The rain had stopped, Moulin noticed. However, there was no silence in the air—all but the kindled screams in the distance. The cries of monsters were spine-chilling as they entered Moulin's ears. The youth knelt on the ground, heart rapidly beating, he silently gazed at the suffering creature in the air. It wouldn't be long before it charges at Moulin filled vengeance. He must strike it before it recovers.
Moulin shook off the useless feelings and once again drew his bow. His silvery gaze, sharp and ruthless, like the point of his arrow. He mustn't show weakness. While Uldher remained in the air, a whistling whoosh pierced the air, directly aimed at him. Mad with anger, the creature spread its wings despite the lingering pain of his regenerating wound. He slammed against the air, producing a frighteningly visible wind slash, sharp as a blade.
