On a cold October night, just before an important ceremony, I journeyed with a dear friend to a sacred place deep in the heart of Hungary. There, hidden away in the wilderness, lay a natural hot spring, where the earth itself poured out its warm waters, mixing with the cool river that flowed nearby, creating the perfect temperature for bathing. Beneath the vast, open sky, we soaked in the warmth, our bodies relaxed in the embrace of the water, while the stars above stretched across the heavens, painting the night with their ancient light. We spoke of life, of friendship, of dreams and hopes, letting the peaceful stillness of the world around us guide our conversation. It was a night of deep reflection. When the time came, we left the hot spring and set up camp in the wilds. The earth beneath us was cool, and the crisp night air whispered with the sounds of the forest. But as dawn’s first light touched the sky, something extraordinary awaited. There, beside my shelter, lay a Peregrine Falcon. Majestic and powerful, its wings outstretched, its feathers still soft and vibrant despite the stillness of death. The bird was untouched, unscathed by any injuries. It had not fallen from the sky in flight, but had come to this place, this sacred moment, to lay down its life beside me. I stood in awe, feeling the gravity of the encounter, the sacredness of the bird’s final moments.