Free The Silver Falcon by Katia Fox

scarcely sound more hateful.
    William had never in his life felt so small and insignificant. Despite his crippled foot, which the falconer had not yet noticed, fortunately, he had on the whole been treated decently up to now, not least out of respect for his mother. Now he found himself standing in this strange room, dusty, hungry, weary, and more than anything else disappointed.
    Logan stood up. “I’m going to bed. The boy can sleep with you,” he told his son brusquely and turned away to get his pallet ready.
    Robert did not seem particularly happy about this, but nonetheless he took him over to his corner, which was separated from the rest of the room by a piece of cloth.
    William was painfully hungry but did not dare ask the falconer for food. He had resigned himself to going to sleep with his belly grumbling when someone tapped his arm.
    “Here,” whispered a girl of about eight, handing him a slice of bread and a piece of ham. The child put a finger to her lips.
    William nodded to show he understood.
    “Go to sleep now, Bug,” Logan called out.
    “My name is Nesta, not Bug,” she protested quietly.
    “Thanks, Nesta,” whispered William. “Have you got any water for me?”
    “Back there, the bucket with the dipper in it. We can all use it. Whoever takes the last bit has to go fetch more, but you’ve just done that,” she said.
    It was obvious that she was Robert’s sister. She had the same dark-brown hair, though it was finer. Even her eyes were the same warm hazel color. If they were the falconer’s children, they must take after their mother, thought William.
    “Will you be quiet now,” Logan thundered, yawning loudly. Soon, apparently, he was asleep; his even, sibilant breathing was clearly audible.
    William ate his bread and ham and drank a few gulps of water. Only then did he realize how long and tiring his day had been.
    He was so tired he could hardly stand, so he lay down on the straw mat beside Robert.
    “Hey, you, time to get up!” Robert gave William an ungentle shove. “It’s getting light already.”
    William stretched, yawning. It must still be early. He could make out only indistinct outlines in the little bit of light that penetrated the wooden shutters.
    Logan was still snoring.
    “We have to get ready before he wakes up. Come on—hurry up,” Robert urged William, letting himself out of the house. William had slept in his clothes, so he soon slipped out after him. Nesta followed hot on his heels.
    William made his way down to the stream where he had filled the buckets with Robert the previous day; relieved himself in the bushes; and washed his face, neck, and hands, as he was used to doing at home.
    “What’s wrong with your foot?” asked Nesta curiously.
    “Crooked, since I was born,” he answered tersely, adjusting the binding. In Saint Edmundsbury, the younger children had occasionally teased him about his foot, but Nesta just nodded.
    “Can you run with it?” Robert inquired.
    “Of course,” growled William.
    An expectant glint appeared on Robert’s face, and he jumped up. “So much the better. Falconers have to be able to run fast. My father says I’m quick. Let’s see if you can keep up with me. Let’s have a race around the house and back,” he challenged William, drawing a line in the sandy soil with his toe. “Starting here.”
    William hated this kind of competition. If he lost, Robert would make fun of him. If he won, despite the pain in all his joints from his ride, the falconer’s son would probably resent him for it. William sighed. It was out of the question for him to turn down the challenge. So he positioned himself next to Robert, who had already begun to count. On “three,” they both started running.
    Robert ran like the wind, panting, and quickly left William some distance behind. But William tried his hardest, too, and caught up, so they reached the starting point at the same time.
    A draw! William was thoroughly satisfied with this