As Ink flows...

A snippet of what I'm working on at the present, Feather and Fang. I won't explain anything, but hopefully the writing will speak for itself-

The morning had passed, and the sun was beginning its long westward trail when the jungle finally ended and red cliffs rose up sheer before them. But here a dark opening slashed across the otherwise unbroken rocky face. Between the edge of the jungle and the cliffs stretched a dusty plain at least a half-mile across, covered with bones. Redpaw drew quickly back into the shadow of the trees, sinking down into a crouch as he studied the forbidden sight before him.

It was as if life stopped on the line drawn by the shadow of the jungle. The ground beyond was cracked and dry, and littered with piles of bleached skeletons. A veritable graveyard lay before them, where countless had died and been left to the elements.

“Impossible at this distance to tell what they are,” Crestlen muttered.

Redpaw shook his head. “I doubt we could tell even if we were directly on top of them. Too many, and too jumbled.”

Crestlen shrugged, then squinted up at the tiny flecks of sun that made their way through the jungle canopy above them. “I don’t like it. Whatever caused this slaughter is probably waiting for us in there.”

Redpaw shook his head, frowning at the scattered skeletons. “No… the bodies are not pointed away from the entrance, as they would if something had come out of there and had caught them as they fled. No, if I am any judge, a battle was fought here, maybe several. See how the bodies lies scattered around, facing all different directions? And the number of detached skulls? Unless this monster you speak of carefully severed each head and then left the bodies alone without eating them…”

He turned back to look at Crestlen, a dry grin on his face. Crestlen snarled.

“Shall we risk it then?” the wolf-hunter asked.

Crestlen shrugged, then laughed. “We’ve beaten everything thrown at us so far! What could be more dangerous than the bladesfell?”

And so saying he adjusted his bound arm and ran boldly out from under the shadow of the jungle. Redpaw was right behind him, jogging along easily.

But even as they reached the first skeleton, Redpaw knew they had made a mistake. For above the shadow of the jungle rose dozens of smaller shadows, and a screaming that made his heart skip a beat.

Crestlen risked a look over his shoulder to see a horde of shapes coming after them, leaping from the trees like so many insects. But their pursuers were man-like, fur-covered, and gleaming with flanged armor. And unlike their previous enemies, these bore weapons, spears and clubs and blades beyond description.

Suddenly the yawning crack in the rock looked far less dangerous. Both hunters were sprinting now, no longer bothering to look back. Everything they had was put into getting to the safety of the cliff. The screaming was getting closer now, and their long shadows were reaching out for them like claws. Redpaw leaped to one side as a spear flew past his face, embedding in the ribcage of a skeleton a little further on.

A clammy hand grabbed at Crestlen’s bad shoulder, but a moment later its owner gave a bloodcurdling yell and let go, fingers bleeding from a lightning-quick strike by one of the hawk-assassin’s  many daggers.