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“Clear out!” Manon’s barked order carried
over the fray. “Form lines low to the ground!”
Not an order for the Thirteen, but the
Crochans.
Glennis shouted, some magic no doubt
amplifying her voice, “Follow her command!”
Just like that, the Crochans fell back,
forming a solid unit in the air above the tents.
They watched as Abraxos ripped the throat
from a bull twice his size, and Manon fired an
arrow through the rider’s face. Watched as the
green-eyed demon twins rounded up three
wyverns between them and sent them crashing
onto the mountainsides. Watched as Asterin’s
blue mare ripped a rider from the saddle, then
ripped part of the spine from the wyvern
beneath her.
Each of the Thirteen marked a target with
every swipe through the gathered attackers.
The Yellowlegs had no such organization.