It was a foolish humie that met his end at Lyg's capable hands.  A drifter or a straggling member of one of the two human camps, it mattered not.  He'd made the mistake of tripping over the shadow binder's desert lair in the twilight hours as the hot sands began to cool and now he was no more than a carcass.  Soon, he'd be little more than sinew and bone for Lyg had been hungry; it had been days since their last meal.

As they made short work of the human's flesh, the echo hummed to themself.  Old scraps of long forgotten tunes whispered over the sand dunes, carrying farther in this barren place than they would have anywhere else.  Periodically, a sharp crack sounded across the darkening desert as Lyg cracked a bone to get at the rich marrow hidden inside. 

They licked their lips and wiped bloody hands on pleasantly warm sand, using it in place of water to scrub away the gore of their kill.  Perhaps they should have saved some of the carcass, buried it for later.  But they had been so hungry and in the end there were always more humans. 

Shadows deepened as the sun fled the horizon and Lyg let out a sigh and stretched their own death stiffened body.  The sun had warmed them and the meal had fortified them.  They were ready for anything.  The stars came out over the desert, bright and numerous, and Lyg began to sing.  Their decayed vocal cords lent an eerie huskiness to their voice as they wove a net of song over the silent sands.