Talons Of Glory Book 1: For Glory

Chapter 6

The creature wiped away a splotch of blood still left on its lower jaw, licking it off the back of its bone-studded hand. Its attention wavered not whilst cleaning, a flat look upon its face, as if the stunned wyvern that had done a fine job of scorching it earlier (according to Rixa, at any rate) was of no concern. At the moment, the presumptions implied by that expression were all but correct; Rixa was paralyzed from the neck down, unable or unwilling to dare so much as twitch in the presence of this drum-busting animal.

The index claw from the freshly cleansed dorsal began lightly scratching at the rock. "Brilliant escape you pulled earlier, I must say," the creature complimented, flicking its wrist to shake the spare droplets off. The miniature boom its words gave off, as if a cave served in place of its throat, strained her muscles even further. "Very few dragons would have that sort of reaction timing. But then again.." It tilted its head, its slitted fuchsia eyes darting up and down the wyvern in examination. "Hmm.. you're not quite a dragon, are you?"

Rixa's lip curled. How could you mistake me for one of those coal-sniffers?! she oh so wanted to scream, to take this pompous animal down a notch. Of fucking course not, you halfwit! A blind, deaf, comatose lobotomite of a hatchling could see that better than you! But her mouth failed her, and her head spun into a rage induced by more than the pangs that pressed within. It was strange that she could be both so scared of and mad at something so foreign as much as Aquilus, and the feeling was eerily familiar.

It continued: "Oh, but that should have been obvious, of course." It clutched its piked breastplate, its angled eyes locked in hers. "Forgive me, but you couldn't imagine how long I've asleep for." Now her anger and fear were mixed with confusion, one feeding the others. Asleep? How long do these things rest for? She couldn't find the courage to ask the question aloud, her teeth all but chattering from the welled up morbid lividness and dread.

The monster took a step forward, flapping once its tattered, wrinkled wings, Rixa stepping back in response. The null change in distance between them appeared to distress her adversary.

"You are afraid." The lack of emotion in its eye as it said this daunted her further. There wasn't a hint of surprise or mockery in its tone; it was a simple matter of fact. "Not a poor trait, per se. Fear can keep you alive out in this neck of the woods, I've learned," it went on, stretching its neck for a moment to view the pool behind Rixa. She herself gave it a backward glance before refocusing on the banshee, which chirred as her head whipped back around. "But that's in the forest. It won't serve that purpose here. Seeing you nearly quiver like that is just.." It mildly shivered. "..embarrassing. Eugh."

It was right on that count, and she knew it, which only made her seethe harder, a cloud of black smoke slowly bellowing from her nostrils as she let out a strong exhale. Her fear still surpassed her anger, but the latter was fast approaching.

"Anyhow," it pressed forward after cracking its neck. "I am guilt-stricken to have to bother you like this, truly, since you clearly have better places to be.." The claw-scratching had become nigh incessant, and there was a clear indentation where it had been cutting into the stone. What jarred Rixa the most is that the claw didn't look any duller than it did when the digging started. "But I believe you owe me a few things. You give them to me, I leave you alone." The beast clicked its tongue as the tip of the claw finally snapped when the mark had reached half of its length. "I wouldn't advise running this time, you know?" it suggested, moderately chortling.

That was it. Response was now mandatory. She had to even out this one-sided conversation, for it would only persist if she let this thing muzzle her with fear like a rowdy infant. Her stance shifted and her wings stretched out, her afeared eyes being exchanged for those of determination, as her jaw lowered so delicately. A drawn out, deep hiss, amplified by the semi boxed-in geography of the outcropping, slunk from her throat.