Havok Publishing

The Language of Sound

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A Clamor of Wings

Mandla is agitated today.
The iksomi’s feathered wings spread to at least twenty paces in width. They block out the bluish light of the twin suns as he stalks across the black sand dunes. When I take a hesitant step forward, Mandla makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat, revealing long, curved teeth.

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The Language of Sound

The iksomi opens his mouth, and his cry pierces the thick, morning air. All gloom and pain strips away. The noise is rigid like a lyre string, warm like honey, and I let it fill my being.
His mouth snaps shut, pointed teeth curving over black lips. He stretches, arching his back

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