At an hour so late that the moon had nearly completed its travel and sagged heavily on the far end of the sky, Anarial finally returned to Moonglade. Her wings flapped furiously, feathers drifting in her wake, the druidess not heeding the damage she wrought to her normally sleek, feathery plume. She flew against the wind, not even attempting to use the current to her advantage, instead just savagely beating her wings until she moved forward, forward, and finally descended from the sky as would a tumbling stone.
When she landed and shed her avine form, she screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Her screams echoed, hurtling between the trees of the forest. Unseen creatures that slept were abruptly startled into waking, and night creatures that silently slunk through the forest took off in frenzied sprints. The druidess screamed until her voice left her and her final anguished echo faded to nothing, then fell to her knees. She remained there till morning.
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