It was deceptively quiet up here. The silence of the air betrayed the terror of what Pentrarch Kall Sprangler could barely see through her glasses (which were frosting up already). She had been sent out here for a reason, so she knew it was there – and as she guided the Wintergarde gryphon slowly towards the Carrion Fields, the screams reached her ears at last. She had been expecting them this time. She spun her head around back to the side where the gnome woman was scrabbling up into the saddle – but her hands slipped. "No!" There was a stain on the snow, and a scrap of matted hair.