99
You look up to see the loathsome creature circling directly above, less than twenty feet above the tops of the trees. Instinctively, you crouch down and take cover amongst the nearby foliage, your weapon drawn in readiness, as it attempts in vain to force a landing amongst the densely-packed pines. Its incessant cawing and the crash of its leathery wings against the upper branches bring Dorst and his men hurrying to investigate. They each pause to grab a bow and quiver from their saddlebags, and then they loose off a volley of arrows at the beast. Shrieking with frustration, the Kraan takes to the night sky and quickly disappears, heading away to the north.
A chill night wind whistles through the trees and you shiver. But it is not the cold that is chilling your blood—it is the nagging fear that you may never live to see your homeland again.
