A bunch of ravens blast towards us, but Ravenna hollers: ‘No! They’re mine!’
I must say, she cuts quite the impressive figure swooping down at us like an eagle crafted of brimstone.
‘Back off, kids,' Rasthrum tells us. ‘It’s time for adults to talk . . . with their fists.’
(‘I am so stealing that,' I hear Aar whisper to that Niffy. ‘Such a dope line.’)
‘Are you sure, Rassie?’ Marra queries. ‘I mean, no offense, you’re tough and all, but it appears we’re the ones who end up saving you half the time.’
Rasthrum gives him a look which speaks more than any string of words put together will ever be able to. Ravenna sweeps down on him with her claws outstretched . . . but Rasthrum, without even looking, seizes her neck and nails her to the ground.
‘Can you do this, kid?’ Rasthrum smirks.
But then Ravenna smirks too, pinned on the ground as she is. Her inverted smirk widens and widens till tiny edged birdy teeth show. Her lips become a pelican bill . . . and then she diffuses into the air as sand, just like the raven I disseminated a moment back.
‘What the – ?’
Rasthrum has hardly finished his remark when the sand stacks up behind him and re-forms Ravenna’s magisterial form. With her razor-sharp claws she stabs him in the back – literally.
‘No!’ I shriek, but it’s too late. Rasthrum’s comatose body collapses to the spot where seconds ago the bird woman had been pinned. Blood streams out his back like a red baby river.
YOU ARE READING
Sort of Deadly
Humor*Sequel to 'Sort Of Dead'* *Kindly read the previous installment beforehand* ~ "You know the feeling when you see a glass jar filled with perfectly round, colorful marbles, and you just want to put one - or two, or three - in your mouth, even though...
