A cold spring day.
The Harpy stands with her talons dug into the rock ledge beneath her, arms crossed in front of her half-bird form. Wings stretched behind her as she overlooks this dreary countryside.
"This is absurd. We can't be stopped if we will it. We should not be running like dogs."
"This is absurd. We can't be stopped if we will it. We should not be running like dogs."