Page 114 of Court of Secrets and Flames

What do these pikas sense that I don’t? What unknown presence lurks nearby?

The shadows of the trees around me seem to stretch and twist, as if concealing some unknown horror.

My unease intensifies. Every muscle in my body tenses. Should I run? Wait and assess the situation? Adrenaline pumps through me, heightening my senses.

I focus on the animals.

Though I can’t read their emotions like I can with with dragons, their fear is palpable.

It radiates off them in waves, matching the dread that’s now coursing through my own veins. Panic sets in. There must be something else out here with us, something they can sense but I can’t see.

The unease increases by the moment as I wait for whatever hides in the shadows to reveal itself. My heart pounds in my chest, mirroring the frantic beating of the pikas’.

Breathe. Just breathe. Stay calm. Use your?—

Silence.

No more movement. No more sounds.

The pikas keep still. Utterly still.

Terror clogs my throat and steals my breath. Something’s coming.

Cold. I’m so cold.

Grass rustles.

There’s a horrible rattling, like someone’s inhaling the very atmosphere itself. An animal squeals. No, shrieks. Then another. And another. Again.

I hold my breath.

Stay vigilant. Focus.

I count the pika heads in the tall blades of grass.

Sixteen.

My heart races as I continue to scan the area. Nothing. I see nothing.

Something is here. I can’t see it. But I feel it.

Slowly, silently, I stand and peer out into the meadow.

In the center, a dark shape forms, its edges blurred and indistinguishable.

I draw an arrow from my quiver.

Heart racing, I strain to make out any sounds.

Still quiet. So very quiet.

As silently as I can, I approach the dark shape. My heart races. My palms grow clammy. Black feathers litter the once green grass. Hundreds of glassy black eyes stare sightlessly at the sky.

Hundreds of dead crows. No blood. No signs of struggle. Just a murder of crows, bent and twisted to form a grim mosaic.

There is no sign of the hunter. Only the hunted.

The pikas’ ears flatten as they press themselves against the earth, hiding among the grasses they’re feasting on.

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