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Xander sat sketching on the edge of the castle wall, looking out at carrion birds as they swooped low over the burial pits. He could look at them now without flinching, ignoring the women who wept below, an unceasing roll-call of death. But the birds … well, the birds were life and Xander could bring life to the beasts he illustrated. If he could only get a skin to draw on. For now, he had to make do with his sketchbook and as his hand moved across the page, he brought the birds to life on the wing, their feathers ruffled by the wind, their beaks open to snatch insects from the air.
He completed one bird and on the opposite page, he began to draw again, using the template of its shape to extend the wings, add talons to its feet and make the beak more like a scythe, the feathers more l
