He came and squatted, conference fashion, the elbows resting on the ground, the wrists crossed at his chest. He spoke first.
"Before the red men came, did we live here?"
"You lived in places like this all along these mountains. Now there are very few of you left. Since you have been staying at my place, you naturally have forgotten the ways of living outdoors."
"We can learn again. We want to stay here." His little face was so solemn and thoughtful that I reached out and stroked the fur on his head reassuringly.
We both heard the whir of wings overhead. Two mourning doves flew across the stream and landed in an oak on the opposite hillside.
I pointed. "There's your food, if you can kill it."
He looked at me. "How?"
"I don't think you can get at them in the tree. You'll have to soar up above and catch one of them on the wing when they fly away. Think you can get up that high?"
He looked around slowly at the breeze playing in the branches and dancing along the hillside grass. It was as if he had been flying a thousand years and was bringing antique wisdom to bear. "I can get up there. I can stay for a while. How long will they be in the tree?"
"Chances are they won't stay long. Keep your eye on the tree in case they leave while you are climbing."