When in the droning air of red evening we saw a falconer traipsing by the road, ringed by a variety of colored birds seated upon the hoop hanging around his shoulders, calming them with song from the flute at his lips, I wondered if I was like those birds, soothed by an invisible song, following an inscrutable being that might well barter me off to another even worse, or devour me. The falconer passed us by, trailing the nervous flutter of brittle wings.
