Gladys walked and talked at the same time, which suited the group fine because they'd been standing still for three days and moving felt good.
"The attacks started about five weeks ago," she said, leading them down the main road into Harrowfield. The village opened up around them as they walked, buildings pressing in on either side, the smell of fish and salt and woodsmoke thick in the afternoon air. "Livestock first. Farmer named Durval lost eight sheep in a single night. Found them in the morning scattered across his field, and whatever killed them didn't eat them. Just killed them and left."
"Territorial behavior," Werner said, from somewhere in the middle of the group.
Gladys glanced back at him. "That's what I thought too. Then it hit the harbor."
