You look up and there is a dark figure floating gracefully in the sky, with the recognizable outline of a hawk. It circles, and you can hardly imagine how high it must be. Its head turns slightly, then its body tilts into a low dive as if all the world would wait for it. You guess that it is a he, because you can imagine its startlingly pierceful gaze and its hard curved beak.

You wonder how he can be so majestic, so still, and then he flaps his wings. On the verge of dissapearing behind a treeline, he lifts himself up again to new heights. You imagine him being free, flying forever without needing a break, and breaking only to keep up the mystery for prying eyes and minds. Your heart aches as it soars with him, and at this moment there is a cry like a disgruntled raven's. The hawk answers back calmly, and veers away to the left, obeying the complaint.

You smile because you wish you were that agreeable on small matters, and because you can imagine that hawk winning in any battle. You wonder why you aren't that strong. You wonder what it's like to fly with your own two wings, and what it feels like to touch a cloud.

The hawk swoops, out of sight, and the seconds are agonizing. You lean forward, anxious over whether you will see it again. The moment he soars back into view, you actually let out a sigh of relief, even as you notice the lump hanging from his talons. You feel sorry for the victim, but you feel the hawk's triumph.

Flapping wildly, it answers to a whistle from your side. Your eyes follow the black outline of the hawk until it becomes a colored, solid thing. You duck, covering your face as you imagine yourself being attacked. The hawk lands on the arm of the fellow next to you, and is calm. Hearing the rush of wings come to a halt, you peek out from under your arm to see the man looking at you. His eyes burn with a strange humor as he turns away, and strides off decidedly, the hawk perched on his arm.