Beatrice Beecham's Ship of Shadows
It was gauging things, weighing up infinite possibilities Khaldun would never comprehend.
With a flurry of wings, the gull ploughed into the windshield, the pane already weakened, it caved in. With the bird’s head now inside the car, it forced its way through, oblivious to the terrible damage the passage incurred upon its body. The entry point was framed with blood and feathers, its beak and claws now tearing mercilessly as Khaldun’s hands, which he lifted off of the wheel to protect his face, his screams bleeding into the cries of the gull, his feet pushing down as he forced himself backwards, and away from the onslaught.
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