Sheepeater Cliff spring dawning

The wind was full of caterwauling. The sobs plunged down every slope and erupted over the crest of the ridge, to where Jawahir had cloistered themselves. The courtesan was on high alert. They could not tell the sound of a screaming cat from a crying goat, and there had been sign of both in this place.
Better to stay in the burrow they had dug. Entrench themselves. It had taken hours to reach this place and cut in to the rock so that there could be safety and Jawahir would not leave the burrow unless forced.
On and on the crying went, until it died down to silence.
What was worse than that?