"A faire, a dream, and a girl"

Timmy had been asked to take Wendover, his prize peregrine falcon, to a Renaissance faire. His English teacher, Mrs. Tyler, had set up the day. He would have his own booth, dress in old English costume, and answer questions about falcons and falconry. Mrs. Tyler also told him to smile a lot as the people passed by.

He even had a pretty good little English accent too, because his sophomore class had just finished doing Shakespeare's comedy, A Midsummer Night's Dream. He had played the part of Nick Bottom, a would-be, could-be actor who gets a spell put upon him by Oberon, the fairy king, and is turned into a donkey. His "Hee haw, hee haw!" got a lot of chuckles from the crowd. He had rehearsed a lot with Sara, who played Tittania, queen of the fairies. Her character was also under a spell and was now "In Love" with him, or as reality would have it, with the donkey "hee haw!" Sara was a girl who was a friend, but he was working on combining those two words.

It was a warm day at the faire, and the BBQ meats, strong rich coffees, and Old World scents like patchouli filled the air. Wendover sat quietly on his perch, cocking his head from time to time. Every so often someone would come over and want to pet the bird or ask a question. A popular inquiry was, "How much does a bird like that cost?" Timmy always responded with "he's priceless."

The day was winding down, and Timmy was tired. He looked forward to flying Wendover. He hoped there would be some ducks on any of the ponds on his way home. He would like to see Wendover do his peregrine magic. On the drive back, he went from pond to pond, and spotted no wild game. It was going to get dark soon, but Timmy decided to try one more place.

The Bartlett ranch was a main staple on his list of hunting grounds; it was natural cattle land that had never been touched by human plow or chisel. Lots of ducks flew into the ponds on the property, and pheasant abounded. As he drove up to the gate, he met the caretaker, Dan. They shared some words and a warm handshake, and Timmy found out that Dan had just seen a couple of pheasant down the road around a berry patch. "If you get down there right now, I bet Wendover can catch dinner for ya!" Dan said.

Timmy rushed down the bumpy road to the berry patch. He secured the telemetry, turned on the receiver, and heard the old familiar beep, beep, beep. Then he struck Wendover's hood, lifted him high over his head, and curled his gloved hand slightly as he let Wendover fly. "Now this is what I've been waiting for!" Wendover said to himself. The falcon wasted no time climbing up into the sky and shortly reached a good pitch. Timmy let Roxy, his pointing Lab, out of the truck and looked up to find Wendover straight up above him.

The falcon commanded the sky over the pheasant. He was up at about one thousand feet now and still climbing. Roxy locked onto the game bird. Her tail wagged twice as hard when she found a bird in the bush. Timmy waved his hat at Wendover as a signal to him to pay attention. Wendover looked down and waited for Timmy to flush. The hunting team was in place. "Go get' em Roxy!" Timmy kicked at the old rooster and Roxy pounced and the pheasant knew it was time to fly, and the bird exploded into the air and flew hard and fast for cover. There was another berry patch about three hundred yards away, and the bird arched in the air looking over his shoulder at the falcon and trying to get to the safety of the bush.

Timmy looked straight up and shouted, "Wing over, Wendover!" Then he watched as Wendover stooped down toward the pheasant. Timmy ran in the direction of the hunt, but something went wrong. He tripped and fell to the ground, bumping his head on a smooth but large rock. All the lights went out, and Timmy lay there unconscious with his falcon in the stoop on a collision course with the rooster pheasant.

When Timmy woke up, things were just as he had left them. Or were they ...? He shook his head a little from the blow and wondered what had happened. He was not sure how long he had been out, but he looked into the sky and figured it had just been a blink as he caught a glimpse of Wendover as he finished his stoop and saw him hit the pheasant hard. The rooster cartwheeled over in a somersault and fell to the hard ground.

Timmy got up and felt the lump on his head. He was satisfied he was all right and started to walk toward the kill. It was then that he felt something strange by his side. He reached down, thinking it was a branch or weed he might have picked up from the fall. He tried to move it out of the way, but to his amazement he saw a broadsword in a scabbard. As he looked further down to his boots, he saw leather leggings. When he dusted off his shirt, he found the soft leather of a jerkin. Instead of his baseball cap, he had a hat with a silver pin holding a golden pheasant feather.

The next thing was the strangest indeed. He noticed two boys running and laughing about a hundred yards in front of him and they were headed for Wendover and the dead pheasant. He sprinted to save his bird. "Say there, what do you think you are doing? Get away from my prize bird!"

As the events unfolded, things got even weirder. Two men on horseback rode past Timmy towards the birds and boys. When he finally reached the group, panting and out of breath, Connie, the larger of the boys, turned and ran straight at him, tackling him to the ground. "Your prize bird?" The other boy picked up the falcon and then bowed quickly as the larger of the two men got off his horse. They all kneeled as the man moved slowly toward the falcon. Timmy was at first mesmerized by the scene. He stood looking as the man approached. The other boy, Stanley, pulled him down to kneel. Timmy dropped his head as if he had been bowing to kings all of his life.

The great man was dressed in a shirt made of cambric, and he had a leather jerkin made of light summer deer. He had a reddish beard, keen green eyes, and wore a crown. The older of the two men followed the crowned one and spoke in a smooth English accent. "Aye, my lord, Timothy has trained him well." The king peered at Wendover with intensity and obvious appreciation. He touched the small falcon with his finger, which sported a large ring with a blood stone and a family crest of a lion. He stroked the little bird's breast, and the falcon roused from the touch.

The boy who tackled Timmy piped up again. "He is the finest trainer of birds in the shire, even if he is me best mate."

"That'll be, Connie. Hold your tongue." The older man quipped. The king turned, looked at Timmy, smiled, nodded then mounted his horse and galloped off. The older man was a bit annoyed and looked at Connie. "I hope you boys haven't made the king angry with your foolishness. Tim, get yourself together and see to your bird. His Majesty will want a full recording of today's events. Tomorrow we host the king of France. Everything must be perfect. All the birds must be well tended to, sharp set, and ready to fly." Then the man looked at Wendover. "And you, my dear little tiercel, shall be a gift for the king of France."

Timmy frowned as Connie took the bird from Stanley and transferred it once more to him. "Sir, Wendover is to be given away?"

"You really did hit your head, didn't you, Son? Aye, you have been training this bird for just that end. Timmy looked into the man's clear blue eyes. "You're my Father aren't you," Timmy...