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Birds.
Hundreds of them fill the sky with sudden, loud noise. Their cawing rises like a distant din, once with grows at an alarming pace. Overhead their black bodies move like a single storm, blotting out the light, the sky, everything. Their movement is errant though, nothing like a migrating flock, especially since they come from the south, rather than towards it.
Their rising cacophony becomes deafening, but it is nothing so bad as what comes next.
In hysterics they crash into the World's Edge, falling like a fleshy, feathery rain. They bounce off one another. They simply fall, with no apparent impact; perhaps just exhaustion. Most though, most strike upon earth, tree, and horse alike, striking against the gathered three like a heavenly assault. You can run, but they still blot the sky, and they are still falling.
Most of them are lucky enough to have their necks snapped when they collide, lending them unnatural positions, but a kind demise. Others flutter maddeningly upon the ground, their wings broken like frail twigs, among other parts of their bodies. Some merely lay on their sides, beaks parted as they gasp for air and sanity, only to be smothered by the body of another.
The sound of their death is unrelenting, but with each slap of bird meat upon the earth, one lest caw screams across the sky, until at last there is silence. An occasionally flutter breaks the quiet, but the storm has ended, leaving the surrounding area dark with their litter. It as though a wretched form of autumn had come, each body a leaf falling from a skybound tree, leaving their feathers to collect and decay on the forest floor.
A slow, cold wind blows from the south, rustling their corpses.
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