Fourteen eyes followed her as she walked along the sea path, salt spray making her lick her already chapped lips, her cheeks blushed by a cruel wind.
Seven curved beaks.
She had heard the folklore, had grown up with the warnings. But with their dwindling numbers she never believed she would see seven of them together.
But there they were. Silent and unmoving.
It’s not nighttime she reminded herself. They’re not calling to each other.
She tried to ignore the low lying sun, dying her path ahead the colour of molten gold.
She pulled up her collar. Hastened her pace.
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