Out the back of Boggard Lane I found a field of corn flattened flat, and nobody this side of The Hinge would dream of blaming aliens; they've more pressing things to worry about than crop circles. My gut says it's a denizen playground, and my money's on the Dyapnid, the only denizen of the third kind, the one that developed on its own rather than under milting's eye or as the handiwork of the firstborn.
Hellsborough Exposed
79.spit-hoverwing.14.17
A scrufftail looks like a squirrel until you count the joints in its legs, and a single one is no threat at all, right up until you notice there are six behind you and your pack is lighter than it was five minutes ago. Touch one hard enough to matter and it's simply gone, the way a word goes missing from a sentence you were sure you'd finished, and so is whatever it was carrying. Count your pockets before you count the scrufftails: by the second count, the number will have changed.
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