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vertical stoop, the hawk fell upon the lark, knocking it so hard the little bird tumbled over and over and over until it hit the ground not fifty feet from the man. Never looking away from her dying prey, the falcon followed it to earth. Then she sank her talons into the lark and looked about fiercely, as if daring anyone to take it from her.
    The man walked quickly but without excess motion to the hawk. He nodded almost imperceptibly at her, speaking all the while in a continuous flow of soft words. Kneeling, he put one hand on her back and wings and with the other, the ungloved hand, hooded her so swiftly, the boy did not even see it till it was done. Then, standing, the man placed the bird on his gloved wrist, gathered up dead lark and lure with his free hand, and walked smoothly toward the part of the forest he had come from.
    Only when the man had disappeared into the underbrush did the boy unwind himself from the tree. Man, falcon, and dead lark were all so fascinating, he could not help himself. He had to see more. So he ran to the edge of the woods and, after no more than a moment’s hesitation, rather like the hawk before beginning her stoop, he plunged in after them.

5. TRAIL
    THE MAN’S PATH THROUGH THE TANGLE OF UNDERBRUSH was well marked by broken boughs and the deep impression of his boot heels. He was not difficult to follow. That should have made the boy suspicious, but he was too caught up in the hunt.

    In his eagerness to track the man, the boy neglected to note anything about the place, though this was a caution he had learned well over his year in the wild. Still, he knew he could always track back along the same wide swath. So perhaps his hunter’s mind was working.
    The thorny berry bushes scratched his legs,
leaving a thin red map from hip to ankle, but he was used to such small wounds. Once he trod on a nettle. But he had done so before. It would sting for a while, then slowly recede, leaving only a dull ache that would disappear when his attention was on something else.
    Nothing—
nothing
—could dampen his excitement. Not even the tiny prickle of fear that coursed wetly down his back, between his shoulder blades. If anything, the fear sharpened his excitement.
    He walked a few feet, stopped, listened, though it was a blowy day, clouds scudding across a leaden sky. Mostly what he heard was wind in trees. He relied, therefore, on his eyes, and followed the man’s passage through fern and bracken, and the prints alongside a fast-running stream.
    Several hours passed like minutes, and still the boy remained eagerly on the man’s trail. Only twice did he actually glimpse the man again. Once he saw the broad back, covered with its leathern coat.
    Coat.
That was a word suddenly returned to him. Right after, he thought,
jerkin.
He didn’t know why the two words came together in his mind. So dissimilar and yet—somehow—peculiarly the same. He stopped for a moment, giving the man plenty of time to move on, out of hearing, then whispered the two words aloud.
    â€œCoat.” The word was short, sharp, like a wild dog’s bark.
    â€œJerkin.” He liked that word better and said it over and over again several more times. “Jerkin. Jerkin. Jerkin.” The last time he said it loud enough to become instantly wary. But when he looked around there was no sign of the man, and he relaxed. Going down into the stream, he bent over to get a drink, lapping at it like an animal. But when he lifted his head out of the water, he smiled and said the two words again. “Coat,” he said. “Jerkin.”
    He found the man’s easy trail again and ran a bit, to make up for the lost time.
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    The second time he saw the man, the man had turned on the path and looked right at him. The boy froze, willing himself to disappear into the brush the way a new fawn and badgers and even red foxes could. He closed his eyes so that they would not shine, so that the