Sange-Ye had known exactly who his master was, and Shan-Yu had known exactly his right-hand officer was.
It had always been this way. Since he had stolen it as a young man, the falconing glove had never left Shan-Yu's hand. It was not uncommon to see the falcon, occasionally with an object or a dead animal clamped in its talons, streaking forward and diving out of the sky and the leader of the Huns extending his arm for it to land on without pausing in what he was doing.
More often than not, Shan-Yu had remarked that Sange-Ye's intelligence and worth outstripped that of most of his army. It was Sange-Ye that had found the little doll that had brought the Hun army to kill General Li, and it was Sange-Ye that had snatched the sword right from Li Shang's grip and flown it up to Shan-Yu for that final battle.
It was that final battle that Sange-Ye remembered as he sat in his nest high on a mountaintop, where no creature dared to disturb him. He thought of what he had once been, and he thought about the future, and punishing those that had taken his master from him.
He eyed a rabbit skittering past him beneath the peak. He had just eaten, but these days, he didn't live for the food so much as the kill.
Sange-Ye left his nest in a powerful thrash of his wings and dived, sinking his talons into the hapless animal but letting go immediately, watching with a cruel sense of satisfaction as blood spurted from the fatal wounds.
He had learned from his master, and he had learned well.