The screams were unidentifiable but had an effect that could raise old souls
from endless sleep. I rose quickly, pulled on my pants in the near light, and
stumbled out into driving rain and a gale force wind. Tree chicken,
turned banshee, lay crumpled, a flurry of feathers and noise
pinned beneath Red Tail, using his agile body, trying his best to behead her,
put a stop to her piercing war whoops. Up he swooped, distracted, disgruntled and hungry.
My one-eyed warrior-ess heals near the stove.
Hawk will try another day.