Everything happened in a blur, all at once. That horrid click sounded under Isabog’s foot. Mags’ face twisted into a grimace of dread, the puny rogue instinctively flipping back and away.
Gaspard lay on the ground, letting the pain and shame pulse through him. Outside the tent, shouting, uncertainty. People ran this way and that. The noise beat in time with his body.
Duma of St. Ashleigh of The Henge ultimately confronted the banshee in a grove of storm blasted willows that shadowed an otherwise idyllic bend of creek.