The plants and trees, which, a moment ago, had been verdant and lush, alive and constantly growing, were now the color of ash and spindly, dying things. There was an odor in the air, one that made her wrinkle her nose and wish her sense of smell wasn’t so damn good. Rot, she thought. An’ death. It was like she’d entered a tomb, except there was no end in sight, the skeletal forms blocking her path in every direction.

Even worse than what had appeared all around her was the feeling that filled her, a wriggling, squirming sense of unease that had burrowed its way deep into her bones. It was the most disturbing thing she’d ever experienced, and it made her want to turn around and run all the way back to Northpoint, regardless of the sorrow that awaited her there.

Craaa-aaack!

Perfidy barely managed to jump back as the dead branch came crashing down where she’d been standing a moment earlier. It sprayed blackened splinters in every direction as it crumbled to dust. Before she could blink the stinging rot from her eyes, another violent crack resounded to her rear, and she was forced to push off and leap forward to avoid being impaled by another branch. This one shot straight down like a dropped spear and embedded itself in the forest floor. More cracks erupted on all sides as she ran, projectiles crashing around her as she ducked and dodged.

A massive branch landed just before her, and it was all she could do to get her front leg into the air while lifting her back leg behind her. A thrill filled her as she hurdled the log, landing with a grunt but never breaking stride.

SLAM!

The branch seemed to come out of nowhere, emerging from some blind spot in her vision. It hit her head hard enough to cause stars to explode before her eyes. She landed brutally on her back, stunned, staring up at those flashes of pain-filled light against the backdrop of the dead forest. As the stars faded, she saw it:

On dark wings, it swooped down from the canopy, scything past branches and curving around pillarlike trunks. An eagle garbed in a gown of flowing black feathers, wings as broad as the span of her own arms. A shriek emerged from its sharp, black beak. That sound filled Perfidy with fear, giving her a boost of strength sufficient for her to clamber back to her feet, duck under the branch that had bludgeoned her, and then stagger forward, feeling as dizzy and off-kilter as a man returning from the tavern after a night of too much strong drink.

The shriek pursued her, the sound of wings chasing her through the foliage. Dead leaves crunched under her feet. Claw-like branches grabbed at her, scratching her face and arms. Vines snaked around her unsteady feet, threatening to trip her.