Gyrfalcon's Keep memoryhouse

was he off his rocker? you're gotdamn right if you said yes. the falcons wheeled and screamed, and velen snapped racuously at them. high up on the cold stone of the keep, the boy clutched for a foothold. there was no sane reason to be out there, save for that velen was both bored, and a wolf from an isle where he had learned to fear very few things. 
a female dipped and cut her talons across his cheek; the stormrift creature grunted and clung grimly to his perch, even as warm blood began to drip down his face. "is that all!" velen shouted madly at the birds-of-prey who had come to roost, not be disturbed by a boy with a confusing sort of death-wish.