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Throatwards
The tallest and most multifaceted of the three Starved extends limbs in greeting – then halts as she registers your appearance. Her mouths elongate in astonishment and speak in several crackling cadences.
"Humans," the Shepherd translates in English, "Are they not all annihilated?"
It is another Starved who answers, panic clear in her five blue eyes. "You bring news from below? We would be benedictional in response."
The Forlorn Shepherd whispers into your ears. "Grateful." As though to illustrate his point, the Starved turn and approach. His translation is rapid, racing to keep up with the sibilant words of the Starved. "We will grant your need, if you but tell us from whence you come."
The most senior of the Starved approaches, arms outstretched – and then they are reaching for you. From above, a great wind blows, buffeted by the flap of vast wings. The Starved tries to save you, but the wind is strong as cedar and forcing you towards one of the vast holes yawning in the dais.
You hear a thousand whispers like pens scratching and you are buffeted backwards by the force of raging wings. But there are no walls, only wax – and the fall...
