I bent over my notebook at the table, trying to add in the mirror-script, the reversed versions of each line in R ——’s poem. It wasn’t easy, and I needed to keep erasing. Grandmother had her chin against her chest, and I thought she was asleep. But suddenly, she sprang up ...
She felt a tug at her neck and the ripping of cloth. Rombol caught and spun her, lessening the impact. Her face sank into his bristly beard. Rombol dropped with her to the deck. The harpy soared so close above that tail feathers brushed their backs. Its claws had shredded Cymbril's cloak down to ...