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"...The naked woman stared fixedly up at nothing. She panted with fear, her breast heaving. Slowly, she spread her legs.
The beast stirred, giving a low grunt.
Margaret gripped Jeddiah's forearm, her fingers digging into him.
The beast sniffed the air. As it slowly unfolded itself, Margaret saw that it was larger than it had looked when it was all hunched over. It was powerfully built, looking mostly like a man. Flickers of candlelight reflected off sweat-slicked knotted muscles of its arms and chest...

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...Growling in a low rumble, it's powerful muscles flexing, it's haunted eyes glowing orange, the namble edged like a huge cat toward the woman on the ground. Head low, it crawled between her legs. In a state of ragged fear, the woman still stared up at nothing.
The namble sniffed at her crotch. It's long tongue flicked out, running over her. She flinched, making a small jerk of a sound against the cloth held between her teeth, but she kept her legs open. Her eyes did not move, she did not look at the namble. The sisters in the circle began a soft chant. The namble licked her again, slower, grunting as it did so this time. She squealed against the cloth. Beads of sweat shimmered on her flesh. She kept her legs wide apart.
Rising up to it's knees, the beast gave a throaty roar to the black sky. It's pointed, barbed, erect phallus stood out, plainly silhouetted against the candles beyond. Muscles bulged in knotted cords along it's arms and shoulders as the namble bent forward, putting a fist to each side of the woman. It's tongue licked out around her throat as it gave a vibrating rumble of a growl, and then it lowered itself, covering the woman with it's massive form.

Her power, her magic, was also a weapon of defense. But it would only work on people. It would not work on a chicken. And it would not work on wickedness incarnate.
Her gaze flicked toward the door, checking the distance. The chicken took a single hop toward her. Claws gripping Juni's upper arm, it leaned her way. Her leg muscles tightened till they trembled.
The chicken backed up a step, tensed, and spurted feces onto Juni's face.
It let out the cackle that sounded like a laugh.
She dearly wished she could tell herself she was being silly. Imagining things.
But she knew better.
<snip>
Kahlan frantically tried to think as the chicken bawk-bawk-bawked.
<snip>
"Mother," the chicken croaked.
Kahlan flinched with a cry.
<snip>

In the dark, the chicken thing let out a low chicken cackle laugh.
It hadn't come from whre she expected the chicken to be. It was behind her.
"Please, I mean no harm," she called into the darkness. "I mean no disrespect. I will leave you to your business now, if that's all right with you."
She took another shuffling step toward the door. She moved carefully, slowly, in case the chicken thing was in the way. She didn't want to bump into it and make it angry. She mustn't underestimate it.
Kahlan had on any number of occasions thrown herself with ferocity against seemingly invincible foes. She knew well the value of a resolute violent attack. But she also somehow knew beyond doubt that this adversary could, if it wanted, kill her as easily as she could wring a real chicken's neck. If she forced a fight, this was one she would lose.
<snip>
The chicken thing let out a whispering cackle.
<snip>

With the next flash of lightning, she saw chicken feet standing between her and the crack under the door. The thing wasn't more than a foot from her face.
<snip>
The beak pinched the vein on the back of her hand over her eyes. The chicken tugged, as if trying to pull a worm from the ground.
It was a command. It wanted her hand away from her eyes.
The beak gave a sharp tug on her skin. There was no mistaking the meaning in that insistent yank. Move the hand, now, it was saying, or you'll be sorry.
If she made it angry, there was no telling what it was capable of doing to her. Juni lay dead above her as a reminder of the possibilities.
She told herself that if it pecked at her eyes, she would have to grab it and try to wring its neck. If she was quick, it could only get in one peck. She would have one eye left. She would have to fight it then. But only if it went for her eyes.
Her instincts screamed that such action would be the most foolish, dangerous thing she could do. Both the Bird Man and Richard said this was not a chicken. She no longer doubted them. But she might have no choice.
If she started, it would be a fight to the death. She held no illusion as to her chances. Nonetheless, she might be forced to fight it. With her last breath, if need be, as her father had taught her.
The chicken snatched a bigger beakful of her skin along with the vein and twisted. Last warning.
Kahlan carefully moved her trembling hand away. The chicken-thing cackled softly with satisfaction.