rewarded the quiet.
Lily got down on her knees in the mud.
The stone beneath the beak looked no different from any other rock.
She ran her fingers along cracks, moss, roots.
Nothing.
She checked the notebook again.
Look under the hawk’s beak.
Not behind.
Not beside.
Under.
Lily dug with her pocketknife.
Mud packed under her nails.
A beetle crawled over her wrist.
She kept digging.
Five inches down, the knife hit metal.
Lily froze.
Then she cleared the mud away with both hands.
A round iron plate sat
