Nobility

The hounds were gone, and my pony Fred was long past tired. Sick of kicking him along, I dismounted and decided to run instead, dragging Fred along at reins’ length. Now at the Morano’s, we stood in the bottom covert, a little braided girl and her pony, covered in burrs and mud. And five feet before us, the most noble bird in our skies, a red-tailed hawk perched atop a stump. Fearing losing a finger in his beak, I petted him with the end of my whip at arm’s length. He looked offended, but stayed put. We were not worthy.