Father and daughters are hunting.

She trails behind the grey steed, instinct telling her to stay away from the feet, the crushing hooves that could break her skull with a single flick. Perhaps the worry of death at their sire's hands is why Mother looks so nervous when she and her sister leave the silver woman behind - or perhaps it's because she knows, on some primal level, that when her children return they will be forever changed. The stone child cares not; the thrill of spending time with Father overrules all else.

The eaglet rocks on the filly's hindquarters, chirping excitedly. She knows there's something happening, too. Oizys idly wonders whether Father's harpies will see her and swoop, devour her - she decides that she wouldn't like that. "Hunt?" Her ears prick at this word, the wonderful word, and she remembers the slaying of the wolf, the blood, the glory that even made her forget the Thing, the Cough. That had been simply thrilling, and she is about to tell Father about it - to earn his approval, to see if he likes it - but then he's continuing, he's talking of monsters, and her own tail mimics his. It twines idly behind her, copying, wanting to be more like Father, waiting for his command.

She's so excited, the Cough tries to bubble up into her throat from her weak, weak heart. She smothers it, ashamed by it.

He stands strong before her, and the girl does the same; she braces her stout young limbs, twirls her tail against her thighs, holds her head high. She is eager, anticipatory, unafraid; Ker quivers against her spine, so excited that her feathers expand like porcupine spines.

Father begins to twitch. Father changes.

Only a robot would be unmoved by the sight, but Oizys' only reaction is to bat back her ears and grit her teeth, half-expecting the beast to eat her whole. She automatically shifts towards Enyo, seeking comfort, until she remembers herself and steps away like nothing's happened, hoping snake-Father hasn't noticed. Ker, meanwhile, shrieks like a banshee and hides her head beneath her wing, as though that will make the serpent go away.

Watch, he commands, his voice a savage hiss. Obedient daughter she is, she watches. Her flesh stands alert, twitching with excitement. She wonders what he has in store for them - her nostrils smell only snakeflesh, and the faint reek of a mare. She wonders what her innocent young eyes are about to see, what he may command her body to do, like the puppet she is.

She can hardly wait.