Gyrfalcon's Keep When Facing the Wind got Wicked

Gray clouds blanketed the sky that day. A morning similar to the latter of November, only colder in comparison. His instincts told him that snow was upon them. And so, he had begun to focus his efforts on preparation for the winter. This day was nothing special—a continuation of said efforts. 

Tracking the scent of deer had led him to the Keep. Distant, raucous squawks distracted him from the task of tracking it. Intrigued, the man listened, and followed the sound in mere curiosity. It grew louder—almost annoyingly so—as he approached. There, he could see where the source of the noise emanated from; the cliffside ahead. He drew nearer, eyeing the forms of birds which swept through the skies. Some were airborne, while some came to land upon the steep face of the rocky hillside. The outcrop itself was quite tall, causing him to tilt his head up in order to take it all in. The birds had built their nests on the precarious cliff-face, nestled in the various crevices which were naturally carved into the surface. 

All the clamor was a sight to see. He sat back, casually observing.