A hailstorm of fist-sized gravel and a great downsweep of wings marks the beast leaping airborne over them. The bottom half of a body lands nearly on its feet a few meters away, trailing coils of intestine. The top half is still some time in falling.

“Break for the trees,” Vandren proposes.

He jockeys a bit with his elbows, emboldened by the lack of a no in answer to his question. Less like a sandwich now and more like a horny toad puffing itself up so that it’s harder for a big electrical bird to tear it out of a hole.

“I’ll cover you.”

That same someone is still screaming.