a dog will bite if you bait it

[amourpropre]

Who: Barbara Gordon, Benevenuta Crispo, Lucius Malfoy (Sr), Severus Snape α
What: Because scavengers can be as bad as predators.
Where: Brock Marsh
When: Misdi
Notes: Info on thestrals for quick reference, although note that a) Hagrid and Luna are crazy people, and b) these ones aren't tame.
Warnings: Possibly some gore, combat against monsters, medical things.

They have one more block to go.

Barbara Gordon knows where they are, roughly. Benevenuta's text with its estimated time of arrival has no reason to be inaccurate, and the sun is starting to drag down, down to sink into the evening. They shuffle along, haunted and hollowed eyed, but relieved to be almost there as the little herd of lost Baedalites limp to follow the immortal herding them to safety. Some of them were found together, others simply joining the group as they moved through the city to the nearest safehouse, that being mastered by Barbara, and injury stains clothing and the emergency doctoring of bandages. A young man is supported on either side, only using his right leg on every second step. A girl trails behind everyone, her head wrapped tight just above the eyes. An older man carries his child on his hip, the latter fast asleep already.

The shadow that drops from the sky briefly flickers its wingspan over Barbara's windows before it lands almost daintily on the street, so fast and abruptly that despite its warning shadow, the only time given to react is truly when it's in immediate view, standing on the street between the injured and safety. The scent of blood, the scent of meat, causes the thestral to hiss and spread its bat-like wings to make itself look bigger. Spindly though it is, a wicked maw is designed for tearing flesh not unlike a predatory bird, and it stands tall, cresting seven feet.

Some react. The ones that have seen death seize and shrink back. The others continue to walk as if nothing had appeared, a couple conscious enough of the group to glance at their more concerned comrades, others too focused on safety to give up the even pace that carries them into the path of the thestral. The young man with the bad leg, and his two helpers, blindly limp on into harm's way.

When the thestral gives a shriek, almost bowing as it does so, the noise is more of an echo to those who don't know better; for those that do, it's starkly pitched.

Out the corner of Benevenuta's eye, a second shape of the same breed of monster lands on top a building, its tail whipping back and forth as it considers how much there is to share between itself and its companion.