They shall cover the surface of the land, so that no one will be able to see the land. They will also eat the rest of what has escaped—what is left to you from the hail—and they will eat every tree which sprouts for you out of the field.

A great storm roiled and churned through the abyss. Dark, it was always dark here, except during those frequently periodic moments when lightning split the sky. The clouds contained the only energy left and they constantly warred with each other.

Very little remained of what may once have been a lush and vibrant world. The terrain was brown and rocky for miles upon miles on end. Not a single blade of grass could grow here on the dusty stones. Not anymore. No rain fell. There was no water. The storms that flourished day by day, minute by minute, were only full of electricity.

Here, perhaps, was the end of the world, of all worlds. This was the future that all sentient life had to look forward to. Here was a testimony, a statement, that said, "This is what will become of you too, unless...."

All that remained were demons, monsters. They slithered and crawled over each other in massive, writhing heaps upon the parched and cracked terrain. Immense and emaciated beasts that were in some parts humanoid. Their bodies were long and sleek, with longer limbs and wide, thin hands. A coarse, tough hide, black and sooty as unearthed coal, stretched taught against their bones, showing ribs and joints and evidence of starvation.

For centuries they had been a dying breed. Their numbers were so enormous that for those centuries they flourished, feeding off each other, picking apart the weak from the pack to sustain themselves. The nourishment they obtained from the flesh of their dead was just enough to keep them thriving. But as the years went by they grew fewer in number.

Flesh and meat were not their preferred meals. From time to time a few of the daring ones leaped into the sky to hunt the bolts of lightning that jumped from the clouds. Great leathery wings stretched from their shoulders, beating against the howling winds that ripped holes through the membranes. Some of those few flying hunters succeeded where others failed, being split asunder and sent in pieces back to the rocky ground. There their brethren, the ones who could not fly and the ones who were not quite so courageous, fed on them in slathering droves.

Amidst the stormy dark, between the lightning bursts, fine red points of light in pairs of two glittered across the countryside. The heaping mounds of starving beasts shuffled and growled, snarled and snapped at one another. Time went by without any indication. With no sun rising nor setting, no moon sailing sedately through the tormented clouds, there was no sense of time in this place at all. Only an eternity of torment that these beasts called home.

Among them all there was one who had survived the longest. One whose eyes glittered the brightest red with the deepest and keenest shine of intelligence. This was the one who looked high into the horizon and saw what few others could see.

There in the distance was a swirling black vortex that even the storms avoided. A crisp, clean breeze trickled out from the center of this anomaly, carrying old and forgotten scents across the broken plane. This one lifted his jackal head to the skies, howling a scratchy, parched note to the storms and rallying his brethren to his cause. The pack leader had caught the scent of life for the first time in centuries. Beyond that portal there was food aplenty to be had.

Who had opened the gate and why was a mystery that these starving beasts had no care to solve.

And they shall fill thy houses, and the houses of all thy servants, and the houses of all the Egyptians; which neither thy fathers, nor thy fathers' fathers have seen, since the day that they were upon the earth unto this day.

Hundreds upon thousands crouched at the mouth of the writhing black. They grumbled and growled and twitched in nervous disarray, but for the one that kept them at bay with snarling, snapping teeth. This one hunkered low and flared his nostrils wide to deeply inhale the scent of spring time grasses, tallow and ink, spiced herbs and something more.

A wingless female whimpered and whined, slithering under his jowls. With a voice like tumbling and grinding rocks, he barked at her and took a chunk out of her ear with one sharp bite. She bent her spine up backwards with a yowling shriek but retreated, cowed, back into the pile of anxious others. They were starving, and just beyond that gate there was food. All of them had caught the scent and wanted nothing more than to tumble through to feast.

But this one was cautious. This one was wise. This one was clever enough to turn his drooling, dribbling, snarling snout around to pick the weakest of the nearby bunch. That one, he decided, was to be their scout. With a furious beat of tattered wings, he rose up to his fullest height and howled to the storm-split skies. He leaped into the whining and undulating fray, locked his jaws around the neck of the runt and began the fight for obedience.

It did not take long. Being smaller and with one wing broken, the weakest had no chance against this one. The leader of the world wide pack herded the small male through with tooth and claw and whipping tail. Immediately thereafter he was forced to turn, to snarl and snap, command his legions to remain at bay with that same guttural, rock-grinding language that was solely their own. They obeyed from fright, from a small ounce of respect in knowing he was the largest and the longest lived.

When all was quiet, except for the slice and crash of lighting overhead, this one hunkered low at the fringes of the gate again and twisted his tall ears to listen. There were voices on the other side, words spoken in a tongue he only vaguely recognized. Once upon a time, some time where there was a time, he had heard such sounds before, but he was hard pressed to remember them, to understand what was being said.

Behind him his legions whimpered and whined, but not loud enough to interfere with his listening. His ears twitched when he heard his unwilling scout report through bark and snarl. That one was too young to know them, to recall having ever seen them before. But this one knew them, the leader did. By the yelping and growling descriptions his pack mate cried through the writhing black.

Short, fat beasts. Pink of skin and soft. The flesh so easy to cut through. They scream and fling sweet treats into the air. Star bursts and fiery darts. Misty powders and bright lights. The scout gulped all these morsels from the air with gleeful satisfaction and thanked his leader for choosing him to be the first sent through.

The largest and the wisest turned, long yellow fangs dripping with salivation, to regard his writhing legions. "Go," he commanded them, with one sharp note. They were all eager to obey, so eager that he was forced to take wing and hover out of their way. Dozens of hundreds climbed and crawled and wrestled with each other to be the second, third and fourth to burst through the portal and reach the other side.

On a lazy current he drifted, watching them tear each other to shreds, plucking the weakest from the packs and flinging them aside. Only the strong, the fittest, would survive. Only they would be let through. And when he was satisfied with their number, this one broke through the portal too.

We will go with our young and with our old, with our sons and with our daughters, with our flocks and with our herds will we go; for we must hold a feast.

Their numbers were too many to fit within the room comfortably. When at last this one breached the barrier and plunged beyond the vortex, there was no more space for flight. He tucked in his wings and slammed into a wall of bony pitch hides. Growling his discontent, he scrabbled and clawed his way to the top of the heap, but even there movement was limited. There a ceiling pressed him down upon the bodies of his legion.

"Move, move," he snarled, nipping at the hides of the nearest ones. They whimpered and squirmed but could hardly spare an inch for any one. The sweet scents of food surrounded them, underfoot and overhead, packed into the walls and floors and ceilings of the cramped square cave they found themselves locked into.

This one realized. Lifting his snout, he pressed his nose to the mortared stones that made up the so low sky. Sniffing and snuffling, he caught the scent of intricately woven wards, spellcraft. These walls were edible, and if they could not move around or through them, they would chew their way out. A long black tongue, thick with saliva, slid out of his mouth to lick the stones. They were tasty. They were good. He knew but the others had yet to figure it out.

"Rock and stone," he grumbled. They did not hear him. "Listen, listen," he howled. The writhing mass beneath him stilled to mostly shivering, but they went silent, listening as commanded.

Now that he had their attention, he squirmed up higher, using his pack mates as his pedestal. "Rock and stone," he repeated, using a voice that cracked and tumbled like a mountain breaking apart at the seams. All their words were gravel, guttural and sharp. "Food, food. Eat. Out." Their language was so limited, but every one understood.

Those at the bottom of the heap had found other morsels. Thin sheets from trees and enchanted metals, all enticing and delicious. On the fringes, those who could dug claw and tooth into the walls, rending stone to bits small enough for hungry mouths. In great big gulps the starving masses sucked them down, bit by bit and stone by stone.

Pink skinned vermin were to be found in the adjacent rooms. With rabid efficiency the made the first cave bigger and bigger, room by room, stone by stone. The foundations cracked and trembled as the wards broke apart with such horrific ease. The pink skins, and some brown, screamed and tossed more sweet morsels into their gaping, drooling maws. Those who did not run were crushed beneath their long limbs, sucked dry of their energy along the way.

Most of them dug through the sides, and eventually found passages leading down and down. This one chose a different route. Long sharp nails cut through ceiling stones as swift as fish through water. This one did not gorge himself as the others did. He knew how a fat belly could hinder him, no matter how desperately famished he may be.

Up and up he dug, he climbed. Up and up until, for the first time in oh so long, he caught a taste of crisp, clean air. Wide open skies free of storms stretched for miles upon miles in any direction he could see. The clouds were missing. There was no constant war of lightning overhead.

Here he perched with serpentine tail coiled tight around a thin stone pillar. Here he looked as far as his eyes could see. Here he saw a world rich and full of food and knew that his legions would starve no more.

And Moses stretched forth his rod over the land of Egypt, and the LORD brought an east wind upon the land all that day, and all that night; and when it was morning, the east wind brought the locusts.

The air was thick with moisture, this one smelled it. For the first time in as many centuries he could not remembered, he smelled rain coming. The clouds that crept dark through the sky were not quite so impressive as the ones he and his legions better knew, but they were far more dangerous.

Lifting his nose to the sky, this one howled to greet the moon, to warn the rest of the legions of the impending storm. The note rang hollow and split the air, split the hairs on the heads of peasants in fields miles away. This was no hound's howl, but the keening wail of some other alien thing.

The first drop fell and sizzled on the tip of his nose. Growling, this one slithered down the bell tower and scurried quick into the hole he had dug through the roof. Down and down he squirmed and crawled, barking and snarling warnings to the legions that had come with him.

This world was ripe with food indeed, he told them. This they all well knew. For hours they had been gnawing at the rocks and stones that made up the foundations of this new cave. There was no end to the feasting. Fights had broken out amongst them, between those who argued over which morsel belonged to whom, but this was the way of the pack, the picking order. Only the fastest and the strongest, the hungriest and most willing to act, would survive.

But they would not survive long in this. The rains came and trickled down through the cracks they had created. Cascades fell down rock and stone, flooding the depths as far as the passages they had dug could take the water. Those who could avoided the downpour. Those who couldn't screamed and howled their rage, their pain.

This one found the safest hideaway, a place where he could watch the rain yet not be directly under it. While his legions writhed and gorged themselves upon the land, upon rock and stone and paper, upon everything laced with the sweet flavor of their most coveted meat, he watched the rains fall. And he waited.

And the locust went up over all the land of Egypt, and rested in all the coasts of Egypt: very grievous were they; before them there were no such locusts as they, neither after them shall be such.

Some of them had not an ounce of intelligence. These being the newly made, vomited upon fresh soil, clawing and writhing their newborn way out of sacks of mucus and sludge. Mating was as essential as eating and equally grotesque. The number of the legions grew hour by hour beneath the fragile walls of this temporary sanctuary.

Eventually the rain would stop, this one well knew. But no matter how he tried to tell them, the young ones would not listen. They were bold and fierce, stupid and starving. Their hunger was never satisfied, none of them, no matter how much they ate. The symbol of their likeness was in the shape of their heads; the hyena, the jackal, the ravenous vultures of the Serengeti. They could never stop eating.

Soon, this one knew, the walls would crumble and the shelter would fall away. They were too many to govern, and so he let them go. Sometimes as a single daring newborn. Sometimes as small packs of three or four. They left the safety of deliciously warded walls behind and ventured out into the rain. He heard their panicked screams from within, but once they had left there was no getting back in.

They were impatient. If one was in the way of another, sometimes he or she would eat through his or her comrade just to get to the juicy morsels they preferred. The shelves were growing more barren as their contents filled the bellies of the legions. What few pink and brown skinned creatures they encountered were trampled underfoot. Little was left of them now but sticky, congealing blood and brittle bones being pulverized to dust.

This place was cramped and crowded. Many of the legion longed to scour the land, to venture out, even foolishly into the storms, if just to find space to move in freely, but for better reason. Their driving thought was always, always to seek out more foot to eat, more and more to always eat.

The hunger was always with him, just as it was always with the others. At times it was maddening not to give into this one baser instinct that drove them all. The older ones, the wiser ones, looked to him for counsel and no matter how much it pained him, how frequently his stomach ached, he cautioned them to wait. Be patient, he told them. The rains could not cow them forever.

When at last he saw the first sliver of sunlight cutting through the clouds, safe from his vantage point here behind the glass and mortar, he sent them out. Those few who were impatient hardly waited for his leeway. In small bands he sent them out, scouting parties to see as much as they could see. Grounded, slinking, wingless females, and the males with wings who could scout from the sky.

Some few returned to give their reports of all that they had seen. Fewer than those who became victim to the rains that came and went in unpredictable spurts. The number of the legions dwindled, and to him this was good. Selfish does the hunger make them, anyone, after all.

For they covered the face of the whole earth, so that the land was darkened; and they did eat every herb of the land, and all the fruit of the trees which the hail had left: and there remained not any green thing in the trees, or in the herbs of the field, through all the land of Egypt.

Fresh summer rains made the air muggy, and the humidity soaked in the stink. They had no noses for themselves, but the animals of the wilderness were already beginning to avoid this place. Day by day as the sun rose and set, tall ears twitched and listened. Heavy, sighing breezes carried news through the cracks in the walls, whistling their songs.

The legions were difficult to govern, but they were beginning to learn. The many that remained cowering in dark corners began to know which stones were good to eat and which ones would only bring the water in. This they avoided, and this one was pleased that they were growing brains. None were quite as smart as he, not yet, nor would they ever be. As each one grew wiser, so too did he.

All around the crumbling, chewed up tower, the forests were calm and silent. Nary a bird nor cricket was near enough to tell its tale, to call its mate. They had moved away days ago. The stink of death and rot and refuse chased them off. It was no matter to them, to the legion. These creatures were not as good to eat as the piles of food surrounding them. But that would not last long.

Hungry, always hungry were they. The gate that brought them was beginning to sink into the foundations, closer and closer to ground level with each stone they gnawed upon each day. The ceilings were caving and crumbling. Soon they would have to move on, find a safer, sturdier, less tasty cave to dwell in. But none of the scouts he had sent out returned with any news of shelter. Only news of food, lots of food, and where to find it. Everywhere.

This one knew they would never go hungry again. In all directions, east and north and south and west, there was food to be found. The hunt did not need to be so ravenous, but always they were. Looking to the sky, this one knew that the stars and clouds, the sun and the moons, were their largest adversaries. They were far too high for flying. They could not reach them to pull them down. Day by day he warned them of caution, but the hunger pushed his warnings from their minds.

With each one that came back, a dozen more left with him. They were anxious to remove themselves from this cramped lair and find mountains of their own. Caves dry and dark, thick with food surrounding them, awaited. But for each dozen that left this lair, another dozen pushed through the gate to join them. They were endless, the numbers of the legions.

So many in number were they that not a single one could govern them, that, this one well knew. When the sky was dry and the rains had ceased falling for some time, this one squeezed himself through the cracks and holes the number of them had chewed and dug. Some few he passed he snapped and snarled at, choosing a number he could control best. With them under his wing, he fled this place in search of drier ground to hunt in.

Seeing the wisest and eldest of their number flee, some few others took wing and spread the legions wide in all directions. They parted in roving bands of six to ten, hardly more though sometimes less. While the soil was still moist but no longer dangerous, the wingless prowled across high grasses and into the trees, along paved or dirt track streets. The forest fled before their stink to warn the wilderness of their coming.

But were they too many' Was it too late"

(See also Astronomical Blackout.)

Revelations 3:10 Because you kept my command to endure, I also will keep you from the hour of testing, which is to come on the whole world, to test those who dwell on the earth.

Soaring far and high across the land, this one saw that there was much of it. The number of his legions dispersed in all directions, far and wide, and very rarely did he see a sign of them. They moved in small groups, allied together in roving bands of hungry threes. Long hours passed between glimpses of these little packs, but they were many, and he knew, it would only be a matter of time before they covered the land.

This place was a distant memory, a familiarity that seemed so long ago. But he remembered, unlike many of those who ran beneath him, who flew at his side, the shape of things, the smells and the tastes in the air. That one rich, sweet aroma of the food they were made for eating was everywhere. It was plentiful in his world. It would sustain them.

Buildings gave way to trees and trees gave way to buildings. This one remembered the shape of them. Tall and towering spires, compact common houses, wide and sprawling mansions and more. In the distance he could see colorful domes sprouting out and up in the center of forest clearings. His ears could hear laughter and music, sharp, high noises that those of the pink skin, those of the brown skin, those not of his kind made.

The noise was irritating, like the chatter of squirrels in trees while they fight over an acorn. But they could tolerate the noise for the sake of the meal that waited for them down below. For they knew that once they came to feed those creatures would flee and make room for them. More often than not they did, but sometimes....

Sweeping low over a large, wide meadow, this one caught wind of cold ashes. The rains had come again some time recently. He and his few had taken refuge where they could, wedged into hollow logs and burrowing into dry stones. Sometimes a cave made itself available. The open skies were dangerous to those who were not wary.

Lower and lower he spiraled down to the clearing, tucking in his wings to alight and gallop across the ground until the momentum tapered off. Two others swept into the trees nearby, and five wingless ones scampered about in the shadows. The taste of death was in this place, the death of his kind. A sickeningly sweet, pungent and sulfuric odor that trickled in under the tastier scents of enchantments and blessings.

There were the remains, reduced to little more than piles of goopy mud by this time. The lights in their eyes had long flickered out, the eyes themselves indistinguishable from the rest of the mess. Prowling around the area, amidst the remains of party streamers and drink cups, the refuse left behind by man — yes, this one remembered what they called themselves now — he found the evidence that told him a tale.

Here had been a battle. There had been three of them, one winged and two wingless ones. A residue still trickled through the air that told him of the great feast they had thought they found. Foolishly, maddened perhaps by the insatiable hunger that always drove them onward, they had plunged in to feed, but had met resistance.

Rains had come and melted the corpses, washed the stink of them into the ground. When they came again there would be little evidence that anything sinister had gone on here at all. But this one knew this was the first sign. Man was aware of them now. Man would be alert. Man always fought to keep all the food to itself.

Harking a sharp and brittle bone command, this one rose and pumped his wings, rising back into the air. Around him his small pack yelped and snarled, barked and crowed. Two more took to wing beside him and the three rose high into the sky. Below the wingless ones bounded back into formation.

This was no safe place to stay, he knew, no matter how temptation warred within.

Revelations 19:19: I saw the beast, and the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against him who sat on the horse, and against his army.

Small and pink and fragile. Many were this way. They were all small and fragile, but not all were pink. Some were brown as the rocks of their homeland. Some were dark as the night sky. Others were a creamy yellow or beige. They came in many sizes and colors, but all were small and all were fragile.

They made noises, these creatures. These ones had one noise for themselves. "Hu ....man," this one grumbled to himself. The others in his entourage twitched and shuddered at the sound of the word, the way his voice garbled the sound like speaking while chewing on rocks.

Much of the noise they made, this one did not understand. They gabbled on like chittering monkeys without trees to hide in. Instead they walked long rock roads, boulevards and streets, words he did not know. He and his entourage watched them from the eaves and overhangs, safe and high, crouched belly low atop the mounds of their dwellings.

His entourage was anxious and jittery. From time to time he was forced to turn his head and gnash his teeth at one impatient member of the group or another. They whimpred and cowered beneath his ire, and then he turned his head back, lifted his ears high, and continued to listen.

They wanted to feed. As did he. This one was no more immune to the hunger than any one of them, but he was smarter and wiser and had more willpower to control the want, the need. This one was more scarred from battles long forgot. Those in his entourage were young and foolish, having never encountered such plump little beasts before.

This one's ears twitched as he listened. Some of the noises he understood, but not all. They chattered too swiftly at each other to catch them all, but one word rang truer than any other. "Ma ....gic," he repeated brokenly.

Beady red eyes watched from safe distances. Tall ears absorbed the noises and learned some words. This one was crafty, cunning, and capable of calculating things to a conclusion. Many of the beasts held up thin and flimsy squares and shook them as they chattered. Some wore shiny round medals on their chests with brightly painted marks. "Prop 37," they chanted, "Prop 37!"

"Magic seru raniotsigert," chanted others. Groups of them huddled together, waving their squares of thin cut wood painted in bright colors. Some handed out smaller squares of tree stuff with other symbols painted upon them. From the roof of another dwelling farther down, one of them tossed a bundle of such objects into the wind and let them scatter into the sky.

This one's tail whipped out and speared one out of the wind. He brought it close to his nose and sniffed it at great length. There was no food on this paper, but those who threw it around and handed it out chanted the word he knew. How were they connected" What were they saying" These creatures had no order, no drive but to toss around useless bits of tree stuff.

His entourage whimpered and whined anxiously. They did not smell food here either. Why was their leader so enthralled with this place" There were other places nearby that smelled of food. Why were they not eating"

Turning away from the ledge, the piece of tree stuff crumbled into his long sharp hand, this one snapped and snarled at his entourage. "Stay! Wait," he commanded them. Shuffling low to the tar painted roof, this one followed the scent of cloying perfume that turned down an adjacent alley.

When he dropped upon the female, she screamed in a fright. Her noise pressed his ears flat against his head, but soon she was gagging and she gurgled on her own voice. Holding her by the throat, he thrust the crumpled piece of tree stuff at her face and asked her, in words she understood, but words that sounded garbled and broken:

"What ....is ....prrraw puh""

The woman's face turned whiter than it had been from the start. Her eyes lolled back into her head. She made a few more gagging and gurgling noises. Then she went limp beneath his claws.



See also: Local Woman Accosted by Beast

Revelations 16:2: And the first went, and poured out his vial upon the earth; and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the beast, and upon them which worshiped his image.

Below him, females were chattering in their shrill and gleeful voices. A small pack of them sat around a raised round hunk of metal, lifting polished white objects up to their mouths. Sometimes they put squishy soft objects into their mouths and chewed them, ate them. Was this human food" It smelled rotten to him. How could they eat such things"

This one listened as they chattered, trying to pick out words in their noises, but many of them made their sounds too swiftly for him to gather anything useful at all. Still, he strained to hear them from his hideaway. Every so often he saw one of them sniff and put a piece of fabric to her nose, heard a whining note that made him think of the whimpering complaints of his legions. They were speaking, but he hardly understood them at all.

"Dirj veb allum koon der foss?"

"Aaaay shoom shill rarsha bom."

"Blash luh kiddle Shillish kompah magic?"

There. One word of the many made his ear twitch. He knew that word. This one remembered that word more clearly than the rest of his numbers. Magic was food and food was magic. These females were talking about magic, but what were they saying" He pressed himself flat and still to the stones and turned his ears to listen to them more intently....

"Some of the candidates this year are odd, wouldn't you say, Beatrice?"

"Oh, Lottie. You say that about all the candidates every year."

"Speaking of odd, girls. What's the whole point of this Silas Greyshott's campaign" All his posters mention is magic. Don't you find that strange?"

"I suppose it's justified," said the first woman, Lottie. "After all, there was that huge stink several months back about that Prop 37 business. First magic's bad. Now magic's good. I'd guess Mr. Greyshott's trying to promote that."

"Speaking of stink," said the third woman, trailing off. She lifted a piece of paper in her hand and used it to wave the air currents over her face. There was a horrid stink by the cafe today, and the three of them all were starting to wonder if something in the kitchens hadn't gone bad.

The second woman, Beatrice, reached across the table to pluck the poster out of the third woman's hand. "That's him, is it' Silas Greyshott?"

"That's him," said the third woman. She retrieved a folding fan from her pocketbook and unfurled it to resume the task the poster had been used for mere seconds before. "Silas Greyshott the Maaaaage. I don't see how that's at all relevant to being elected governor."

"It is awfully strange," agreed Lottie. She took the poster from Beatrice, examined the image and print, sniffed, and then crumpled it up. She tossed the wadded up poster lightly toward the trash. Her aim was not good. The object bounced off the rim and hopped into the adjacent alley. "Nobody's going to vote for some crackpot like him."

"Isn't he the one who put on that fireworks show in the Marketplace a few weeks back?"

"I hear his machine malfunctioned and because of it hundreds of people were injured."

"That's not what I heard...."

This one watched the ball of tree stuff bounce off the metal basket and into the alley. The object rolled and rolled until it came to a stop against the base of a dumpster. With the ease and silence of a caterpillar navigating down the trunk of a tree, this one slithered down the side of the building, into the shadows of the alley, and carefully plucked up the discarded item that the females had tossed aside.

Spearing the item on the tip of a long thin nail was the easy part. Unfolding it to get a good look at the image burned onto the paper was not quite so effortless. This one had the patience and practice of ages, however. He took his time until the tree stuff was flat enough for the images and scrawlings to be seen clearly.

"Ma ....gic," this one grumbled longingly as he looked upon the likeness of the man the females had mentioned by name. What did it mean, though' What did this flat face image and these scratched on etchings mean' Surely there were more pink and brown skins somewhere who he could listen to, who knew what it meant.

Licking the back of the tree stuff, this one tucked it under the raggedy folds of the tarp it wore draped over its body. His own saliva made the object stick to his hide, hidden away for future contemplation. Tail lashing with anxious curiosity, this one scaled the wall of the alley with the ease of a spider and shambled low across the rooftops in search of the sounds of others talking of the same subject of study.

In response to: A Magical Campaign.