"Their daemons?"

"Not here."

"No daemons here," says a harpy.

"I've never seen a daemon," says another.

"I have," says the nonconformist. "I've been to the other side of the river, once."

The one who hit her before stretches out a wing again, but this time she is out of reach. She shakes herself, distributing small bits of grimy feather-dust over the surrounding rocks. "I want to be spectacular," she says defiantly.