Firewing (The Silverwing Trilogy)
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The forest heaves and splits in a terrible quake, and Griffin, a newborn Silverwing bat, is sucked down a fissure deep into the earth. Shade, Griffin's father, soon realizes that his son has been drawn into the Underworld and embarks on the most dangerous of journeys to rescue him. Shade knows he must find Griffin quickly -- legend says that if the living stumble into the land of the dead, they have only a short time before death claims them, too. But something else is hunting Griffin -- a deadly foe Shade hoped he would never see again. Who will find Griffin first?
looked at Nemo and Yorick, frozen in mute shock. In the cramped cave everyone was now within a wingspan, eyes locked. Not even the Vampyrum seemed certain of what to do, and Shade didn’t want to give him the time. For all he knew, the cannibal was waiting for reinforcements to ensnare them all. Shade inhaled silently and prepared to sing out an echo illusion—a vulture, an owl—that would terrify the cannibal into retreat. He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, ready to paint with sound. “Take me
boulders, an outcropping, probing with sound but reluctantly keeping to his promise not to call out Griffin’s name. What he wanted was to shout it with all his might. “If your son is alive, I think perhaps he will glow like you,” Java said quietly. Shade nodded in surprise; he hadn’t thought of that. Then he frowned. “But I won’t see that, will I?” “I will, though. And I am watching for him, too.” “Thank you, Java.” Looking up at the stone sky he could not find his circle of stars. They must
set of jaws. The entire hill could sink into the sand and take us with it. Trapped inside. Forever. That would not surprise me in a place like this. In fact, it would be pretty typical.” “Please,” she said sweetly. “You’re making me feel mean.” “That’s good.” “It’s hard to say no to a dead person.” “You’d feel pretty cruel, wouldn’t you? I’d feel cruel.” “Luna, I haven’t seen anyone come out.” She cocked her head, ears pricked. “I’m not hearing any crying or screaming. Maybe they’re just
the topmost branch of a pine, a raven stared suspiciously as he passed, but said nothing. Shade watched the powerful bird carefully. He’d quickly realized that being allowed to fly in sunlight was not the same as being welcome. Though the owls had agreed to a peace treaty with the bats, Shade and the other Silverwings still felt wary in the day. Most avoided it, choosing to hunt and fly under the moon and stars, as they had done for millennia. Sometimes Shade wondered what the point had been,
dandelion spore caught by the wind, a billion glimmers of sound raining down towards the winged body of the cathedral, now twitching senselessly. Go get Griffin. But as he turned, Shade saw the four stone gargoyles on the corners of the spire. He faltered. Were the Pilgrims really in there? Quickly he flew to the Foxwing’s statue and roosted. He sang sound against the rock, felt his way into it, deeper, and then delivered a savage sonic blow. The rock cracked, and the gargoyle’s shell split in