I read a poem once about how relationship between the Saqr and the Saqqar is one of love and freedom.
My grandfather was a great hunter and Saqqar. Once when I was around twelve, my younger sister, who was three years old at the time, snuck in to the falcon house and let the falcons out. I remember the entire family scrambling out to the courtyard when we heard the thunderous flapping of wings. We watched the entire cast of falcons fly to the heavens including my first saqr, Malak.
When my sister emerged unscathed from the falcon house, I was both relieved and furious and devastated that I’ve lost my beloved Malak. My grandfather just shook his head, laughed, and picked her up. He checked every inch of her to see if she was harmed, and hamdillah, she was fine.
I, in my youth of course, was still angry and I started to scold my little sister. My grandfather stopped me and said — “Of course, you know that they are free. Shuf,” he said pointing behind me, “three have already come back”.
Sure enough, all of them were perched back in their house, untethered, before sunset.
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