In the morning Alistair looked worse for wear, and something inside me softened. I was still angry, but I knew that I was over-reacting because of how...I felt, knew he hadn't meant what he said, not really. And I still loved him, completely inappropriately. So I stopped purposefully avoiding him, but didn't give him the chance to discuss it either. That evening, I found a clearing like where we would normally sit, set up logs for both of us should he choose to join me, and sat down to practice. ‘Does he cry? Do falcons cry?’ ‘No,no dear, not most but this falcon is different. He does cry as he searches for a love he has not found. He cries as the wind spirits pull him this way and push him that way and then lift him to the sky’. ‘How do you know he cries, Pa?’ ‘I feel him cry, little one. I have never seen Falcon’s tears but I have seen the sparkle of the sun in his clear, wet eyes and sometimes a sparkling trail behind him if the sun is just right.’ ‘If he cries, Pa, what happens to. More

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