Archive of Our Own

Small rocks and hard dirt crunched underneath her pickup’s tires as Rumi gingerly navigated down the scrappy, brush-lined road.

The turn leading off the pavement and onto packed ground hadn’t been marked, but the email she’d received had warned that would be the case. First left after Birch St., you’ll have to slow down or you’ll miss it — that’s what it said. Then, continue down — it’ll seem like you went the wrong way, after a few minutes, since it’s long and a bit windy, but don’t be worried. Keep going until you see the sign; park anywhere on the left, and I’ll be there to greet you.

Still, despite how clear the directions were, Rumi hoped she’d found the right road. She hadn’t even been meaning to make the hour and a half drive here alone — Celine was meant to be with her, taking her on this excursion for her birthday. But something went wrong every year with Rumi’s birthday, without fail — so much so that occasionally they joked that she must’ve been cursed as a child. And this year, instead of the ER visit from last year or the natural disaster from the year before that or the 12-hour panic of thinking they’d lost Derpy only to find him hiding underneath her dirty laundry from the year before that, it was that Celine woke up sick.

Rumi had offered to stay home and look after her, but Celine had insisted she go anyway. After all, it was her birthday, Celine said, and she knew she’d been looking forward to it for months. Besides, the rescheduling policy wasn’t easy either, and it would take a while before they got put back on the schedule.

And so, here she was: inching down the road, scanning for the sign.

It came into view a few moments later, just as the road opened up into a small dirt lot. The little wooden sign was barely above the ground, and on it was the outline of a falcon flying over the words Gem Falconry. There was only one other car there — a dark SUV with a couple of decals on the bumper — and past the parking lot, there was one standalone building to the right and a smattering of trees to the left.

Rumi parked on the left-hand side of the lot, next to the other car, and took a moment to collect her belongings. She placed her phone and keys into her light over-the-shoulder bag, which she’d chosen for being unobstructive, and stepped out of the car. She hadn’t stopped on the drive up, and now her legs protested at the sudden switch-up, aching and stiff beneath her as she shut the car door.

She stretched out each leg gently, and then rolled her shoulders and wrists a few times for good measure, before inching closer to the building. There wasn’t anyone out waiting like the email had said there would be, but she’d left well in advance of when she needed to, so maybe they just weren’t expecting her yet.

As Rumi got closer, she could see the reddish-brown acrylic exterior of the small place — only about the size of a large office — and the couple of steps leading up to the door. She paused, hovering, not sure if she was meant to go and knock or just wait. She fiddled with her sleeve as she stood and pulled out her phone to check for messages from Celine. There weren’t any, which was a good sign. Hopefully she was sleeping it off.

Right as Rumi rezipped her bag, she heard the door creak open and footsteps going down the slight wooden stairs.

“Oh, hey. You’re early. Welcome.”

Rumi glanced up at the source of the unexpectedly low and pleasant voice, and every coherent thought evaporated from her mind.

The woman was tall, even more so from Rumi’s angle at the bottom of the steps, and she had soft-looking red-hued hair that reached her mid-back. Her expression was open and curious, and her dark eyes latched onto Rumi with ease, widening minutely for an instant. She wore a pair of hiking boots, a coat outfitted with a generous number of pockets, and a pouch attached to a belt at her waist that Rumi knew had strips of meat for her birds. Her glove wasn’t anywhere in sight, not yet, and while Rumi really wanted to see what it looked like, she was more than happy with what she was seeing for the moment.

She reached the bottom of the stairs, taking a few more steps forward, until they were close enough to touch, and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mira.”

Rumi stared for at least two beats longer than what was likely considered acceptable before thrusting out her hand to grasp Mira’s. Rumi flinched instantly, thinking she’d grabbed a little too hard, but Mira didn’t react at all.

“Rumi,” she managed.

Mira offered her a little smile, her hand warm to the touch and her grip comfortably firm. Rumi shook once, twice, thrice — wait, was that too many times? Oh, no, she was still shaking Mira’s hand. OKAY, that was definitely too many times, just stop alrea—

Mira stilled and loosened her grip, and Rumi hurriedly let go, glancing left and right — anywhere but Mira’s face. She cursed her newfound circumstances internally, because why’d the falconer have to be so hot? And, perhaps the better question, why was Rumi already so damn susceptible to the effects of that attractiveness??

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Mira shifting her weight. Just as Rumi looked back at her again tentatively, Mira asked, “Where’s the other person in your party?”

Rumi’s first thought was, other person?

And then she remembered with a jolt. “Oh, Celine — she’s sick, I’m afraid. I hope that’s okay.” Rumi praised herself for her masterful coherence.

Mira’s eyes scanned her up and down — no more than a brief flicker of movement, and while it didn’t linger, it was just enough for Rumi to feel sized-up, studied with the same keenness she recognized in the faces of the raptors she was here to meet.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Mira said, her voice coming out lower than it had a minute ago, and Rumi’s mouth went a little dry. “I’ll just have you sign some paperwork real quick, and then we can get started.”

“Guh,” Rumi said, in lieu of actual words.

Mira took this with remarkable grace. She turned on her heel with a quick “Follow me, please,” over her shoulder, going back up the steps and opening the door at the top.

Rumi hesitated for a second before following, electing to pay attention to where her feet were landing on the steps rather than the stunning falconer politely waiting for her, holding the door open and everything, so as not to trip and fall flat on her face.

She made it up the couple of steps without issue, slipping through the door and taking in the space as Mira shut it behind her softly. It was cute, in that way personalized spaces could be, like she was being allowed a glimpse into Mira’s life. There was a desk to the right, with a computer, picture frames, a couple of books, and little bird figurines carefully arranged atop it, and a chair behind it. Up-close, high-res photos of raptors lined the wall, from an osprey to a snowy owl to a ferruginous hawk, and to the left, there was a small couch and coffee table opposite another door.

Mira brushed past her gently, opening a drawer and pulling out a sheet of paper. She slid it across the desk to Rumi and presented her with a pen — which, she noticed, had the outline of a bird embossed into the side.

Rumi accepted it, running her thumb over the shape of the bird, tracing its wings absentmindedly.

“If you could just sign that, we’ll be good to go,” Mira said. Rumi pulled the paper closer, trying with a mighty effort to absorb the meaning of the words printed there, but Mira being right across the desk was proving far too distracting.

Rumi set the page back down, fiddling with the pen again. “So, uh. Where’s everybody else? When will they be arriving?” she asked. She wanted to know what to expect. And, yeah, okay, maybe some time to get it together so she didn’t make a fool of herself in front of anyone else.

Mira’s brows winged up. “Oh, you didn’t know? It’s a private session. It’ll be just you and me today.”

“Oh.” Celine had neglected to tell her that particular detail.

Rumi quickly jotted down her name, date of birth, phone number, email, emergency contact (Celine, of course), and signature and handed the paperwork back, hoping she hadn’t just signed away her life’s savings or something equally damning.

“I hope that’s okay,” Mira parroted, and it took Rumi a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. She wasn’t sure if Mira had repeated her on purpose or not — until she glanced up and saw a teasing, telltale half-grin.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Rumi echoed back, but despite her best efforts, it didn’t sound anywhere near as confident as when Mira said it.

That grin widened, and Rumi realized she still hadn’t looked away from Mira’s mouth. She flushed, embarrassed, and elected to pay an excessive amount of attention to placing the pen back into the little bird-shaped holder Mira had taken it out of, rearranging it with utmost care until she was satisfied.

To her surprise, Mira waited until Rumi was done and her hands were back in her lap to say, “I’ll go get our gloves, then. Are you right- or left-handed?”

“Right,” Rumi said, and Mira vanished through the second door, emerging a few moments later with two gloves — one, she was wearing, and the other held in her spare hand.

Rumi honed in on Mira’s glove instantly. It was decidedly stunning, even on its own, but it was made even prettier due to the person it was on. It was made of a rich, well-maintained black leather, and patterned with blazes of blue fire around the cuff. It had a safety line hanging from a silver D-ring on the side, and from the cuff hung a tassle with two tiny pink hearts, all also made from buttery-looking leather.

“Your glove is gorgeous,” Rumi blurted.

Mira blinked, and then she smiled, warm and genuine. “Thank you. I had it custom-made. I’m glad you like it.” She gestured for Rumi to stand, and she did so, hyper-aware of all her limbs and what they were doing and exactly where they were in relation to Mira as she inched closer.

“Try on this glove, if you don’t mind,” Mira said, extending the glove to her and waiting patiently. “You’ll want to put it on your non-dominant hand, so your left.”

Rumi didn’t mind. In fact, she’d absolutely love to. She took the glove gingerly, and the first thing she noticed was that it didn’t seem like the kind of glove one would normally hand out to just anybody — but hey, maybe Mira had an abundance of very, very nice gloves. Who knew.

It was as soft to the touch as it looked, possibly even softer, and in place of fire around the cuff, it had a ring of pink hearts. On its tassle hung a little flame charm, dancing back and forth in the air as if it really was alight, its hue a deep blue that matched the flames on Mira’s glove.

Mira took a step closer, and Rumi’s breath caught. Her hands fumbled on the glove for a moment, and she barely managed to avoid dropping it altogether. Despite knowing that the glove was used to offer protection from talons, and that it regularly handled bits of meat anyway, the thought of something so beautifully crafted touching the floor still made her wince.

“Let me know if you need any help,” Mira offered, and Rumi realized she’d just been standing there uselessly.

Rumi quickly but carefully slid her left hand into the glove, lifting her arm experimentally and giving her fingers a couple of testing flexes. The leather wasn’t particularly warm, but it wasn’t cold either, and it fit well — more snug than she’d been imagining, but without being too tight. “It feels good,” she said hesitantly, giving Mira a look that she hoped conveyed, did I get that right? She didn’t know if there was anything in particular that made a falconry glove a good fit.

“It should be snug, but not tight,” Mira told her, and Rumi nodded in confirmation. Mira smiled again, as if pleased. “I was hoping that one would fit you,” she said, and Rumi just stared some more. What did that mean?

She didn’t have the chance to linger on it for very long, because Mira was already striding back to the door and holding it open for her. Rumi jumped into motion, hurrying back outside and down the stairs, not wanting to hold them up any longer.

Mira followed her, clearing her throat once they’d both made it back down. Rumi turned to her, taking another step back to give herself a bit of space from the falconer. Not that she didn’t want to be closer, but just looking at Mira — especially with that glove — was already having an effect on her.

If Mira noticed, she didn’t comment. Instead, she began, “Okay, bear with me for a moment. I have a bit of a spiel. Everyone has to hear it, don’t worry, it’s not just you.” She took a deep breath in, and then broke out the least authentic smile Rumi had seen out of her yet, a look that felt practiced and distant. Rumi frowned.

“Welcome to Gem Falconry!” Mira swept out her gloved hand dramatically. “You’re here for a hawk walk, a once-in-a-lifetime immersive raptor-meeting experience. While you’re here, you’ll learn some of the basics about working with falconry birds, and a bit about the bird itself that we’ll be working with. First and foremost, we ask that you always obey instructor commands. Your safety and my birds’ safety is my top priority, and I know these birds and their needs very well, so please, please listen if I tell you to do something. That also includes: please wait until instructed before you do anything. Questions are always welcome and encouraged if anything is unclear to you.”

Rumi nodded along to Mira’s speedy, well-rehearsed customer-service-voice speech, wanting to show she understood.

“Additionally, please do not ever pet, grab, or otherwise touch the bird. I know they look quite soft, and it can be tempting, but they will not enjoy it like your pets at home do. They can have some big feelings about personal space and if you don’t know them, it can be harder to tell what they’re trying to communicate, so again, please listen carefully to the instructors.” Mira paused, but she barely sounded winded. She continued, “That’s all I have for now — do you have any questions?”

Rumi shook her head dutifully.

“Great,” Mira said. “Let me know if that changes — like I said, questions are encouraged. For now, I’ll go get our bird for today.”

Rumi knew her face must’ve lit up at that, because she watched as Mira’s expression softened a little again before she turned and walked behind the office, her boots crunching against dirt and the occasional fallen leaf.

Rumi waited as patiently as she could, her heart pounding roughly in her chest, the anticipation gritty on her tongue as she heard the sound of a lock unclicking and a door opening, followed by a gentle, distinctly-human cooing. Rumi knew the bird was likely kept in an opaque carrier, because birds were such visual creatures and removing unnecessary visual stimuli was a good way to keep them calm during transport.

Mira hadn’t said what kind of bird she had, and now Rumi was left to wonder. Mira seemed like a Eurasian goshawk would suit her, but for an educational program, a more beginner-friendly bird like a red-tailed or a Harris’ hawk would probably be best, or—

Footsteps sounded again, and Mira rounded the corner, a small, tawny bird perched on her glove. Rumi immediately identified the bird as a female American kestrel, and the closer they got, the more details she could make out. She was a gorgeous bird, with cream-colored chest feathers streaked through with a darker, richer brown. She had black stripes underneath and to the side of each eye, and a bluish-gray on top of her head interrupted only by a spot of ginger.

“This is Ruby,” Mira said as she slowed to a stop, an unmistakable air of pride in her voice. “She’s an American kestrel.”

And — okay, yeah, Rumi knew that already, but she was too busy admiring Ruby to point it out. Ruby (what a beautiful name, Rumi thought) wasn’t a very big raptor — in fact, American kestrels were the smallest, and most common, raptors native to North America — but she seemed on the larger side for her species. Rumi’s brain immediately began cycling through more facts. American kestrels tended to range from about 22 to 31cm, with females typically being around 10-15% bigger than males, and with slightly different coloring, too. Females had a lower pitched call on average, and the males had—

“Ruby is five years old, and she was my first falcon,” Mira said, her chest puffing up in a manner that distinctly reminded Rumi of a rousing bird. “She was a rescue when she was a baby, and she was meant to be released, but she ended up imprinting on humans. That makes a bird unreleasable because imprinting can change their behavior in the wild, especially interactions with other birds of their species, and that would be a problem for them on their own.”

Rumi smiled, just a little, to herself. She already knew plenty about imprinting, as well as other situations that made birds unreleasable, but she loved hearing about Ruby’s history. Granted, it was preferable that birds didn’t imprint on people — in fact, wildlife rehabilitation centres took measures to avoid it, but sometimes birds arrived already imprinted. It meant that Ruby had learned her sense of identity from humans; in a way, she and Mira were almost like family.

Raptors didn’t tend to love their handlers — they weren’t domesticated, and wouldn’t grow attached the same way dogs or cats would, but they could be trained to stay and come back by associating humans with positive rewards such as food. Due to that, free-flying them took a lot of trust in their training; it wasn’t unheard of for birds to fly away and simply never come back.

But looking at Ruby and Mira — while they weren’t exempt from that, Rumi could tell that they had something special. Mira looked at Ruby with such unfiltered adoration, a bright, unanchored kind of love that caught its sails in every gust of wind they encountered. Rumi thought that Mira had to be an excellent handler, for it to be plain as day on her face just how much she cared for her bird.

And it was then, focusing on the whole picture — not just Ruby’s beautiful plumage, or even solely the glove on Mira’s hand, but the gorgeous bird on the gorgeous glove on the gorgeous human, that she went into system overload. Even just any of one of those on their own, and Rumi would already consider herself incredibly lucky — but all three? She had no clue what she’d done to deserve this.

Oblivious to Rumi’s sudden crisis, Mira continued, “Ruby is very sweet — she can get a little nervous sometimes around a lot of activity, or if I’m not there, so I only use her for smaller groups. And she likes to chirp to say hello when I go up to her enclosure at home — called an aviary — but she’s usually more quiet out here.”

Rumi wanted to tell Mira how cool she thought that was, and how much she already loved Ruby and wanted to know everything about her, but she found her body to be lagging quite a bit behind her mind. She tried to open her mouth, to no avail, and resorted to staring at Mira and Ruby instead with a wide, fish-eyed sort of look instead.

“Let’s go ahead and move over to the field behind you,” Mira proposed when she didn’t say anything. Rumi willed her legs to move, and shuffled onto the field as instructed.

“Okay, here,” Mira said after a minute, and Rumi stopped obediently. She trained her gaze as normally as she could manage back on Mira and her kestrel. Mira maneuvered her right hand, her ungloved one, and deftly undid Ruby’s leash and jesses.

Mira lifted her left arm higher, and Rumi watched, breathless with awe, as Ruby took off with ease, her beautiful, striped wings spreading and taking her down, towards the earth, before she swooped back up again just in time to land on a perch erected in the middle of the field. Once she’d landed, Ruby promptly fluffed up her feathers and began preening.

Raptors flew in the most energy-conserving way possible, Rumi knew, and that included gliding when they could and, for short distances, taking a flight path at a lower angle than most expected. Still, it was incredible to see firsthand; she’d always wanted to get the opportunity to see raptors this close-up, and being there was truly something magical.

“Okay, the first step will be that you’re going to learn how to call Ruby to your glove,” Mira explained. “Here’s how it’ll work: I’ll put a piece of meat on your glove, and you’ll stand facing her with your arm outstretched in her direction.”

Mira demonstrated the pose as she spoke. “I’ll whistle to her, which is her sign to come to your glove, and then we can send her off again. And then once you have more of a feel for her, we’ll walk around a bit, and I’ll tell you more about American kestrels and we can practice flying her back and forth a bit. And I can take some pictures of you with her if you’d like. Sound good?”

Rumi nodded vigorously, hoping she adequately conveyed her enthusiasm for the plan. Mira gestured for her to lift her arm, and she did so, only narrowly avoiding whacking herself in the face with the glove.

And then Mira took a step closer to her, and Rumi found herself breathless for an entirely different reason. Mira reached into her pouch with her gloved hand, taking out a small strip of meat.

“Sorry, I know it’s a bit gross,” Mira apologized as she set the scrap onto Rumi’s glove, resting atop the side of her index finger. “It just comes with the trade, I’m afraid.”

Rumi knew that. Kestrels ate a variety of meat, from insects to rodents to the odd lizard or small bird, and she hadn’t been expecting it to be pretty. But still, she didn’t say that, instead settling on a half-whispered: “’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Mira flashed her a grin. “Okay, are you ready for me to call her?” Rumi was about to answer in the affirmative when Mira shuffled slightly so that she was directly behind Rumi, and against her will, Rumi froze.

A gay, primal part of her brain screeched at her, something along the lines of pretty falconer pretty falconer pretty falconer close close VERY CLOSE WHAT DO—

Rumi prayed Mira wouldn’t notice, but of course she did.

“It’s okay,” Mira said soothingly from behind her. “Ruby is a really great bird; she’s specially trained for this, and she knows what to do. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

And that’s when it hit Rumi: Mira thought she was scared. Of the bird.

If she wasn’t still so stuck in place by Mira’s sudden proximity, she’d have laughed at loud at the notion.

But Mira hadn’t made the distinction, and so she continued, voice calm and assured, “Sometimes people get nervous at the stage. It can be a different experience to see raptors close-up than people were expecting, and that can be intimidating. But I promise you don’t have to be nervous. I’ll be right here the whole time, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

Rumi’s brain shifted its focus instantly, honing right in on I’ll be right here I won’t let anything bad happen to you I promise I’ll be right here I promise I promise I promise and god this was not helping—

“I can hold your glove with you, if that would help?”

Before Rumi could argue, Mira was inching even closer, not quite touching, not yet, but close, framing her as if there to steady her if only she reached out her hand.

“You’ll want to face her, with your arm up and out, as high as you can, and keep it steady,” Mira reminded her gently.

Rumi couldn’t move. The pretty falconer was far too close for that.

“I know the gloves can feel a bit awkward — I’m sorry. I can help,” Mira said, her voice dropping a touch lower. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Rumi swallowed. She managed the barest nod.

There was the briefest pause, and then Mira’s hand — the bare one — connected with her arm, slow and sure. She held onto Rumi’s forearm, just beneath the edge of the glove, her grip strong and steadying without being rough as she lifted Rumi’s arm that little bit higher in Ruby’s direction. Mira’s hand was warm, Rumi noticed helplessly.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Mira murmured. “I’ve got you. Just turn a little, so that you’re facing her, like—” Mira’s other hand connected, light at first, and then more firm, with Rumi’s waist, her touch like little bolts of electricity through her even despite the barrier. Oh, my. Rumi stifled a small noise that would have been quite inappropriate given the circumstances.

Initially, Rumi thought she must’ve still had her glove on — but then she felt the touch, precise and unencumbered, felt the press of each of her fingers individually over the fabric of her shirt as they guided her to rotate towards Ruby, and she realized she’d taken it off. It was almost a shame.

“Just like that. Good,” Mira said softly, and Rumi swore her knees went a little weak. She got the feeling that Mira could ask her to do just about anything in that voice and she’d say yes on impulse.

“Now I’m going to whistle, and she’ll fly over and land on your glove, nice and easy,” Mira told her. “And I’ll stay right here. We’ll go at your pace, however slow and easy you need. Sound okay?”

Rumi nodded. The movement felt wobbly, almost sluggish, like her body wasn’t fully listening to her instructions.

“Wonderful. Let me know if it’s ever too much, and I can take her from you.”

Rumi wouldn’t need that. She wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted something more in her whole life, to have a kestrel on her glove and aforementioned kestrel’s hot falconer at her back, with that hand on her waist that still wasn’t moving even though she’d made the adjustment, that felt now like it was there to steady, to hold, to ground.

Mira whistled once, high and sharp, and Ruby took off, dipping low to the ground and smoothing out into a low glide, getting closer and closer to where they stood, before she smoothly angled back up and landed lightly on her outstretched arm.

Rumi gasped, and she felt Mira tense from behind her, as if ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

But Rumi was just… staring, with no small amount of awe, at the end of her arm, where the gorgeous creature bent over to pick at the strip of meat now clinging in her talons. She was even more stunning this close, where Rumi could see the detail in the dark brown barring of her tail feathers, to the curve of her talons, to the startling intelligence evident in her gaze.

Ruby made quick work of the treat, picking it apart with her sharp, curved beak and swallowing it down. When she was done, she lifted her head back up, regarding Rumi and the surroundings with a surprising calmness that felt almost familiar.

“Well done,” Mira said, and Rumi’s breath stuttered. “Now, whenever you’re ready, you’ll send her off. To do that, just lift your arm gently, and slowly — we don’t want to startle her — and she’ll take off.”

Rumi didn’t want her to leave just yet. She drank in Ruby’s closeness for a little bit longer, Mira hovering all the while, those hands still locked distractingly onto her arm and waist, before she did as instructed. She lifted up her arm, Mira helping to guide her once she noticed the movement, making sure to stay slow and gentle. Ruby took off as promised, flying back to the perch and returning to her preening, entirely unbothered.

A light, awestruck laugh left her, and she felt more than saw Mira’s smile in response as she took a step back, her hands finally lifting from her skin. Rumi missed them immediately.

“Great work,” Mira praised, stepping back into her field of view. “You did a wonderful job.” Her glove now dangled from her belt, clipped from its D-ring onto a carabiner on the waistband. Rumi couldn’t help but think that it made for a really, really good accessory on her.

Mira took a few more steps away from Rumi, unclipped the glove and slipped it back on, fetched another piece of meat from her pouch, and called Ruby back to her.

“Let’s go for a walk?” Mira offered, and Rumi nodded dumbly. She followed as Mira walked past the field and down an open, wide path broken through the bushes, the landscape around them dotted with trees and rock.

“So. American kestrels,” Mira said brightly.

Yes, American kestrels. Rumi knew all about them. There were 17 subspecies recognized, and they tended to perch and scan their surroundings when looking for prey, rather than fly around to find them. They also—

“American kestrels are fascinating birds. They’re the smallest and most common raptors in North America. There are 17 subspecies recognized. Their diet is quite varied, which has helped with their success as a species, and ranges from insects, to small mammals like mice, to reptiles, amphibians, to even occasionally small birds. They’ve done rather well in many urban and suburban areas,” Mira lectured.

Rumi knew all of that already, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to bring it up. Even if she wasn’t still busy admiring the falconer with the kestrel on her glove, she wasn’t sure she had the heart to tell her she wasn’t learning anything new.

“Like a lot of birds, they exhibit sexual dimorphism, which means the males and females of the species are different,” Mira continued. “The females tend to be larger on average than the males, and have a lower pitch call, and have more brown and less blue on their head and wings.”

Mira kept her arm impressively steady as they walked, leaving her arm as an excellent perch for Ruby. “But both of them will help incubate their eggs, which are usually laid in clutches of three to seven. They’ll nest just about anywhere, including the side of cliffs or buildings.”

Rumi knew all that, too. She found she didn’t much mind, though: Mira had a very nice voice, low and rhythmic, and Rumi was fairly sure she’d listen to her talk about far less interesting things for far longer if she wanted to.

“American kestrels have three main vocalizations: the klee, the whine, and the chitter,” Mira said. Rumi bobbed her head along agreeably; the klee, she knew, was for when the birds were upset or excited, while the whine was— “Ruby’s vocalizations sound a little different than the typical kestrel, though, since she imprinted on humans. When American kestrels hunt, they prefer to sit, scan, and wait rather than waste energy flying. They typically live around two to five years in the wild, and around thirteen to seventeen in captivity.”

Rumi wanted to ask more about Ruby’s vocalizations, but Mira stopped and lifted her arm, and she was promptly distracted by the sight of Ruby taking flight and landing on another perch in-between the trees that she hadn’t noticed until now.

“Do you have any questions?” Mira asked, turning to face her with the glove still on her hand, and Rumi forgot just about every bird fact she’d ever learned.

“No?” she squeaked, and despite not sounding very sure, Mira took mercy on her.

“Would you like to try calling her to your glove again?”

That, at least, was easy. “Yes, please,” she said, her voice shaking only a little as her eyes followed the line of Mira’s figure, from her powerful shoulders, to the dip of her midriff framed by the edges of her coat, to her long legs and the boots she wore that left behind checkered imprints in the dirt.

Mira deftly reclipped her glove to her waistband and stepped into position behind Rumi again. Rumi’s brain rebooted at the sudden proximity, and she swallowed audibly when she felt Mira’s hands return to her waist and arm.

“This okay?” Mira whispered, and all Rumi could do was nod.

They followed the same sequence as last time, and despite Rumi finding Mira’s closeness to be just as potent and stupefying this time around, Mira was so patient with her that if Rumi didn’t know better, she’d think they had all the time in the world.

When Mira whistled, and Ruby flew over and landed on her glove once more, Rumi watched her with vivid kind of delight. She knew the wonder had to be written plain all over her features and she was, albeit selfishly, somewhat grateful that Mira couldn’t see her face.

After Ruby landed, Mira murmured, “Good,” from behind Rumi in a low, gravelly timbre. Rumi shivered, a whole-body sensation that traveled up and down, and she swallowed again, her mouth suddenly rather dry.

She was still reeling when she sent Ruby back to the perch, and when Mira retreated again and put her glove back on, and when they resumed their walk.

Mira told her a few more bird facts — although none Rumi didn’t already know — and they paused a couple of times to practice flying Ruby back and forth between perches and her glove. Mira stayed close for each, never lingering beyond the bounds of what would be appropriate (a shame, Rumi thought), but still offering a steadying, reassuring hand.

They walked down the open path, with a beautiful view to their left where the landscape dipped down into a small, brush-covered valley. They took a turn and headed a little further in-between some trees, where Mira asked, “Would you like to try one time on your own?”

Rumi’s shoulders dropped at the idea of losing her convenient excuse for Mira to, quite literally, handhold her through it, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to say no, so she agreed.

Mira placed a piece of meat in her glove again and went, with Ruby to hand, to further down the path. She stopped once they had a good line of sight to one another and were still in earshot with raised voices.

“Ready?” Mira called.

“Ready,” Rumi affirmed, and Mira sent Ruby off. It was no less incredible to see her land on Rumi’s glove than it had been the first or second or third or fourth time; she watched with an almost-unbearable amount of adoration for the creature as she ate the treat left out for her this time.

Rumi exhaled, feeling herself relax, and a smile twitched at her mouth.

“Just between you and me,” she whispered, “I think your handler is really pretty.”

Ruby blinked at her. Rumi nodded as if she’d spoken some ancient wisdom.

“You are too, of course,” she supplied. “It’s been lovely to meet you. I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” An enamored, hopeless disaster. “Can you forgive me? I’d really like it if we were friends.”

Ruby blinked at her some more, and roused her feathers with a faint chirp. Rumi beamed. She couldn’t think of a better confirmation.

“Friends, then,” she said. Ruby just blinked, which Rumi thought was excellent progress.

“Well, since we’re friends, I was wondering—” Rumi considered how to best broach the subject. “Since you obviously know her better than I do, do you think there’s any chance your handler—”

“Rumi? Are you ready to send her back yet?”

Rumi paused, and glanced back over to where the falconer stood patiently, hand outstretched. Their conversation would have to wait for now, it seemed.

“Almost,” she called back. Turning back to Ruby, she said, “I like your tail feathers, by the way — how do you style them?” and accepted Ruby’s blink as her answer.

She thought of what to say as their parting words, tamping down a few cheesier versions of what she wanted to convey, from how honored she was to have this opportunity and how, despite how impossible it was, she hoped to see her again one day.

Eventually, Rumi settled on a quick, “Thank you for listening,” and sent her off back to her handler.

Mira walked back in her direction a minute later, a twig or two snapping underfoot, looking ridiculously proud.

“You’re very brave,” Mira said, stopping in front of her. “And I know you’ve been quiet, but I get the feeling that once you open up, you have a lot to say.”

Rumi stiffened a little, unsure how to interpret that, but when she looked closer, she saw that Mira’s eyes were sparkling.

Still, as if she’d realized how that might land, Mira tacked on, “Which isn’t a bad thing — in fact, I think you’re rather sweet. You remind me of someone, actually.”

And Rumi had no clue what to say to that, so she opted for ducking her head and mumbling under her breath and hoping with all her might that the rush of heat she could feel to her face wasn’t visible.

I think you’re rather sweet.

“Would you like to see Ruby do a couple of tricks?” Mira offered, giving her a graceful out, which Rumi took gratefully.

She nodded eagerly, and Mira showed her the first: tossing a piece of meat into the air, where Ruby intercepted it midair with her talons. Rumi clapped softly, beaming at her newfound friend.

For the second trick, Mira sent Ruby off to a perch, and then stood on the other side of a tree with a cleft. When she called Ruby back to her glove, she tucked her wings to dive through the tree cleft in an impressive feat of aerial agility that Rumi watched with amazement. She’d already known that American kestrels made excellent falconry birds in urban areas for their small size and maneuverability, but seeing it firsthand was something else.

After that, they kept walking back. There wasn’t much trail left, and when it ended, they were on the other side of the office from where they’d started. Rumi knew without having to ask that the hawk walk had come to an end, and she bit down her disappointment at seeing it over, taking off her glove and handing it back to Mira, who thanked her.

Rumi glanced at her phone quickly, and saw only a text from Celine that read: I hope you’re having a good time! ❤️ When she checked the time, she gasped. They’d run overtime by half an hour.

“The time,” Rumi stammered, not making eye contact. “I am so, so sorry— I can cover—”

“It’s really okay,” Mira said, and she didn’t sound upset, but Rumi still didn’t look at her. Mira spoke again. “Please. I promise. You know what they say, right? Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”

Rumi mumbled something incoherent.

“Don’t worry about it. Please,” Mira said, unperturbed. “You did really well today. I’m very impressed. Do you have any questions for me before you go?” There was something odd, almost out-of-place, in her voice. Something a bit like hope.

Rumi cleared her throat, shuffled her feet a little, and gathered her courage. She asked timidly, “How many other birds do you have?” It was something she’d been wondering about the whole time.

She could hear Mira’s smile as she answered, “Two others. Berry — his full name is Strawberry Quartz, ‘cause I wanted to stick with the gemstone theme — he’s my Merlin falcon, and then Crème Brûlée is my other American kestrel. She’s slow to warm up to new people, but once she does, it’s forever. And she’s very brave, and actually rather opinionated at times. But very, very sweet deep down.”

Rumi wanted to ask what had happened to the gemstone theme, but she was still too sheepish after seeing how far they’d gone overtime. When Rumi finally peeked back up, Mira was staring right at her, a blatant, open affection in her gaze that Rumi immediately attributed to her love for her birds.

“She and Ruby get along really well,” Mira added. “They like each other.”

Rumi thought of the two birds being friends, and how cute that must be, and said, “That’s sweet,” fully meaning it. Mira’s mouth twitched, like she was missing something.

With her spare hand, Mira fished through one of her coat’s many pockets and pulled out a little card, offering it to Rumi. She accepted, looking down at the logo reading, Gem Falconry.

“Here’s my business card, if you ever want to, ah, come again,” Mira said. “Don’t be afraid to call if you ever have any questions or—or anything else.”

Rumi stared at her for half a second too long before blurting out an “Okay, thanks, byenow!” and scurrying away to the lot. She glanced back only once (…okay, maybe twice) and saw the falconer standing there, Ruby still perched on her hand, watching her leave.

As soon as Rumi shut the car door behind her, and she was alone and out of sight, she buried her face into her palms. She smiled, giddy, feeling the edge of the business card against her hand.

Sure, she hadn’t been the… normalest she could have been. But she’d had a good time.

And, okay, maybe it was a low bar, but this was the best birthday she’d had in a long while.

Maybe something didn’t have to go wrong every year.

Mira scribbled her signature at the bottom of another form, flipping it over into the pile of to be scanned shortly, and moving to the next, filling out the little boxes of questions.

Paperwork, she grumbled to herself. Who knew that running a small business — especially one dealing with wildlife — would have so much of it? It was the bane of her damn existence. She pressed the pen down a little too hard, and its ink bled over the lines. She scowled.

And it was definitely the only thing making her grumpy — not at all, not even a little bit, the pretty, pretty girl — Rumi — from a hawk walk two weeks and six days ago who had still not called her back, and now clearly never would.

Evidently, Mira had misread the signs, or maybe she’d pushed it too far and upset Rumi. Perhaps Rumi had realized her business card had the same number as her website and thought she was rather pathetic. Or maybe she just didn’t like Mira enough to call, and decided she wasn’t worth her time. Perhaps Mira had been forgotten about altogether.

But — no. It was just the paperwork.

Mira’s pen pressed a little harder against the page, leaving an indent so deep it almost tore. She gritted her teeth and lifted it. She’d have to redo that one.

To her left, her phone went off with a trill. It was a little late for a call, and technically past business hours, but Mira had ever made a point of being strict about those. She didn’t glance at the caller ID, just picked up the phone one-handed and raised it to her ear, opening with, “Hello, this is Gem Falconry, Mira speaking. How may I help you?” in her usual customer service voice.

The line was quiet for a moment.

“Hello?” Mira prompted, just as polite. Perhaps it had been an accidental call. She waited, but there was still no response.

Just as she gave up and went to press the end call button, she heard a faint shuffle and a meek, “…hi?”

Mira jolted upright like she’d gotten an electric shock, the pen clattering out of her hand. “Rumi?” she said, incredulous and edged with stupid, stupid hope that she immediately chastised herself for, biting it back and adding on, “I mean, uh, how can I help? Is this a, uh, work-related inquir—”

“Do you want it to be work-related?” Rumi blurted, and the sudden boldness, which was a stark contrast from the quiet, easily-frightened person she’d met two weeks and six days ago, had Mira’s mouth clamping shut.

She quickly reached for something to say, landing on, “…I mean, if it is work-related that’s totally fine, I just—” I thought I’d lost my chance, and now, here you are.

“Tell me,” Rumi said, and again, that shift in demeanor, the difference from what Mira had been expecting, shook the words right out of her.

“I… I guess I thought you’d made up your mind. That you weren’t gonna call.”

Rumi paused, and guilt colored her voice as she asked, “You had my number on the form I filled out. Why didn’t you call?”

Ah. The damn form. Mira would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it. She’d spent a concerning amount of time staring down at that number, considering it, wanting to hear her again so badly; she even had the number memorized by now.

But this, at least, was a question with an easy answer.

“That would’ve been very unprofessional of me,” she explained. “You were a client at my business, and, even then, I didn’t want to be pushy. I wanted to give you the chance to let me down easy by just not calling.”

Ultimately, she just couldn’t. If they spoke again, it had to come from Rumi.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Rumi cleared her throat. “I, ah… I don’t want to do that. In case that wasn’t clear.”

“It’s okay, I promise,” Mira rushed to reassure her, and they lapsed back into that awkward silence. Mira didn’t know how to explain to her that, yes, while she’d been waiting, it still meant so much that she’d called now, and the wait hardly mattered to her anymore.

All that mattered to her was this.

Rumi hadn’t forgotten. Rumi wanted to talk to her again, too.

“Happy late birthday, by the way,” Mira added, her foot tapping nervously against the floor as she spoke. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice it was your birthday until I looked back at the form, or else I would’ve said something day of.”

“It’s okay,” Rumi echoed back at her. “I had a good time, even though—” a little sheepish giggle came through the line, and the sound warmed Mira’s heart — at least for a moment, until she continued, “Even though I actually already knew most… okay, all of the bird facts, and I—”

A mournful noise came from Mira’s mouth. “What?” Not her bird facts… she’d wanted so badly to impress Rumi.

“Well, I’ve been really into birds for years,” Rumi said. “I know a lot about them. Especially raptors. But I still enjoyed hearing them, ‘cause they came from you.”

“Oh,” Mira said. “Oh, uh. That’s good. I am glad.”

Rumi giggled then, an undeniably sweet noise, and Mira promptly forgot about the tragedy with her bird facts. It didn’t take her long, though, to find something else she’d done wrong.

“So, you weren’t scared, I take it,” Mira said, hoping she didn’t sound like her mouth was dry and her heart was thundering in her chest.

“No, I just thought you were pretty.”

Mira choked a little, and tried to recover by masking it with a cough. Mira knew what to do and how to act at work, an environment where she was the authority and she knew what was expected of her. But elsewhere — like on the phone with a pretty girl who loved birds? Far less so, although she was certainly trying.

“I really enjoyed meeting Ruby and—and you,” Rumi added, going a bit shy. “And I really did like your bird facts anyway.” (Mira felt herself glow with pride at that). Rumi took a deep breath. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I just — I got nervous, and I overthought it, a lot. ‘Cause you’re so cool, and so hot, and you know so much about birds—”

Mira choked again, and this time, there was no hope of a decent recovery.

Rumi fell silent for a beat, then squeaked softly, as if it had just hit her what she’d said. Mira fought — and lost — against a big, stupid grin as she envisioned what that blush she’d seen a couple times before might look like on Rumi’s face right now, the one that was a specific shade of red that reminded her of Ruby’s tail feathers.

“Thank you for the birthday wishes,” Rumi said, and the change of topic was not lost on Mira. “It was the best birthday I’ve had in… quite a long time.”

The warmth in her chest ached, now.

“Maybe the next one will be even better.” Mira’s voice came out lower than she intended, and husky around the edges, and the implications of what she’d said hit her a second later.

“Wait— I didn’t mean—” she started, and then stopped herself. “…Okay, maybe I did. But only if you want…?” she trailed off, praying the bleeding hope wasn’t too obvious.

Rumi’s answer came fast but shy. “I’d like that. To see you again.”

Mira thought of that blush, and the way that Rumi’s waist had felt beneath her hand, and how much she’d enjoyed the closeness and wanted closer.

And squeaked out, “What’s your favorite bird?”

Rumi didn’t laugh at her floundering, only hummed sweetly and answered, “My favorite raptor is the black-thighed falconet.”

Mira smiled hopelessly into her hands. “The smallest raptor in the world. Excellent choice.”

“And my favorite non-raptor is the Victoria crowned pigeon. I like to think we have similar hair.”

Her smile grew into a big, goofy, uncontrollable grin that made her glad they were over the phone and not in-person. “That’s a good one,” Mira approved. “You know, I’ve gotten to work with one before. Back when I worked at a rehabilitation centre. It’s actually a rather sweet story.”

“Tell me,” Rumi said again, and that warmth kindled, brightened.

Her paperwork could wait for tonight.

Maybe this hadn’t turned out to be such a bad evening.