Shapes moved in the darkness, black on black. They soared overhead, spying out the land below as they made two wide, circling passes over the village.
Eventually, they descended near its southern edge, alighting upon the archery targets in a flurry of beating wings. There were a half-dozen of them, emaciated and decaying, the feathers already molting from their feather-light bodies. Their eyes had long since rotted away, leaving behind empty sockets, but from the way they cocked their heads, they gave the impression of still being possessed of sight.
Every so often, one of the undead birds shifted its weight or beat its wings, but none of them seemed to be in any sort of hurry to depart.
