dear falcon lovers

dear falcon lovers

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Nov 11, 2014
sweat beeds on my head as I lift my most prived possession onto the floor to prevent flacons flying into it. When I was five years old back in 1999 I was lying on my most favorite thing of all things in the world, my log. I stared across the lake shivering when I saw my first falcon. join the story of a teens struggles between chossing her passionate love for her log or the dark and mesterious love for her falcons
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Mary frowned, this time with genuine confusion instead of anger. "You don't know?" I shook my head. "Obviously, I don't know. Are you crazy?" She looked at me inscrutably for a moment before shrugging uneasily. "It was- never mind. It was nothing." I also hate it when people are lying to me and they try to hide it, so maybe that would explain why I got so annoyed. Maybe Mary could sense that I was annoyed, or maybe she just found the air around me a bit too tainted for her taste. She dashed away, her soccer ball underneath her arm. The spray of mud that her feet kicked up completed the destruction of my knee socks. That was when I noticed two things about Mary Phelps. One, her eyes had the same golden rings in them that Jay's and mine had. And two, she was most definitely hiding something. The only question was, what?

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