Fola tried to even out her ragged breathing and threw herself into the gargoyle's seeing. Yes, the flying shape was her creature. As it settled, she saw a low ridge around the area, a hut beneath the monkeytree, and a small clearing leading down to a waterhole. The gargoyle settled on the hut's roof for a moment, and then dove, with all the mass of a stone hurled from the sky.

Fola could see nothing for a moment, but she heard bleating and a shout and a sickening thud, and when her view righted itself, she saw the goatherd. He crouched beside the hut, desperately clutching one of his goats--undoubtedly the one that had swallowed the amber stone. More goats had crowded into the doorway of the hut, where they stood looking out at one of their number, now dead. From the looks of things, the gargoyle had crashed into the goat when it tumbled into the building. A small black dog barked frenziedly at the gargoyle.

"Fight," the gargoyle crunched out. "We will fight as is our destiny!"

The terrified goatherd shook his head at the gargoyle. Perhaps he was too frightened of the creature to do anything. The herder muttered something Fola couldn't make out, as her beast approached its quarry.

Then she heard his words more clearly: "Go find your master and tell him I will die in the home of my ancestors! He cannot have me or my goat!"

Perhaps Fola was mistaken. Perhaps Bwire, in his lust for the Amber Prison, had attacked the herder, so that he thought her creatures had come from the shaman. Through the eyes of her looming gargoyle, Fola looked into the goatherd's face and saw only fear and determination. She sighed and made up her mind.

"I have made a mistake. Return to me, gargoyle."