Where was Antok…? If that thing had smashed the binoculars, Antok’s prognosis wasn’t good. His mind raced, and he became painfully aware of the awkward position he’d frozen in, as he felt a cramp threaten to drag along the back of his calf. Call it in. You need to call it in. The rational part of his brain screamed at him as he stood there, ignoring the frigid drops of rain that trickled their way down the back of his neck. It’s happening again; call it in! The thing stretched languidly, and in the flickering breach-light, Gatesman Fields watched as an unmistakable crimson stain was sluiced off the thing’s blades by the rain. Oh. He wondered who was going to give the news to Antok’s husband.
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