The summit is just ahead. We’ve been climbing this ice-covered rock since it was light enough to see, and we’re almost there. Puffs of vapor hang in front of my face each time I breathe. The temperature has plummeted since the storm blew through. I’m glad for the exercise of the climb to keep me warm, but my fingers are freezing. My stomach pinches, and I glance at Cooper. He seems even worse off than me.

We drank the water that was left in the bottle, then poured the water from the Ziploc bag to refill it. Now we’ve almost finished that too. Collecting the hail hadn’t given us nearly as much water as I’d thought.

The rim is just a few more steps away. Then we’ll be able to see over this mountain. We’ll be able to see for miles in every direction. Surely we’ll see the highway from here. I keep thinking back to the GPS when Dad showed me the map. I glanced at it quickly. I trusted him when he said the highway was not far, and I’ve been stubbornly fixated on it ever since.

Gavin must’ve been terrified during the storm. I know he hates thunder, though lately he hasn’t wanted to admit it. At home, Mom takes out her fiddle during storms, and we clap and stomp around the house, trying to make more noise than the thunder. But Mom wasn’t there with her fiddle, so I don’t think much would’ve distracted Gavin.

I slip off a rock. The abrupt movement sears down my arm. I suck in a breath and focus back to where we are. Almost there.

Cooper scrambles up before me and stops suddenly. His shoulders sag, and my heart sinks to my toes.

“What? What do you see? Is it the highway?”

I climb up beside him, and then I’m staring across a flat, open field. I suck in a breath. We still can’t see the other side. We have to get across the mountaintop first. I try to choke down the bitter frustration.

“Come on!” Cooper kicks a rock back down the slope we’ve just climbed up. “Will this never end? I’m so hungry! My stomach feels like it’s being twisted in a vise. I’d give anything for some fries right now.”

A familiar feeling of being watched goes through me, and I look up. Stark flies overhead, circling and soaring effortlessly. I pull out the lure and swing it high. Even though it only has the leftover foot from the grouse tied to it, she goes for it immediately.

“You missed the party,” I tell her as she lands. “There was music and dancing and quail; you would have loved it.”

The pinch from her talons as I get her to step onto my sleeve-covered fist makes me sigh with relief. Of course she found me.

“Yeah, and we had fries and bacon cheeseburgers,” Cooper tells Stark.

Stark rouses as if to say we’re both nuts. “I wish you could tell me how far we are from the highway,” I say.

Cooper watches her with interest. “You think she wants to hunt again?”

“Yes, of course. See how tense she is, and her expression? She’s all business. She wants to fly.”

“How can you even tell? She always has the same expression. She’s got that mad face like she’s always glaring at me,” Cooper says.

I study Stark and notice how her mouth at the corner is set slightly downward, as if she’s frowning. Her dark eyes, under heavy brows, are deep in thought. She shoots out a mute, and suddenly I’m wearing the same worried frown as her.

“Let’s try to flush something out as we cross the mountaintop,” I say. “Her mute—I mean, her poop—is dark green. She needs to eat.”

“She needs to?”

“Stay on my right as we look for a slip for her,” I say, hoping for this hunting opportunity.

We head across, eyes down, focused on finding grouse, pheasants, or other game birds—anything that we can eat. I don’t see anything but golden grasses, lichen, some erratic boulders strewn here and there, and a ridge on the right with red sediments layered in the rock.

We wander in slightly different directions through the grass. Every fiber in my body is screaming to hurry up and find the highway, but I also realize we need to eat. From the corner of my eye, I see Cooper suddenly freeze. He thrusts his fist in the air. Even though I don’t see what he sees, I notice Stark tense as well. She leaps off my fist and begins to pump her wings.

“Wait for her to get higher,” I call to Cooper.

I glance at Stark circling above, watching my every move, and I let myself forget about all the bad things that have happened until now. She came to me again, and she’s going to help us eat, if we can find her some prey.

I feel so much emotion. Out here, everything feels like more.

When she’s near a thousand feet, I nod at Cooper. He lunges toward a thicket and disappears. I hear splashes and cursing. He’s found a pond.

I race toward him to see him flapping at two stubborn pintails refusing to lift. They glance nervously at the sky. At the predator above that is more dangerous than the two of us. We whoop at them, but it takes Cooper charging into the icy water before they flush.

“Ho, ho, ho!” I yell, my eyes to the sky.

My stomach is in knots as I imagine Stark chasing these ducks for a long way off. This is why falconers use telemetry to track gyrfalcons. They usually chase prey for miles. This was a bad idea. What am I even doing, pretending to know how to hunt with such an intelligent raptor as a gyr when I don’t even have my own redtail yet? Red-tailed hawks are much easier to train and less complicated for a beginner like me.

Stark turns and plunges into a magnificent stoop. There’s no way she’s going to catch a pintail on her first try. She misses, wheels with incredible speed, and gets above the pintails again. She dives diagonally, directly at the drake—the larger pintail. Cooper gasps when we hear the whack of impact.

The drake tumbles.

Cooper cheers.

I pump my fist in the air in answer, and we grin at each other across the shrubs. It’s even more thrilling sharing this with Cooper. To see him so excited by the hunt.

I race to where Stark is rolling on the ground, panting, battling the drake. Dread fills me. This is where falcons get damaged. But Stark remembers what I did last time and is waiting for me to fix it again.

I reach in like I’ve watched Aunt Amy do so many times and grasp the beautiful, slender, long neck of the pintail. “Thank you,” I say, giving the neck a quick jerk. The drake stops struggling.

I’m tense as I make the trade, offering Stark a leg as I smoothly move the duck away from her view. Only then can I relax and think about what we’ve just accomplished.

When I’ve flown birds at home, it was always for them. It was exercise and for conditioning and training. Even out dogging with Aunt Amy and Tank, it was to watch the bird hunt. This is entirely different. Hunting with Stark—and how much hinges on her success—brings the whole thing into a different focus for me. It’s so primal. I have a fierce and completely free hunter perched on my fist, and it makes me feel savage with pride.

Cooper approaches, and we both watch Stark pluck and eat the piece I hold between my fingers. Once she’s finished, I wait for her rouse, and then I tilt my head at Cooper. “Do you want to hold her?”

With a dead-serious expression on his face, Cooper takes in a quick breath and nods.

“Take off your jacket and wrap it around your left hand. It’s my turn to make a fire. Don’t be afraid. You are safety.”

Cooper’s eyes widen as Stark hops onto his outstretched fist.

“And don’t stare directly at her. She’s a predator and prefers to do the looking.”

I’m more nervous than I let on, but I don’t want to freak him out by telling him to relax. I’m not sure why I try it, but the look on Cooper’s face makes me glad I did. Someone who is basically my own age understands this passion. It makes me feel less weird.

Despite my advice, boy and falcon stare at each other. It’s such an intense moment; I hold my breath so as not to disturb it. Maybe Stark senses Cooper was lost like she was. Either way, there is a kinship between them.

Then I notice Cooper nervously twitching. He’s not always the confident and bossy kid he tries to be. He moves to pet her but then hesitates, which is possibly the worst thing he could do.

“Cooper, don’t—”

Stark steps off the jacket and clutches his bare wrist with her talon.

“Don’t move!” I say.

And he doesn’t. Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch or yell. He winces, and then a goofy smile breaks out on his face. Stark releases her clasp, bobs her head, and flies off. “Ow,” Cooper says. He looks at his wrist, still grinning like a madman. “That was sort of awesome.”

“Sorry, I forgot to mention she’s footed me a couple times. That’s from poor training. She still hasn’t kicked some bad manners. Raptors don’t like hesitation or sudden movements. If you’re going to do something, just do it,” I explain.

“Awe. Some.”

“I think you’re swelling, actually. Did she break skin?”

“Did you see that?” he continues. “I think she likes me.”

“Um, yeah. That’s definitely going to bruise,” I say.

“That’s what I call a grip. I have to try that again.”

“And you call me weird!” I give Cooper a look but then grin with him. “It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?”

We stand, beaming at each other like Stark-loving lunatics.