Isobel walked away from him, going to the far corner of the small room to stand beside the goshawk's perch. Gawain kakked loudly and clenched his talons. "He is hungry," she said, sliding a glance toward Ralph. "And he has been alone here too long. He slips back into wildness quickly." She remembered that James had once remarked that if she had no other protection, the goshawk would do. She picked up her glove, shoved her hand inside, and nudged her fist toward Gawain. The tiercel stepped onto the glove, his bronze eyes glinting at Ralph, who stood by the doorway. Isobel cast a sideways glance at the man, and went to the wooden chest, where she had left the hawking pouch. She took out a strip of raw meat, wrapped by James before they left the crag, and laid it on the glove. The hawk clutched it with a foot, dipped his head down, and tore at it with his beak. Ralph stepped toward her. "You have become quite a falconer since I saw you last," he said. "But I found this bird to be far too wild and truculent, and spoiled to the fist.
