Apollo took a crow in midstoop—a perfect strike. They could be fed, Connor thought as he sat on a low stone wall with a bag of crisps and an apple. They could be trained and tended. But they were of the wild, and the wild they needed for their spirit.
So he sat, content to wait, to watch, while the birds soared, dived, hunted, and prized the peace of a damp afternoon.
No fog or shadows here, he thought. Not yet. Not ever as he and his circle would find the way to preserve the light.
And where are you now, Cabhan. Not here, not now, he thought as he scanned the hills, rolling back and away lush and green. Nothing here now but the promise of rain that would come and go and come again.
He watched Apollo soar again, for the joy of it now, felt his own heart lift. And knew for that moment alone he would face the dark and beat it back.
Rising, he called the birds back to him, one by one.
Once all the work was done, he made a final round with the birds and checked on all that needed checking on, then shoved his own glove in his back pocket and locked the gate.
Then he wandered, at an easy stroll, toward the stables.
He sensed Roibeard first, pulled out the glove and put it on. Even as he lifted his arm, he sensed Meara.
The hawk circled once, for the pleasure of it, then swooped down to land on Connor’s gloved arm.
“Did you have an adventure then? Sure you gave the boy a day he’ll not be forgetting.” He waited where he was until Meara rounded the bend.
Long, sure strides—a man had to admire a woman with long legs that moved with such steady confidence. He sent her a grin.
“And there she is. How’d the boy do?”
“He’s mad in love with Roibeard, and expressed great affection for Spud, who gave him a good, steady ride. I had to stop once and give the sister a go at it or there’d have been a brutal sibling battle. She enjoyed it quite a lot, but not like the boy. And we won’t be charging them for the few minutes of her go.”
“We won’t, no.” He took her hand, swung it as they walked, kissed her knuckles lightly before letting it go. “Thanks.”
“You’ll thank me for more, as the mister gave me a hundred extra.”
“A hundred? Extra?”
“That he did, as he judged me the honest sort and asked if I’d give half to you. Naturally, I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. And naturally, I didn’t want to be rude and refuse again.”
“Naturally,” Connor said with a grin, then wiggled his fingers at her.
She pulled euros from her pocket, counted them out.
“Well now, what should we do with this unexpected windfall? What do you say to a pint?”
“I say on occasion you have a fine idea. Should we round up the rest of us?” she wondered.
“We could. You text Branna, and I’ll text Boyle. We’ll see if we have any takers. It’d do Branna good to get out for an evening.”
“I know it. Why don’t you text her?”
“It’s easier to say no to a brother than a friend.” He met Roibeard’s eyes, walked in silence a moment. And the hawk lifted off, rose up, winged away.
As Connor did, she watched the hawk for the pleasure of it. “Where’s he going then?”
“Home. I want him close, so he’ll fly home and stay tonight.”
“I envy that,” Meara said as she took out her phone. “The way you talk to the hawks, Iona to the horses, Branna to the hounds—and Fin to all three when he wants to. If I had any magic, I think that would be what I’d want.”
“You have it. I’ve seen you with the horses, the hawks, the hounds.”
“That’s training, and an affinity. But it’s not what you have.” She sent the text, tucked the phone away. “But I’d just want it with the animals. I’d go mad if I could read people, hear their thoughts and feelings as you can. I’d forever be fighting to listen, then likely be pissed at what I’d heard.”