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- IN RETROSPECT, I SHOULD have given ravens sponges for beaks—nice, soft, squishy sponges that weren’t capable of stabbing. While I was at it, I should’ve thrown in some Nerf claws.
- But nooo. I let them have beaks like serrated knives and claws like meat hooks. What had I been thinking?
- Meg yelled as one of the birds dove by her, raking her arm.
- Another flew at Reyna’s legs. The praetor leveled a kick at it, but her heel missed the bird and connected with my nose.
- “OWEEEEE!” I yelled, my whole face throbbing.
- “My bad!” Reyna tried to climb, but the birds swirled around us, stabbing and clawing and tearing away bits of our clothes. The frenzy reminded me of my farewell concert in Thessalonika back in 235 BCE. (I liked to do a farewell tour every ten years or so, just to keep the fans guessing.) Dionysus had shown up with his entire horde of souvenir-hunting maenads. Not a good memory.
- ***
- The Tyrant’s Tomb, Chapter 26
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