“I-I think those crows have been following us.”
“Oh, don’t even start with that," Emmy hissed, shoving at him.
“No, I’m being serious!”
Wilson could barely keep his eyes off the black birds.
The way they watched him from above as if staring down at a slow cooking meal.
Their eyes greedy but patient.
“You’re just paranoid about seeing the bird boy again.”
It was true. He couldn’t argue about the paranoia. He had gotten his fill of being threatened to be a meal to a harpy that morning.
On occasion, he found himself twisting around to see if the gust of wind was the wings of Jacques or the hawk call was his spot on impression of one.
Alastair raised an eyebrow, “Bird boy?”
Wilson began to explain, “An obnoxious harpy-”
“Who is Argo’s friend.” Chimed in Emmy.
Alastair gasped, “A harpy? Impressive…”
“Indeed,” agreed Wilson with a yawn, “Sorry, sorry just tired.”
With the day coming to an end, a day of checking on the injured and running around with Alastair on an errand run to try and get her to answer some of his questions, exhaustion filling his muscles.
“I’m surprised you’re still standing,” Hummed Alastair, “I thought you wore down after a few hours.”
“No, no, I’ve fought through the morning to the late nights a thousand times before,” he raised a finger up and puffed out his chest, “And I’ll do it again!”
Alastair laughed at his exclamation.
“You must have worked rather hard then.”
“Well of course!”
He didn’t mention the fact that he had had coffee all those times before.
And it was almost nice to be out, the day was cooling down, crowds growing smaller and smaller over time. A small group of bystanders cheered on a game of what he believed was Red.
Within a deep pit, three combatants battled in silence. A large red circle sat in the middle, painted onto the stone plate.
Wilson recognised Argo and Jacques right away, gasping as the two of them circled a badly battered up desert dragon.
It was smaller than he expected, around the size of a large dog, and its wings were bounded to its sides by heavy looking, silver bands.
Heavy pants came from it's nostrils as it rampaged toward Jacques, the harpy avoiding it with ease. His wings flaring up as he launched into the air. A band of dust being blown into the air.
The dragon scrambled at the walls; in an attempt to chase after him.
It was incredible to watch him fight with ease.
But it was just as unsettling to watch a fight in dead silence.
Jacques flared his wings, lunging for the dragon to scar at its wings. It dodged around the dive bomb, Jacques rolling to the ground.
The dragon stormed toward him, teeth bared as a blur of black armour shielded the grounded harpy.
There was a sharp gasp from the crowd, Argo’s claws wrapped tightly around the sharp horn on the dragon’s snout.
He was pushed back, feet digging into the dried up ground, before swinging it well over Jacques's head and in the direction of the red markings.
It slammed onto its side, panting heavily in the red.
“Red!” Argo cried out, the locking of gears and wires surrounding the dragon before an enormous cage grew up from the ground.
Sand fell from its sides, the dragon ramming into the bars but it was too late. It was trapped in a golden cage.
YOU ARE READING
The Magic Of An Alter Ego.
Fantasy|Book 1 of 2| Wilson had his hopes high for his future. Emphesis on had. He'd already made the grades in his local college, studied as much magic as he could despite being unable to truely use it to his advantage, and had his sights on one day join...
