The Heartwood man was born to sin, set him free and he will be a sinner

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He was too afraid to speak and rather, spent his time trembling between the shadows. He did not know what to do with himself as the girl began to talk to him (or maybe of him, because it felt like he was witnessing something rather than participating in it); shyly Screech looked at Vaati, nervous of what may transpire if he lingered too long with the focus on the pale wolf - but he saw that the guy was all beaten up. These wolves from Moonspear really meant business! They'd found Vaati and worn him down, maybe they had prepared to kill him just before he'd interrupted? Just my luck, he thought, Vaati is alive because I'm a big fucking distraction.

But the wrath of the Cerberus was upon him now. Hydra spoke cooly, and while Screech felt the urge to correct her misinformation (squirming in his spot already), he couldn't make his tongue work. All he could do was sit there and stare while she outlined his doom: and then, the sisters swept in and grabbed for him. This was when he finally began to fight back. The boy made a strangled noise as he was grabbed, kicked and flailed, writhed in their grasp like a salmon beneath the talons of an eagle.

The dream that had startled him awake finally, painfully, resurfaced: The black of raven's wings blotting out the sun, (one of the shadows had him pinned with their weight across his back) a sharp black profile of a beak opening, turning, opening, turning, (Ayla on the other side grabbing and tearing, pushing him in to place for her sister) the raven has three heads and as they open their beaks, all he can see are teeth and blood, and the white of their many eyes. (Hydra grabbing his throat -)

Nnnhmg! Screech protests against their teeth, his eyes wide and filled with terror. They have him right where they want him and he knows he will not escape, but he tried anyways. He manages to open his mouth and gasp for air, and his rough voice grates through the dark, Ddn -- ddn duh et -- Pless, but his mind is swimming, pounding with each thump of his racing heart. He can't get the words out and cannot tell them of his innocence - but it doesn't matter. Lyra stands before him deciding on which eye she wishes to take from him and he can't help but hear a voice in his mind comment, she looks just like a bird.

Then there is only pain. The birds wintering in the trees around them burst like shrapnel from the boughs and scatter when he lets out a strangled scream. From there, things got more than strange: he could see with painful clarity the faces of his assailants through one eye, and yet through the other he could view their scrambling paws, the dirt mixed with snow, and a profuse amount of blood spreading across the ground with an acuity that indicated his eye had been removed, but not damaged, at least not yet.