We could hear their bangles before we saw them, but she said nothing. At first when we saw them, they just looked like migrating birds - at least, that was what I told myself. Gwendolyn's face was firm, serious, straight ahead - I knew it was unlike her, but I said nothing as well. The birds kept getting larger as we came closer, the ringing louder. I said nothing.
We all said nothing.
A cloud of Axatha Taranan now hovers before us, their eyes glancing between the horizon and us - I think they want to ask us where we came from (I wish I knew) and if we're following. I'm not sure if they know where they're headed, themself. I shake my head slowly, uncertainly, and turn to Gwen, her eyes dead as she stares below, down at Axatha.
I don't want to look, and yet I do. The tunnels of Axatha overflow with muddy water and shocks of blue energy, the flow of floodwater unending. A pair of bodies float in the rivulets of ley and flood, two taranan who couldn't evacuate in time.
There's a rush of air and a shout beside me, and I turn to find myself alone in a crowd of frightened strangers.