Gobbled the chicken. Stood, stared into Taylor’s eyes.
Knowing the moment well, Connor captured the stunned wonder, the sheer joy on the boy’s face.
/>
“Wow! Wow! Dad, Dad, did you see that?”
“Yeah. He won’t . . .” Tom looked at Connor. “That beak.”
“Not to worry, I promise you. Just hold there a minute, Taylor.”
He took another shot, one he imagined would sit on some mantel or desk back in America, of the boy and the hawk staring into each other’s eyes. “Now you, Tom.”
He repeated the process, snapped the picture, listened to his clients talk to each other in amazed tones.
“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Connor promised. “Let’s move into the woods a bit. You’ll all have a dance.”
It never got old for him, never became ordinary. The flight of the hawk, the soar and swoop through the trees always, always enchanted him. Today, the absolute thrill of the boy and his father added more.
The damp air, fat as a soaked sponge, the flickers of light filtering through the trees, the swirl of the oncoming autumn made it all a fine day, in Connor’s opinion, to tromp around the wood following the hawks.
“Can I come back?” Taylor walked back to the gates of the school with Roibeard on his arm. “I mean, just to see them. They’re really cool, especially Roibeard.”
“You can, sure. They’d be pleased with a bit of company.”
“We’ll do it again before we leave,” his father promised.
“I’d rather do this than the horseback riding.”
“Oh, you’ll enjoy that as well, I wager.” Connor led them inside at an unhurried pace. “It’s pleasant to walk the woods on the back of a good horse—a different perspective of things. And they’ve fine guides at the stables.”
“Do you ride?” Tom asked him.
“I do, yes. Though not as often as I might like. The best, of course, is hawking on horseback.”
“Oh man! Can I do that?”
“That’s not in the brochure, Taylor.”
“It’s true,” Connor said as he gently transferred Roibeard to a perch. “It’s not on the regular menu, so to speak. I’m just going to settle things up with your da if you want to go out, have another look at the hawks.”
“Yeah, okay.” He studied Roibeard another moment with eyes filled with love. “Thanks. Thanks, Connor. That was awesome.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He transferred William as Taylor ran out. “I didn’t want to say in front of the boy, but I might be able to arrange for him to have what we’d call a hawk ride. I’d need to check if Meara can lead your family—she’s a hawker as well as one of the guides at the stables. And if you’d be interested.”
“I haven’t seen Taylor this excited about anything but computer games and music for months. If you can make it happen, that would be great.”
“I’ll see what I can do, if you give me a minute or two.”
He leaned a hip on the desk when Tom stepped out, took out his phone. “Ah, Meara, my darling, I’ve a special request.”
* * *
A FINE THING IT WAS TO GIVE SOMEONE THE LINGERING glow of memories. Connor did his best to do the same with his final client of the day—but nothing would quite reach the heights of Taylor and his da from America.
Between his bookings, he took the Peregrines—Apollo included—out beyond the woods, into the open for exercise and hunting. There he could watch the stoop with a kind of wonder that never left him. There he could feel the thrill of that diving speed inside himself.
As he was a social creature like the Harris’s, he enjoyed doing the hawk walks, but those solo times—only himself and the birds and the air—made up his favorite part of any day.