The sun was already beginning its slow descent below the tangled canopy of the swamp when Viper finally slithered back.
He looked miserable. He was covered from head to tail in thick, foul-smelling mud, his obsidian spear was nicked from hacking through vines and webs of slime, and he was exhausted. He slithered into the hall, his lower coils dragging across the stone.
"My King," Viper rasped, dropping to one knee before Syris. He kept his head bowed, terrified to look at his face. "I have failed. I searched every tree, every branch, under every rock and in every cave in the swamp. The bird... he is gone. He must have flown away."
Syris' amethyst eyes flashed with a dangerous light.
Unbeknownst to both of them, Viper was right. The Golden Eagle had indeed left or rather, in the process of leaving.
The Golden Eagle beastman was in his beastman form, his golden wings hidden as he silently moved through the swamp foilage.
