The creature, responding to the motion of several of the crossbowmen, who were setting up to take aim, spun around. Its mouth fell open, hissing, and the plumes along its neck bristled forward, framing its head in a violet, feathered mane. The creature shook its torso savagely, stepping forward as it did so. The knobs on its back cracked away and unfurled to either side. The motion was so rapid and dramatic that it sucked the words of command out of Mena’s mouth. Wings! It did have wings! They rolled out as if the bones were joints of a curled whip unfurling. Each short length of bone snapped into place with an audible cracking and popping. It took only a second or two, but in that time the creature was completely transformed. Its wings stretched out above the tree height, enormous and delicate at the same time. The wing bones were finger thin, a skeletal frame that supported a membrane so diaphanous that Mena could see the world through it. It leaped into the air.

“Shoot!” Mena found her voice again. “Stop it from escaping! Shoot it now!”

Crossbow bolts flew up after it, cords trailing behind. Several missed. A few snagged in the trees. One punched through the creature’s wing membrane. Two slammed into its belly. One sank deep into the flesh of its thigh. Another nicked its neck. The creature lost its upward momentum. It hovered for a moment, a confused target into which another bolt sank home. The creature arched against the pain. Its mouth gaped as if it were roaring, but no sound came out. It slammed its wings down with force enough to snap branches and send oranges raining down. The one stroke lifted it up, pulling the lines secured to it. The ropes snapped taut, yanking the stones from the ground. The anchors crashed through branches and bounced off tree trunks. One knocked a soldier from his feet. Another smashed an arm that had been upraised against it.

Mena yelled for them to fall back, but most were already diving for cover, running down the hill, hiding behind trees and in hollows to wait for the rock anchors to pull the beast down. That had been the plan: to weight the animal with so many stones that it could not fly, or could not fly far. They could then kill it at leisure, safely. When she thought it wingless, Mena had modified the plan, thinking a less numerous team could get close enough and then essentially capture it the same way.

For a few moments during the wing-flapping chaos Mena thought the plan was working, but with each wingbeat the creature seemed to gain strength and resolve. It strained against the ropes, yanking them through the branches. It would soon clear the trees. She shouted for more bolts to be shot, but the crossbowmen were struggling to reload while keeping their eyes upon the moving beast. She would have taken a shot herself if she had a bow. Something else caught her eye. The creature’s tail hung near the ground. It snapped and curled and stretched beneath the flying form, like a living rope looking for a hand to grab it. So that’s what Mena did.