Gyrfalcon's Keep Allora, pedala!

The ocean was indeed beautiful, but what Pier desired (or told himself that he desired) was a legacy, the sense of having made one's mark on the world. He thought the ocean was the antithesis of all of this, but didn't have the words to articulate it.

Perhaps, he mumbled, vague and careful. But he was immediately charmed by the compliment that followed, and to calm himself he smoothed an unruly lock of fur that jutted out from his ruff. Allora, loyalty is one thing, passion another. I've seen some men who balanced it well. Others, not so much.

But here was the truly unexpected - a simple offer of charity. He glanced suspiciously at the traveler's tanned face, searching for any signs of inclement dishonesty, and found nothing but the same languour and affability.

Is it that obvious, that I'm a miserable hunter? It was a half-joke - part of him felt real annoyance - but he took it without too much complaint. Thank you. You are very kind, ah? Too kind. It makes me wonder.

He bit into the falcon. It was gamey, toughened by a life of flying against the wind.