Chance's Hawk

A fine summer day was dawning. The sun rose in firey splendor from behind a cloud. Birds were trilling in a choir under nature's own direction.

Chance was only half watching the sunrise. His real attention was on the instinct that he was being watched. No one was aroud, but the feeling persisted.

A shreik rang in his ears. "Do ye think I wait all morning? Behind you, tree rat!" He turned about to find himself face to face with a kestrel.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" He winced as the bird's beak snapped a fraction from his nose.

"I ask questions here, rat! Why are ye here?" It punctuated the question by pecking his paw.

"My sister and I are looking for our friend," he replied.

"What does this one look like?"

"He is very tall and thin, with brown fur and eyes. There should be a mark on him like this," and he showed the hawk his patch. The Broken Arrow showed clearly.

"I have seen this one. Call your sister and we will go to him." With a flap of its wings, the hawk settled on a branch.

Hope arrived muttering about not getting enough sleep. "Up at dawn every day-" she was saying when she noticed the kestrel. "Oh my!"

"Your what?" asked the bird, amused. Hope blushed and said nothing.

"Excuse me, but might we get going?" Chance said impatiently.