The Stormhorn held its position for a long moment, long enough that the forest around them had gone completely still. The ambient sounds of even the wind through the upper canopy seeming to quiet in the presence of whatever was building between the two of them.
Then it moved.
At first, it was not a charge. It was a single, measured step forward, enormous weight finding the ground with a deliberateness that sent the vibration of it through the soil to Damien's feet.
Then another step. The wings shifted against its sides—not opening, not spreading, just adjusting, the feathers settling into a different configuration that changed the silhouette slightly.
A warning.
The posture of something that had not yet decided to commit but was clearly prepared to.
Damien stayed where he was.
The Stormhorn took two more steps.
Then it stopped.
