Ren froze. The creature froze.
It wasn't a monster.
It was a bird.
But calling it "a bird" was like calling a truck "a car."
It was a Golden Eagle, but clearly one that had been drinking protein shakes since hatching. It was bigger than the ones in Ren's world—roughly the size of a very fit Great Dane—but it wasn't monstrously huge like the other beasts she had encountered.
It was, objectively, stunning.
Its feathers weren't just brown; they were a shimmering, lustrous blonde that looked like spun gold in the dim light of the hollow. Its beak was a terrifyingly sharp hook of polished brown. But it was the eyes that stopped Ren's heart.
They were silver. Liquid, piercing, intelligent silver eyes that stared right into her soul.
It was seated comfortably in a large nest made of dried branches and soft moss, occupying the back half of the hollow. It just sat there. Staring. Judging?
Ren's brain didn't see "Majestic Creature of the Sky."
Ren's brain saw: DEATH.
