Dragoncrest Cliffs The wind is on the rise,

The sound that tore Wylla's throat raw fell somewhere between a banshee's wail and the bloodcurdling scream of a flayed animal. It was unrelenting, piercing the quiet of the cliff-side with every snap of her jaws. She writhed, fury incarnate, snatching air and fur alike in teeth driven mad with rage. So insane was her onslaught that some of it was even her own.

Sunhawk suddenly disappeared into the part of her reddened vision that was now gone. Wylla’s reaction to this was visceral. She felt it all the way down in her kidneys, the clench of fear that made her whirl toward him and away from Umbra. She didn’t even know who she was attacking anymore, the bitch or her squire. She didn’t know if the blood on her tongue was hers or theirs. It didn’t matter. She was reduced to a killing machine who would tear the throat of anyone who gave her half a chance, bucking like a stallion, shrieking like the highest wind.

Sunhawk was wise to call the retreat. Wylla was unable to pursue. Even if she had her wits about her, the pain and the fear would stop her in her tracks. She couldn’t see from her right side. She couldn’t see from her right side. Wylla threw back her head in a keening cry, a wretched howl, a summons for back-up to hunt down these pieces of shit, though they likely wouldn’t hear it over the wind. Umbra and Sunhawk were free to make their escape as she lifted a leg and pawed pathetically at her face, only to choke on vomit when she spotted a mangled bit of her own eye on the wet stone.