The author of the voice was not immediately apparent, but Sira began to make out eyes in the darkness. Red eyes, green eyes, large eyes, groupings of more than two to a shadowy face--these were not the normal sort of eyes, visible despite a lack of light. They were patterns of curious or threatening light, and if Sira didn't know quite what to do, her daughter certainly made a choice, flashing into her feathered form and vaulting aloft toward the stars that still made sense despite the oddity of this place, this Denval. She flew up and up and up, using the strength and vitality the water, the meal, and some rest had afforded her. Frightened and bewildered, she began to race in the direction they had been traveling, and without a lot of training at navigating, she seemed to have found the knack for at least direction. Meanwhile, down below, the eyes grew harder, more desperate. One of the potential meals had flown away and out of reach, but the larger one remained and they were intent upon Sira's flesh. The foliage exploded with tooth and claw, beach and horn, fur and feathers and scales; all the myriad forms of hunger came out of the dark to find her. |