Free The Summer of the Falcon by Jean Craighead George

two.”
    “One thing you learn in falconry,” Don said firmly, “is that nature cannot be rushed. There are inner clocks in all plants and animals and it will take another six hours before Zander and Ulysses and Comet are hungry enough to perform right. After all, we fed them yesterday morning. They’ll be hungry at ten; but they’ll be eager at two. Go read a book!
    “By the way, has he cast today?” Don was speaking of the neat pellet of fur and bones that all hawks and owls cast up daily about ten hours after eating. “If he hasn’t, you’d better take the hood off. It makes it difficult for him to cast.”
    He left for a plunge in the creek, and June felt very much alone.
    During lunch she practiced not being worried. She decided to live through the worst that could happen. Zander would get away, and she rehearsed, “Well, that’s that.” But no matter how firmly she said it, her stomach continued to churn.
    And so it became two o’clock.
    Down the road strode the Barneses, Emily laughing and running ahead. She came into the parlor to find June and her enthusiasm was so contagious that June ran happily to get her falcon.
    Up the road came the Clarks and the Humphreys, the Sharks and the Drummers...and when the edge of the field was staged with people her mother looked around and said, “All Will’s friends are here. This is the nicest tribute we can pay him.”
    Comet, the Cooper’s hawk, was to fly first. Charles carried her into the field. Don opened the burlap bag and a starling flew out, zigzagging across the field in the sudden sun. Charles, his body angled like a discus thrower, threw Comet at the prey. His gauntlet was black against the sky.
    The hawk beat and flashed her wings as she chased the black bird. When the starling had reached the apple orchard, the hawk broke her flight with a twist and turn of her wings, pulled and looped them among the branches. This was a flight for which a Cooper’s hawk was created— chasing prey through wooded areas, maneuvering among twigs and branches. Each species of hawk is designed to hunt its food in a different area, so as not to compete with another. The Cooper’s is a woodland hawk, the duck hawk needs open river beds and space, the sparrow hawk, the fields and their weedy edges.
    Comet flew according to her heritage—driving relentlessly after her prey.
    There was a burst of feathers...“Halloo” Don called, and both boys ran to the orchard after the victorious hawk. Charles picked her up and carried her across the field on his gauntlet, hand high. Comet covered her food by lifting all her feathers like a seeding thistle. Her wings spread over it protectingly. Occasionally she lifted her head to cry a warning to other predators who would stalk and take her catch. There were none, but the millions of years of her family’s successful line had bred this into Comet and she could not change her heritage. Charles said, “To Will—with love,” and he held the bird high.
    There was a soft applause as the strong brothers came in from the field. They were brown and gold and their clothes were round and rumpled from the movement of their muscles and their vigorous way of life. They walked toward the crowd, and as they did, Uncle Paul’s tears fell for the man who loved boys and birds and animals and people; and who wasn’t there.
    June dug her nose into Zander’s back feathers so no one would see her tears. “Why is death so awfully final?”
    Other eyes were wet.
    Rod arose. He had abandoned his funny costume and he had brushed his hair. His shirt was soft and white. Why, Rod’s handsome, June thought as she looked at him anew. Then she realized that it was Rod’s compassion that was making him so appealing. He was standing beside Will’s wife, and he was no longer a self-centered child, he was a growing person able to feel someone else’s pain. He was sharing Mrs. Bunker’s loss and he wanted her to know. Shy Rod straightened his body, lifted