hunting, not fighting. She was going to be right back. A bunchy Barred Owl poked her head in.
Every owl deserves to live. Perhaps he was learning; just perhaps he was beginning to catch a glimmer of the true meaning of a noble deed. She would leave him to comfort this little Pygmy Owl and send in an extra cup of tea and some milkberry tart. Soren stayed with Primrose for the rest of the evening. She was sometimes a bit feverish and would begin to mumble about the little brother she was sure she had killed.
She had wanted to call him Osgood. What evidence is there in the text that makes me think he is a questioner? Remind them to always list text evidence for the traits and the page number where the evidence is found. After You Read Lead students in a discussion of these focus story elements. Genre of Fantasy How does the author make the fantasy world of the owls real? List parts of the story that made their world seem real. Sample answer: Sore and Gylfie were such great characters and I wanted them to escape so much that I forgot I was reading about owls, not humans.
Analyze Character How does the author make you like Soren and Gilfie? How does she make you dislike Skench and Spoorn and the other evil owls? Sample answer: I like Soren and Gilfie because they are brave enough to fight against the evil owls and I identify with their desire to be free. I dislike Skench and the bad owls because they are mean, they lie, and they try to brainwash the owlets. Using Context Clues Use context clues on page 70 to tell what the word yoicks means.
Questions to Share Encourage students to share their responses with a partner or small group. Text-to-Self How would you react in St. Do you think you would become moon blinked? Text-to-World Are there governments or rulers in the real world that are like Skench and Spoorn? Give an example. Text-to-Text Compare Soren to another character in an animal fantasy book or movie. Compare him to a human character in a book or movie. Ask students to report on their research by drawing a diagram of a bird in flight that shows how they use their wings and the wind to stay aloft.
After students create their mobiles, ask them to provide at least five facts about each of the owl species of the characters. Download the illustration. Some rhyming sequences are found on pages 62, , and Challenge interested students to write their own rap song for one of the characters or events in the book; for example, when Soren and Gylfie learn to fly and escape from St. Ask students to study the rhyme schemes of the songs in the book, decide how to use the rhymes, and then write their songs.
Math Owl Species and Numbers Encourage interested students to create a chart that lists five owl species and the number of birds in each species.
Suggest that students research the subject first, take notes, and then arrange the numbers in the chart in order from most of a species to least. They might want to integrate other kinds of information in the chart including, habitat, country, and number of offspring. Challenge students to write a review of The Capture, giving it a rating of one to four stars.