My mother told me of them, before she died. "There are monsters", she whispered, "here in the far north."
She drew me close, comforting me, before telling me of the horrible sounds they made. "Their screeches can deafen you before you know what's happened," she said. "They attack in swarms, trying to single out the weakest." Her green eyes, the same shade as mine, bored into me with concern and caught me close. "Never," she whispered, "Never be the weakest."
I tried to hold my head up proudly at that. Weakest, she'd said, not smallest.
But still, to be small is to be weak, and to be small and be of our kind is to be all the weaker for it. I lowered my head and sighed, knowing that while I might not be the smallest, and might not be the weakest, I definitely was small and weak. "If all else fails," Mother smiled, acknowledging my discomfort, "Hide, and hope that they don't find you."
I was excited to go out on my first night watch, alongside her. "Watch closely, my son," mother whispere