Ankyra Sound twelve-hundred people dead or left to die

The scurvish waif's rage did froth over -- as she envisioned her last minutes on earth it only further flared her indignity -- in such that she was swift to clamp down on her tormenter's limp body. What damage she could to his offensive corpse before she perished -- what little vengeance she could exact before death took ahold of her -- it would be enough to ease her transition into the afterlife.

Yet it appeared her tormenter was not dead, and upon clutching his pinions in her jaws she was promptly assuaged by flapping feathers and shrieks. She had every intention of killing him then and now -- every fiber of her frame lustily wished to splash his (sparse) brain-matter upon the uncomprehending sand -- and it was unfortunate that at that particular moment her nausea returned with newfound gusto.

With a dry heave Caiaphas lurched forwards and spewed wet remnants of her last meal onto the earth, the slime of which slicked her muzzle and shot forth like rotted phlegm on the sand. It was gruesome noise that accompanied her hurling -- and no sooner had she involuntarily parted her jaws did she allow her aggressor means of escape -- between fits of hiccups and strings of ropy drool she watched him frantically ascend to the sky.