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Raven shook the rain from his back and wings again. Peregrine huddled under a stone spout that was vigorously shunting water away in a cascade, as it had for the last three weeks. The tourists still came, but they stayed at the edges of the walls under their umbrellas.
“Perfect weather for fish.” The one-winged falcon peered out from under the spout. “Trout come to the surface on rainy days and all you do is drop and catch.” That had been his old life, before the street sign had smashed his wing and made him forever groundbound. Peregrine looked around at the Tower buildings, the raven who was now his friend, the guards who fed both of them. This was better than starving.
Raven cawed in amusement at the distant, bedraggled humans. “The tourists from Arizona and Spain wear short trousers and skirts, fish hawk; they’re not used to rain in summer. They won’t come over to bother us. This is the best thing about the weather.”
A loud cry sounded overhead before a large gull flapped in to land. The tourists cried in pleasure at the sight. “Which one of you is the smart one?” the gull cried.
“Your mate is missing these past four days and you need help finding her.” Raven hopped forward. “Tell me everything, sea bird.”