Thunder Dome twai

It was the cough of something terrestrial that made her stop, made her ears twitch. The sound was so unlike the creaking, croaking, tossed-gravel sounds of the ravens — and familiar too, somehow. Standing firmly in place, the woman listened more intently. She tried to spy through the shadow and breathe deeply of the pine, not knowing what she waited for; only aware that something else had come to watch her, and she could feel those eyes upon her in the same way those ravens had been lurking.

She only stood like this for one or two heartbeats. The sense of foreboding in this liminal expanse did not waver and so she remained on-edge, even as her curiosity flooded her. Edith had come all of this way and now, what? Was she afraid? Of course, there was a sensibility to be found in fear. Properly managed, it could be put to use.

It was hard not to betray herself. Her breath quaked in, out; a plume to join the fog. Taking what she considered a bold step forward, she called out in mimicry — her own voice was childish, and she felt her throat constrict as the sound escaped her. Still, she could not see.

What was it that waited in the dark?