“A legend, Kludd, is a story that you begin to feel in your gizzard and then over time it becomes true in your heart. And perhaps makes you become a better owl.”

Kathryn Lasky
Love Time Neutral

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“You ugly rat-faced birds. You call yourself a bird? You call yourself an owl? You ain't no decent kind of fowl! They call you Jatt? They call you Jutt? I'm gonna toss you in a rut! Then I'm gonna punch you in the gut! Then your gonna wind up on your butt! Think you're all gizzard! I seen better lizards. One-Two-Three-Four, You're goin' down, won't ask for more. Five-Six-Seven-Eight, You ain't better than fish bait...Nine-Ten-Eleven-Twelve, I'm gonna send you straight to hell. -Twilight”


“Night is done, gone the moon, gone the stars From the skies. Fades the black of night Comes the morn with rosy light. Fold your wings, go to sleep, Rest your gizzards, Safe you'll be for the day. Glaux is nigh. Far away is first black, But it shall seep back Over field Over flower In the twilight hour. We are home in our tree. We are owls, we are free. As we go, this we know Glaux is nigh.”


“We're going to bash them birds, Them rat-feathered birds. Them bad-butt owls ain't never heard 'Bout Gylfie, Soren, Dig, and Twilight Just let them get to feel my biteTheir li'l ole gizzards gonna turn to pusAnd our feathers hardly mussed. Oh, me. Oh, my. They gonna cry. One look at Twilight, They know they're gonna die. I see fear in their eyes And that ain't all. They know that Twilight's got the gall. Gizzard with gall that makes him great And every bad owl gonna turn to bait.”


“We are the owls of the weather chaw. We take it blistering, We take it all. Roiling boiling gusts, We're the owls with the guts. For blizzards our gizzards Dr tremble with joy. An ice storm, a gale, how we love blinding hail. We fly forward and backward, Upside down and flat. Do we flinch? Do we wail? Do we skitter or scutter? No, we yarp one more pellet And fly straight for the gutter! Do we screech? Do we scream? Do we gurgle? Take pause? Not on your life! For we are the best Of the best of the chaws!”


“I dedicate this book to all of you Guardians of Ga'hoole readers who have become like citizens in my imaginary world. Imagination is, in a sense, a two-way street. Through your enthusiasm you have made this world much more real for me. I had originally intended to write only six books. This book, the fifteenth, is the last. It is the last not because your fervor has waned but because this is the logical place for the story of Soren and the band to conclude.”


“They did not hear Grimble, as he lay dying, chant in the true voice of the Boreal Owl, in tones like chimes in the night, an ancient owl prayer, “I have redeemed myself by giving belief to the wings of the young. Blessed are those who believe, for indeed they shall fly."”