As soon as they arrived, the cold wind rolled across the desolate plain with a voice like a grinding stone.
It dominated the desolate plain—a keening whistle that filled the ears and emptied the mind. The West Cavity stretched out before them in a monotony of grey flat earth. And the silence beneath the wind felt less like a peace and more like danger unseen.
Davina's breath came in shallow pants.
She could feel and taste the blood in the air, which was not what she had wanted to be greeted with the moment she set foot on the West Cavity. Not the fresh, coppery tang of a wound still weeping, but something drier.
A scent that had lingered long enough to become part of the atmosphere.
"I… I don't like this," She muttered silently, and then she caught something a mile ahead.
