The harpies swept in from the mists around the bridge, a dizzying fall down to the stream below. Some swept in, their claws ready, slashing at the crowd of panicked and confused runners, the tight confines of the walkway leaving them nowhere to hide. They had picked their ambush site well.
Yet those who brought claws to the fray were not the ones we feared.
Keeping their distance from the bridge, others began a lilting song, a melody that joined the wind whipping past us to create a haunting orchestra. In that moment, I felt myself step towards them, every fibre of my being wanting nothing less but to hold them close.
As magic sizzled past from one of my companions, the song faltered for a brief moment, but it was just enough. My hoof scraped on the edge of the parapet as I came to my senses.
Gods. That was close.
Calliope and I swept ahead into the thick of the fighting, gathering the young runners and urging them out of this deathtrap. Her voice rose in song in a counter melody to theirs to bolster our spirits and she was glorious- a figure that stood firm against the horrors around us and lent us her strength.
But her voice could only carry so far. Stuck fighting halfway across the bridge, we could not battle through in time to get close enough to the runner Pavlos, mere feet away from a hovering Harpy. With a look of dreamy bliss he stepped up to the parapet and held out his hand.
And stepped.
The battle had turned in our favour, so those few that remained took flight and fled. We lowered ropes and brought up the broken remains of Pavlos. We covered him in a cloth and carried him the rest of the course to cross the finish line. Let the last thing he did be a victory. His memory deserves nothing less.