There was something in the air, far above the group and to the east. At first she dismissed it as a wandering bird, following the trail in hopes of dinner scraps or other carrion. Then as it grew larger, she guessed it as one of Jalenoth’s patrols, a mindless beast whose eyes were wizard-bound. But it grew larger still, until it’s length was measured by the column of refugees. She could mark it as a Muri then, the snow white and crimson serpents of the sky. The weary villagers stumbled to a halt, as it settled to the ground in front of them.
“You come from West River.” It hissed, the words rumbling along the ground sent the pebbles dancing. It was not a question, but it seemed to want an answer.
“We’re all that’s left.”