Raven forced the food down and took a long drink of water. A bowl for washing rested at the foot of her pallet, and she poured the remainder of the water in that vessel. Margie might have told the villagers her scrying water came from a sacred spring, but Raven knew she got it from the stream behind their shack. The bowl wasn’t black inside, yet the dark brown wood might be dark enough for the sight to show future.
The ripples calmed. Shadows swirled in the depths. One by one, pinpricks of light winked into existence and then the pale orb of a full moon. A great beast flew across the night sky, an impossible beast with wings and four legs. Moonlight shimmered off the gleaming muscles as it climbed, higher and higher. A firedrake? It dove like an arrow to lights on the ground. Torch-lit shacks and people running hither and thither, terrified.
The size of the beast killing those terrified people stunned her. No firedrake grew to more than an arm span. The beast banked, hovering, and opened its mouth. Fire spewed forth. Streams of fire caught people, lighting them into living torches. Screams and shrieks from the dying. The bowl slipped out of her hands.
Now she knew the look of the beast from close by and was afraid—this was a wyvern, worshiped by the First Born tribes. Raven ran to the window, wrenching the beaded strings aside. Outside, embedded in the ground, sharp stakes pointed toward her. A creature who could fly might escape, not a walker of the earth. No one could climb across those stakes without getting impaled by the sharp tips.
For those interested, here is the trailer teaser for the next book in this series, Serpent of the Shangrove.