Opening post by Marcus Reyes · #1
My hawk still returns before the third bell, even when I release her from the western watchtower at dusk. I have marked the habit across several evenings, and the timing has held more closely than many men manage with a promise.
Yesterday she came down through a thin rain and landed on the old practice rail, shaking water from one wing. I had left a strip of rabbit there, but she ignored it until she had looked toward the forest edge where I was raised.
If your hawk has taken to keeping its own hours, watch the small pattern before you change the perch or the call. As I ponder the weight of tradition in our village's customs, I find myself recalling my great-aunt's words: patterns repeat, but it's the nuances that hold the truth.