Was there any hope for him?
Was there hope, indeed, for any one of us penned in a wooden palisade fifty miles from aid, a handful against an army?
Presently in the lowering silence came the scream of a hawk.
An uncommon sound, half croak, half cry, which only hill dwellers know, but 'tis an eery noise in the wilderness.

It came again, less near, and a third time from a great distance.

I thought it queer, for a hawk does not scream twice in the same hour.

I looked at Shalah, who stood by the gate, every sinew in his body taut with expectation.

He caught my eye.
"That hawk never flew on wings," he said.
Then an owl hooted, and from near at hand came the cough of a deer.