Folio 7183dfe8
Italiano
The king’s falconer brings the bird to the garden at dawn—wings folded like a saint’s hands, the leather hood hiding its eyes. It does not know the world is still half-dark, or that the canal water will reflect nothing of its hunger. Yet when the hood is lifted, it does not hesitate. The wind carries scent before sound, and the soul of the hunt is already in the air, invisible as grace. The bird leans forward. The soul prepares.
English
The king’s falconer brings the bird to the garden at dawn—wings folded like a saint’s hands, the leather hood hiding its eyes. It does not know the world is still half-dark, or that the canal water will reflect nothing of its hunger. Yet when the hood is lifted, it does not hesitate. The wind carries scent before sound, and the soul of the hunt is already in the air, invisible as grace. The bird leans forward. The soul prepares.
