Dear Great Aunt Saffy,
I decided to write you while I’m at work, since I am unable to form a productive thought. Maybe when I’ve put these events down on paper I will be able to make more sense of these crazy experiences.
A month ago, if someone had suggested a series of dreams would have such an impact on my life, I would have laughed in their face. Now nights control my days. Daily activities hold little interest for me and my friends have stopped calling to invite me to social events. I have lost weight--all food is tasteless--and I find myself reaching for my keys at every moment, like the silver shapes hold the means of my escape.
Thank you for the book on falcons. I knew you might have information about the mysterious room I find myself in, night after night. I enjoyed learning about the sport of falconry and was surprised to find out people still engage in the practice all over the world.
I have visited the falconry twice more since my previous letter, once last week and then again last night.
The first dream was vague, without the rich colors and textures I had come to expect. Tom was alone in the room. He fed the birds and applied ointment to one falcon’s foot where the leather strap had rubbed a raw spot. The book you gave me described these fastenings as ‘jesses’.
I strained to look for Valor, but something blocked my full vision and I awoke in frustration.
Last night’s dream more than made up for the previous vision. I hope it’s not the last!
I awoke, not in the tower room as always before, but outside in a field. Light indicated evening approached, and a meadow stretched before me like a woman’s dainty green scarf, dotted with wildflowers. A forest stretched tree arms to the sky, a silver bracelet of river wound around it.
A jolt took my breath away. I turned my head to see Tom’s ear and the side of his face next to me. It was as if I was riding on his shoulder!
Valor walked before us, and again I admired the strength in his shoulders, the confidence of his stride. Love flooded through me for this man and his simple passion for life. If only I could find someone like him in the real world!
On one of Valor’s gloved hands was perched a brown falcon, Rufus. Valor dangled a dead rabbit from a cord in his other hand. What would he use it for?
Man and boy stopped in the center of the field. Valor raised his hand and in one swift motion Rufus pushed off, soaring in the air until he was only a speck in the sky. I caught my breath in delight while the bird exulted in his freedom.
A look of concern crossed Tom’s face. “Won’t we lose him, Sir?” he asked.
“No, Son,” replied Valor. He held up the rabbit. “A falcon cannot resist a free meal. Why do you think I told you to feed Rufus only half his dinner?”
He held the carcass in front of him and began to swing the cord in slow, sure arcs. For a moment, nothing happened, and Tom’s shoulder twitched beneath me.
A ball of feathers plunged from the sky towards the rabbit. No sooner had the bird’s talons sunk into the flesh than it found itself perched once more on Tom’s glove, trading freedom for a few small pieces of meat.
The greens and blues of the field faded from my vision, and I found myself blinking in the dreary light of my television screen. Tears slipped down my cheeks. I wanted to go back, to stay in that world forever. It’s more real and tangible than anything I have in this life. I longed to stay with Valor, assist him with his work—to be his wife.
The next time I visit the doctor, I plan to ask him for a reference to a shrink, since it’s obvious I’ve lost my mind! My boss is paging me now, back to work.
Your loving great-niece,
Evangeline Miller
Dear Aunt Sapphire,
By the time you receive this letter, you will have heard of Evangeline’s disappearance. My daughter has not come to work or been in contact with anyone for three days. The police have searched her apartment and found no signs of foul play or sudden departure. They did discover a half-empty bottle of sleeping pills, which I found odd because Evangeline never mentioned taking them.
I know you are her favorite and she writes you regularly. If you have any clue or idea as to where she could have gone, please let me know! We hope there was just a communication error, but I am terrified that we will never see her again.
Love,
Polly Miller
For the Notice of King Harold,
The red falcon is prepared for her first flight.
Your Servant,
Sir Valor of Northwend
The Falconry, A Short Story Page 2