As she began to sing, the hawks above, already agitated by the lack of places to land and the odd stream of sand now falling down the middle of their limited space, homed in on their new target. Dropping claws first at Lyta, they aimed for her large wings and exposed head. Hoping to rend and tear and stop this new noisy threat. It was instinct really. They couldn't tell that her warbling, however off key it was, had made the sand fall slower.
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