“Quiet,” Luke whispered. “I think it’s harpies.” Elliot propped himself up on one elbow in the dirt. “Harpies? Cool!” Luke shoved his face back into the grass. “Not cool! Harpies are monsters, do you hear me? They are not like dwarves or even dryads: they are death with wings. They are the owls to your mice. They rip with their claws, they swoop, and they kill, and once you are dead they rend the body until it is stinking offal, because mutilation of corpses is their beast’s idea of sport. And your dumb hair is a beacon. So don’t move a muscle, and don’t you dare even think of doing something
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