Ankyra Sound twelve-hundred people dead or left to die

it was with suspicious ease that the bird found himself alone with the siren queen's riches, and he was not anticipating the weight of the ration in his beak. his missile-like form began to quaver a bit, impressive wingspan staggering and his self-confidence threatening to fall off like a gangrened limb should he have the misfortunate of the tenacity of the sea-wind to square up against.

her daggers of ire and the imprecations in which they plunged their silver must have reached some celestial entity, for no sooner had the ships of her ladylikeness sailed did the raven lose his grip on the rubbery bounty.

devastation iced over him as he watched it rain down from on high and dump into a small tidal pool, landing only a mere few hundred yards from the nook in which the female from whom he shanghaied it from slowly storm-clouded up, the disruption of her supper clearly making this one of those "straw that broke the camels back" situations, except more aptly, "the bird who pissed off the hoodoo mama, enjoy your screwed-on-backwards beak you unbelievable dick."

though she was free to collect her rancid picnic and go about her snack without further provocation – he did not find the risk worth the reward of braving her wrath to get a piece of meat he didn't even particularly care for – bartok, in an attempt at relative damage control, whisked under the tilde of the wind and perched a modest distance from caiaphas, his head canting back and forth and forth and back, disheveled weight shifting uneasily.

he glanced at the tide pool, and then tacked his gaze on the caldera with legs a few feet away.

"fetch."