I
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They came from the west, like always. Fortifying the town’s defenses and shutting the women and children away made no impact. The sluagh arrived every six months, regular as the seasons, to steal from us. A dreadful silence heralded their arrival. No more than five minutes beforehand. The chirp and buzz of insects died away, the wind ceased to blow, and a whirlwind of undulating shadows appeared on the horizon, pressed against a lavender-colored sky.
That’s when you realize how eerily quiet the landscape has gone. When that silence is forcibly removed, and replaced with the flapping of wings and a horde of screeches.
Like always, it ended quickly, and the town—our town—of Mag Cíuin was left in relative peace to tend to survivors, number the missing, and burn our dead outside
