The valley below them was bathed in a pale blue-grey light that promised the approach of evening. They had come down through the Spey Valley to look for Crested Tit, a bird Domenic had long coveted. Though he wouldn’t categorically rule out any bird appearing in north Norfolk, he was fairly sure he would never find a Crested Tit there. The conifer-clad hillsides on the lower reaches of the River Spey probably represented his best chance of seeing one, especially in the company of a bird finder of his brother’s pedigree. But for once, even Damian’s skills hadn’t been enough, and after a couple of hours of intensive searching among the pines, they conceded defeat and made their way back to the car. The argument started not long after they began driving again. Like many quarrels, its origins lay elsewhere, a related subject, perhaps, but no more than a gateway to the real conflict. “Labrador, Iceland, Scotland. It seems pretty clear De Laet was after Gyrfalcons specifically,”
