Escape into the Storm?

Clora's eyes widened in horror as Frankie clacked his claws on the steps of the caravan. She pointed.

"A Bone Weaver!" She gasped.

Minerva wrapped Clora's hand around the cup, and smiled. "Not quite sand mistress. Rhian? Bring Frankie over here a moment."

Clora backed away, glancing at the wall of sand that whipped past the entrance as her escape route.

Frankie approached, and chirped as Rhian brushed the feathers on top of his head.

Clora paused, tilting her head. The skull beneath the feathers was clearly not fresh, but the most ancient of stone. She looked up, questioningly confused.