This is a writing/creativity blog for Koryos. I write copious amounts of fantasy and science fiction. I like mythology, biology, and creepy creatures in the night. I also like feedback and good critique.
Once upon a time there was a city with an endless supply of food, where science was celebrated and the most popular pet was a thinking, talking dog. But the image of this perfect pet is shattered when a dog kills its owner and for the first time ever, asks for a fair trial.
Zeki, a teenage boy, and his dog Tesem are shocked by the news of the trial. But they have no idea what the repercussions are going to be like when a new rule of law takes over the city as people begin to fear their dogs, straining their friendship to the limit.
Meanwhile, Angari, a streetwise Basenji, inadvertently stumbles onto some startling information while carrying out her own investigation of the murder: the time of limitless food is coming to an end, and the humans are discussing a new, alternative source of meat. This knowledge comes with a price- on her head.
When the dark truth about the murder trial comes out, it rattles the city's population to its core. What is the right place for animals with human intelligence in a city that can no longer support its swelling population? As Zeki, Tesem, and Angari struggle to find their own answers, a final player enters the scene: a cagebound, nameless wild dog.
Speak, Dog is a novella set before the events that take place in the Darkeye series. The novella will come bundled with other short stories set in the Darkeye universe from the perspectives of characters like Sacha, Maha, Biscuit and Vimbo.
The novella will be released in ebook and print formats in 2015, after the fourth and final volume of Darkeye is published.
I'd like to remind you folks that I'll be uploading this year's novel to this blog as I write it every day. Should be fun.
If you’re interested in knowing the quality of writing that I’ll put out during the month, here’s a sample of the first three chapters of my 2011 NaNoWriMo effort, Mute. (It’s been copy-edited since then, but only sparingly. Warning: these chapters contain violence.)
Anyway, I’ve decided to drop a few more details about Darkeye, now that November is coming up.
The three main characters (Mhumhi, Kutta, and Sacha) are a painted dog, a dhole, and a bush dog, respectively.
The city they live in, Goral, is huge- nearly 500 square miles- and once housed fourteen million people. Now it holds several million canines of varying species.
Wild prey have been depleted almost to the point of extinction, so the dogs eat something else.
Mhumhi, Kutta, and Sacha were raised together, but that is highly unusual. Most dogs stick with their own species.
Domestic dogs are still around.
That’s all for now. It is extremely tempting to drop more details, and maybe I will as November gets closer, but I’m going to go mum on most of the plot. I like to keep my readers on their toes.
hey it's that time again it's October and you know what that means? IT MEANS IT'S ALMOST NOVEMBER
and November is National Novel Writing Month!! and I do it every year!! and I cry!!
Ok let's get serious now. NaNoWriMo is a challenge to write 50,000 words in a month. This month I am writing a story called Darkeye and the synopsis goes thusly:
Darkeye is the tale of a future city overrun by genetically enhanced, hyper-intelligent wild dogs. Wrought from a misguided experiment, these dogs have run mankind to the brink of extinction and now rule their crumbling civilization.
When three young dogs, Mhumhi, Kutta, and Sacha, stumble upon two starving human children in a sewer pipe, they decide to spare their lives and bring them to safety. But there are few places left that are safe for humans, and with a looming famine and civil war, even fewer dogs willing to tolerate their existence. Mhumhi and his pack decide to smuggle the children out of the city, hoping to cross the desert for a haven on the other side. But what they do not realize is that dogs are not the only creatures that humans have modified…
HOT DINGDONG IT'S ALL VERY SILLY AND EXCITING. Also, as with every year, I will be uploading the story as I write it. This year I have built a wordpress for it, which you can check in with every day to read along!
But guess what, there's more! You'll notice on the site that there is a donation tab (and one has secretly appeared on my main blog sidebar). Well, that was mainly if people enjoyed my writing- nonfiction or otherwise, I spend hours on it each day, and if you like it, you could give me a dollar if you wanted.
However, during November, I will be donating 50% of all proceeds to WCN, the Wildlife Conservation Network. I like a lot of their work and they also support Ethiopian wolves and African wild dogs, two species that will appear in this year's novel!
Of course feel free to bypass me and go ahead and donate there on your own- they do great work.
Did you not want a timeskip? I'm warning you, there's a timeskip.
(Parts one, two)
In the smelly peat bog, it became the custom of the little girl who lived with the wyvern to take a ribbon every year during the first warm day of spring and tie it to one of the higher branches in one of the old spruce trees. When the two boys made their pact in the filthy cellar, there had been five ribbons tied to the branches, fluttering in many colors every time the wind blew; now there were eight.
The wyvern himself was sitting outside the den, crouching in the dirt, watching the ribbons flutter with one of his large orange eyes. He had grown some, and was now not only larger than an ox but most other creatures that walked on land, at least in Éiba. Squatting as he was, his long neck still held his nose level with some of those shivering ribbons, and he even snapped at them once or twice.
But he was not paying attention to the ribbons, really- though their constant movement irritated him. He was surveying the swampy ground around himself, what he thought of his domain- and it truly was his domain, because over the years he had nested in it, his poison had seeped slowly through the water and peat and moss, not enough to kill, but enough to taint, so that every creature that still lived there bore the strange sickness of it, goggle-eyed fishes and slow-buzzing midges, and the men that lived on the edges of it, a mile or so away all around, did not dare to take any wood or rushes from the area, for burning them would release a noxious smoke.
This was well enough for the wyvern, as he fancied himself a solitary creature, and did not like visitors. But it seemed that today he had one. He had spotted it now, and he turned his head, training both eyes on it, for it was hard to see: a flickering greenness on one of the floating masses of sedges. As soon as he turned, it had vanished again, and the wyvern opened his jaw slightly, exposing his serrated teeth in displeasure.
He might have pursued it, or flown overhead to give the area a good dousing with his smog, but there came a shout that made him jump.
*Volte!*
At once he put his head down and picked up something out of the dirt that glittered in his mouth. Beside him the rushes were shaking, and he hastily put his neck up to stick it in the crook between two branches.
It was not a moment too soon, because from the hidden entrance to the den emerged a girl, the girl, in fact, a terror in a patched skirt with muddy knees and a face as mad as thunder.
*What have you done with it, you stupid lizard?*
*Done with what?* he said, and then hopped backwards as she aimed a kick at him.
*You know what I'm talking about! You took my necklace! Now give it back!*
*I did not!* said Volte, but it was already too late, for she had started scanning the trees already.
*How did it get up in that tree like that if you didn't take it, you lying, stinking-*
Volte squalled, flaring his wings. *I didn't do it! The wind must have blown it up there!*
Bryony gave him a look that made him quail.
*Get it down now.*
Volte squirmed, shifting his wings, and she snapped, *Well?*
*I don't like it,* he said. *I don't want you to have it.*
*Oh,* said Bryony, and Volte's head went very low, recognizing the tone. "Oh, I see. It's because I got it in town, isn't it? You don't want me to have anything from town, is that right?*
*Well-*
*And you'd prefer it if I never went back there, wouldn't you, and just stayed in this hole, cooing at you, like some kind of little pet, wouldn't you?*
If a reptile could sweat, Volte might have then, but he chose to merely stay flattened and frozen against the ground.
*I ought to just go live in town, where people are going to treat me with at least some decency and respect-*
*Oh, don't say that!* cried Volte, raising his neck to turn away from her. *Don't say you'll leave, Bryony! I didn't mean to make you upset! I was only-* He broke off then, and let himself flop back on the ground, radiating misery.
*Goodness' sake,* said Bryony, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. Now that the anger was fading from them, they were really a warm brown color, matching the heavy plait she had over one shoulder.
*Volte,* she said, walking around the tree to where his head lay, *I wasn't serious- I'm not really going to leave. I only meant-* She stopped to sigh, for his head had come up, and he butted it against hers.
*Don't say you'll leave, please, Bryony!*
*I'm sorry,* she said, scratching under his eye, and then abruptly pushed him away. *I'm not sorry, you big brat! You should be sorry for what you did!*
*I am, I am sorry,* Volte said, head bobbing feverishly. *I won't do it again, I promise.*
*Right,* said Bryony, rolling her eyes, but she patted him again. Volte seemed to take this as encouragement.
*Only, I just think that maybe it would be better if you didn't go to town so much, because I get awfully worried about you- like what if someone tries to hurt you, and I can't get to you- well, I mean I would, but you know I might get attacked by wyrm-hunters and die, and…*
*Volte,* said Bryony, *if you don't want to die, you had better stop talking right now before I kill you myself.*
*Oh,* said Volte.
*Honestly!* said Bryony, for he had flopped back down again, in a sulk. *You know I'd go completely mad if I stayed here all day, Volte. I need to speak to other humans! If you really cared about my well-being-*
*I do, but I worry, is all.* Volte flapped his wings lightly against the dirt for emphasis, making her turn her head and cough.
*I can take care of myself,* said Bryony, whose brow had crinkled in annoyance again. *I worry more about you. You shouldn't be flying anywhere near town, really-*
*Exactly, that's what I'm saying-*
*So maybe I should get Ladon or Aries to take me there today.*
This actually shocked Volte into silence for a moment, and he raised his head. *Ladon wouldn't let Aries take you- you think he'd take you there himself?*
*He might,* said Bryony, with a glint in her eye, and Volte made a low, gurgling noise.
*I'll take you there, myself. Not Ladon!*
*Are you sure? It's so awfully dangerous-*
*I'll take you there!* He raised himself and hissed. *Ladon would drop you!*
*If you insist,* said Bryony, a tad too sweetly, for he paused and looked at her, and then suddenly hissed again, turning away.
*Drat you!*
A half hour later, they were winging their way together towards the town through the thick morning mist. Bryony's necklace was tucked in the bottom of her bag, as it had somehow gotten badly damaged, but she had resolved to see the silversmith about repairing it. It was really the first thing she had ever bought for herself out of vanity, so of course Volte would find a way to ruin it, she thought, as she clung to his legs from her seat in his claws.
To be honest, though, she had not been sure about wearing it anyway- not with her ugly old dress and all. It would have felt a bit mismatched. She sighed quietly, glancing up at Volte's chest, which was mostly what she could see of him, aside from flashes of his wings churning on either side. Droplets of water were running sideways down his keeled breastbone. Bryony put her hand up to her cold, wind-bitten face, pushing her damp hair behind her ear best she could. She had never learned to like flying with him; only to tolerate it.
She had bought the necklace on a whim, two days ago, because of Liam Shepherdson. He was a gangly farmer's son who had recently professed a great deal of interest in her, first with daisies, then some vigorous kissing behind the large stable on the west end of town. It had culminated with a hand creeping up her shirt, but she'd stopped it there. She was not very sure how interested in Liam she really was- though he was a nice enough lad- and to be honest, it felt a bit unfair to do more than kiss with that sort of mindset. Still, the kissing was nice, and afterwards she'd seen the necklace and thought for the first time that maybe she and pretty weren't at such odds.
She hadn't told Volte about the kissing. Not that he would have understood what it meant- he would still have found a way to whine about it.
Volte slid into a slow glide, circling around and down, as they approached a bare hilltop. Bryony stood up in his claws, shivering a little from the cold and wet, and as he swung low to hover a moment, flapping, she pushed away from his legs and hopped down into the mud.
She had to skip backwards at once as Volte came down with a dull thump in front of her, folding his wings.
*Will you really be all right for so long?*
*It's not longer than it takes for you to go out hunting by yourself,* she pointed out, and as Volte started to wriggle protestingly, added, *And I won't be lonely this way.*
He looked at her, blinking, then away. *I'll be back when the sun passes its height.*
*And I'll be here, but please, don't fuss if I'm a little late. You're not to go flying over town, understood?*
Volte huffed, freeing a little yellow wisp from his nostrils, and lowered his head to face her. *You must be careful, Bryony.*
*Of what?* She poked his scaly forehead. *You're the one who'll be in trouble if somebody sees you. I'm human. I won't be attacked by my own kind.*
*No, not of them,* said Volte.
*Then what?* asked Bryony, a trifle impatiently, as he shifted from foot to foot.
*I only feel like there's been something funny moving around the bog,* he said. *I don't know what it is, but I don't like it.*
*Oh, Volte,* said Bryony. *All right, I'll be careful of mysterious things that I haven't seen before. Happy?*
*Bryony,* said Volte, in a hissing tone approaching a whine.
*Volte, I'll be far safer in town than you are around Ladon,* said Bryony, rubbing the end of his nose. *So just wait for me, all right? And please stop worrying so much!*
*I'm not so worried,* said Volte, though his tail was swaying from side to side, the stinger flicking. *Bring back some cheese.*
*Bring back a deer,* Bryony retorted. *No sheep or cows!*
*I know that!* snapped Volte, flaring his wings, and Bryony had to step back again as he crouched and broke into a run down the hill, sprightly on his long, scaly legs, until with a flutter he was airborne.
She shaded her eyes, blinking against the spotty rain, and watched as he rapidly became a dark silhouette, circling like a vulture.
"Don't you dare," she muttered to herself, for he had begun to swing in the direction that would have taken him over the town- but no, he was turning, angling himself, and shooting away.
She breathed a low sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was anybody firing arrows at the stupid lizard.
From the bald hill, the town was about an hour's walk, mainly through scrubby, scratchy heather. At least it was flowering pretty and purple this time of year, and the light rain meant it was not crawling with so many tiny bees and flies. It didn't make Bryony feel very much better, though, and she was puffing quite a bit by the time she sighted the road and the first roofs.
Furbrough was a tiny little hamlet, populated mainly by craftspeople and the local farmers who visited to drink and buy their goods. At its busiest market days and festivals it was still a sluggish place, rife with more gossip than actual movement. To Bryony, who had nothing else at all to compare it to, it was dazzling, full of hustle and bustle. Volte had first brought her there when she was eleven, and she had found it perfectly awful. She had not returned until she was thirteen, this time resolved to try and make friends among her own kind. It was harder than she had thought.
She walked through the streets, reminding herself to nod and smile when people greeted her. At least they were more courteous now then they had been at first. Living with a wyvern in a bog for a few years had left her understanding of social niceties a bit lacking, and there had been some catching up to do.
"Watch out, there!"
Bryony was tugged out of her thoughts and out of the middle of the road by a tall young man as a pony-cart swung around the corner in front of her.
"Oh, thank you," said Bryony, glancing up at him. It was Eft Keeper, who she was acquainted with only loosely, but who had always struck her as a kind, if uneloquent, soul.
"Be more careful," he said, letting go of her sleeve. "We've a whole parcel of strangers in town right now. Mum doesn't like 'em."
"Hm," said Bryony. The statement did not surprise her. She was more acquainted with Eft's mother, Dulcie, who was also kind, but rather prone to superstition. She put rowan over every door of her candlemaker's shop to ward off wicked fairies.
"See that cart?" said Eft, pointing, and Bryony looked again at the covered pony-cart, which was still trundling down the street, probably not fast enough to have done her any actual harm.
"What about it?"
"Innes says he got a peek inside," said Eft, "and it was full of spears and hooks and all kinds of things. They only got here this morning- three men- and they've been going all around the town, talking all about- hm!" He paused to spit dismissively into the mud.
"Talking about what?" Bryony asked, interested in spite of herself. This sounded better than normal town gossip.
"Not women's talk," grunted Eft, disappointing her. "Anyway, Mum told me to say something else to you if I saw you."
"And what is that?"
Eft scratched at his stubbled chin with a sandy noise. "First that you ought to come sell your herbs at her storefront today, as it's raining."
"Oh, I think I will," said Bryony, a bit relieved. The rain was starting to come down a bit harder, and it would be a wretched environment to hawk the dried herbs in her little satchel. They were the main source of her income. Having access to Volte's wings meant she could reach spots few other people could to find them.
"Second," said Eft, "that you should stay away from young Shepherdson."
"What?" Bryony blushed, wondering if stern Dulcie had caught wind of what went on behind the stables. "Why would she say that?"
"I dunno, really," said Eft, who didn't seem very interested in the topic. "I hear he's been sick lately. Maybe she doesn't want you to catch it."
"Oh, I see," said Bryony. "Well, I'll be careful, I suppose."
"Are you going to see Mum right now?"
"No, not just yet," Bryony said, squinting in the rain. Despite Dulcie's warning, she was thinking she'd better visit poor Liam after all, especially if he was sick.
"Well, don't dawdle too much in the cold," Eft grunted, tousling her hair. "There's funny strangers about."
"All right," said Bryony, a little touched, and he put his hands in his pockets and slouched off through the rain.
It was beginning to rain awfully hard. As Bryony started to make her way towards the stables, where she hoped she might find Liam, she found herself weaving between the shops, trying to keep herself under eaves. Finally she gave up and leaned against the front of the blacksmith's shop, watching the rain pour down from the lip of the roof in front of her. Hopefully it would let up quickly.
The door to the smithy opened up, and she moved out of the way as a boy came out, frowning at the rain and clutching a bundle of something to his chest.
"It'll let up in a minute, I expect," she said, trying to sound friendly, but he merely glanced at her, scowled, and slouched back under the eave on the other side of the door. Bryony felt a bit irritated herself, because that had seemed rude- but then again she still made mistakes occasionally when speaking to people, so it could have easily been her own fault.
She examined the boy. He was clearly one of the strangers Eft had been speaking about, as he was not even remotely familiar to her. He looked like he might be about her age or younger- he was on the short side, though still an inch taller than she was, and stocky, with strong-looking arms. Which was all odd, because his face was pale and sickly-looking. His eyes were dark and red-rimmed, and as she scrutinized him a cough suddenly rattled out of him and made him drop his parcel in the dirt.
"Let me help you," she said quickly, and leaned down to pick up some of the bag's contents that had spilled out. He leaned away from her in surprise.
"You don't have to…" he started, then coughed again, in a tired way. Bryony found she felt mildly sympathetic for him, though she had to wonder if had been him and his stranger friends who had come into town and gotten poor Liam sick.
She had picked up about five when she realized what had fallen out of his bag- short sticks of wood with metal tips hammered to them, carved with feathers- crossbow bolts.
"Here, I'll take those," the boy said hastily, voice raspy, and took them out of her hands.
Just because he shot a bow didn't mean she shouldn't like him, Bryony told herself, even though touching those bolts gave her the shivers.
The boy was coughing again- or maybe clearing his throat, because he then said, "Ehm. Thank you."
"You shouldn't be out in the rain with such a cough," Bryony told him, straining to stay friendly.
This made him give her a kind of hooded look, but all he said was, "I suppose you're right."
Perhaps that had been another social misfire. Bryony tried to select a different thread. "Do you hunt with those arrows?"
"Bolts," he corrected her. "Yes. In a way."
"In a way…?"
He sighed. "I don't hunt game, Miss. I hunt things that folk want to get rid of. Wyrms."
Bryony recoiled.
"Wyrms?"
"There's no need to be frightened," he said, actually sounding a bit glum. "We've already caught what lives around here."
"Oh, have you?" said Bryony, her voice going a bit high-pitched and wobbly. He gave her an odd look, but she ignored it, trying to calm her pattering heart. It was certainly impossible that they would have caught Volte since she'd last seen him. Probably. Suddenly she very much wanted to get back to the bald hill.
"Oh yes," he said. "It's only a little lindworm." He made an odd kind of face, and shifted from foot to foot, and then added, "My master would like it known that it costs a schilling to see it up close."
"Ugh," was Bryony's involuntary response, and the boy nodded in a relieved way and said, "I know, he ought to just kill the foul thing."
Bryony turned and looked at him with profound dislike. He was coughing into his sleeve.
"We'll kill it before we move on, I expect," he added, wiping his mouth. "And good riddance."
"When will you be moving on, then?" asked Bryony.
He looked at her with a trace of his former unfriendliness, perhaps picking up something in her tone. "In a couple of days. You see, we've got a few more places left to comb in the area, to be sure there aren't any of the beasts still lurking around."
"Which areas?"
She had tried to sound innocent, but he'd gotten suspicious, or maybe it had sounded like she was mocking him, because all he muttered was, "Around," and looked away, ending the conversation.
It was sort of a relief, even if she felt a little desperate to get more information out of him- around? Did that, perhaps, include the faraway bog? She didn't dare ask him, though, because he already seemed wary of her, scowling and staring down at his feet.
There was no question that she had to hurry back and warn Volte as quick as she could now. Wyrm-hunters were in town.
She didn't want to seem too eager to get away, so she waited impatiently, watching water pour down in sheets from the edge of the roof while the boy squelched his feet in the mud beside her. Much to her surprise, when it finally showed signs of letting up, it was he who took off like a rabbit, heading in the same direction that the pony-cart had been going in earlier. She let out her breath slowly as he vanished around the corner. She had to admit that she was not impressed with this particular wyrm-hunter, but he was with others, and they probably all weren't so sick.
A nervous bubble was rising in her chest. If Volte chanced to fly over town now… She couldn't stop thinking about those crossbow bolts, and she swallowed.
There was no option but to go back and wait at the hill for Volte- she was simply too anxious to get anything else. She turned and went down the narrow alley between the smithy and the next shop, hoping to avoid running into the boy again. Out back the smith nodded at her, as he hammered away at his forge- was it her imagination, or did his eyes look a mite unfriendly?
No, no, she was completely frazzled and seeing danger everywhere. She rubbed her cold cheeks, trying to instill a little more life and warmth within them, and kept walking.
She was destined for one more encounter that day, however, because as she headed down the road back towards the heather, she spotted something odd- some sort of box-shaped object, with a tarpaulin draped over it as a cover. A very large box, in fact- nearly as tall as Bryony herself. The fabric looked soaked and heavy with water.
Behind it, resting under the eaves as Bryony had done, was a hulking lump of a man, dozing on a chair. He was round-bellied, and red-faced and ruddy to boot, cradling a large flask in the crook of his elbow.
Bryony glanced at the cloth-covered object. The man was a stranger to her, so he was likely another of the wyrm-hunters. Based on what the boy had said, she had an inkling of what he was guarding.
She wavered, rather helplessly, but he did seem quite asleep, and her conscience was pricking at her- as well as her curiosity. She had never met a lindworm before.
She crept up close, from the opposite side, half-crouching so the box obscured her, and lifted up the edge of the blanket.
At once there was a furious hissing and lashing, and she caught a glimpse of iron bars and flashing teeth before she dropped the fringe in surprise.
She held perfectly still a moment, but she did not hear any change in the man's steady breathing, and then knelt down to hiss in wyrmtongue, *Calm down! I won't harm you.*
From underneath the blanket there came a soft hiss, and a great deal of scraping.
*It's all right,* Bryony whispered. *I'll help you get out.*
There was a gargling noise, and then, *You… speak?*
The lindworm's voice was thick, and it had an odd sort of accent, so it took Bryony a moment to understand the words. *Yes, I can speak. Can you-*
*But you're a man,* growled the lindworm, interrupting her.
*I'm not a man,* Bryony replied, which was true, though she was aware that wasn't what the lindworm had meant. *Listen, you must stay quiet a moment so I can have a look at what-*
"Oi! Little missy, what are you screechin' about down there?"
The voice was tremendous, and rather angry-sounding, and Bryony went stiff with fear. The ruddy-faced man had woken up, and was standing over her, looking a great deal more intimidating than before. He was not so round-bellied as he was solid with muscle, and his hands like shovels were balled into fists.
"I was only curious," she stammered.
"SSt!" came the lindworm's voice, and then, *Wyrm-friend!*
"If you want to see the beast, you had better pay like everyone else," said the man, or more rumbled, and she backed away, mumbling apologies. The lindworm's hisses followed her.
*Wyrm-friend! Wyrm-friend! Don't leave me here!*
"You've upset the poor beastie," the man growled. "You've had a peek, too, haven't you? You'd better pay up."
For a moment Bryony felt a flash of anger, and stiffened. The man raised his eyebrows.
*Where have you gone?* cried the lindworm. *Oh, don't leave me!*
"Here, sir," said Bryony, and she pressed a schilling into his thick palm. "I'm very sorry."
"That's all right, lass," said the man, raising the coin to fiddle with it. "If you'd really like a proper look-"
"I'd better be off," said Bryony, and turned and darted off through the rain.
Wrote a kind of experimental scene. Not sure if I like it or not.
(part one here)
~
"A wyrm-trap," said Keegan. "For the wyvern."
He said it calmly, even smugly, sitting back in his rough-hewn chair with his long fingers linked behind his head. Paley watched him from across the battered wooden table, hunched low in his own chair, scowling with disbelief.
"A wyrm-trap? Are you mad?"
There was a sort of shrill cry, and both of them looked at the heavy iron-hinged chest that sat on the dirt floor beside them. Paley's gaze was nervous, but Keegan's was calculating.
"Clearly not," he said. "Don't you want to have a look inside?"
Paley said nothing, only scowled more, as was his way of retreating. He took stock of Keegan again, because no matter how many times he had done it that day he seemed to need to do it once more. There was certainly something shifty about him, something that was just a little uncomfortable. Paley often got insults hurled at him for being dark, what with his dull brown hair and eyes, but Keegan was darker, of skin and hair, though his eyes were glittering green. But it wasn't so much the hue of his skin that made Paley feel perturbed; no, it was more the way it seemed to change, just slightly, like when he put one hand back down on the table just now, and it seemed like a bit of the wood grain continued onto his flesh.
"Paley," said Keegan, and Paley jerked his eyes up to find that Keegan was grinning, a sort of sharp grin- too sharp, really; it made Paley's stomach churn.
"I can't believe Master Boigur said you could travel with us," he said.
"Paley," said Keegan again, spreading his hands, "I don't look very threatening, do I?"
Paley narrowed his eyes. It was true that at first glance, Keegan looked to be the same age as him, at about twelve years old- a bit shorter, even. But Paley found himself doubting even that, especially the way Keegan next laughed, putting two fingers against his temple.
"You are definitely harder to fool than he was."
At once Paley got up, sending the chair tumbling over behind him, and Keegan quickly said, "Calm down! I'm not your enemy. I want to help you."
"Help me," repeated Paley, disbelievingly- "help me how, exactly? You've got a face full of lies and I don't trust you."
Keegan raised his eyebrows. "A face full of lies? What, are you suggesting that I'm-" He flashed that sharp grin again, and this time Paley was certain he saw a sharp canine in it- "Fey?"
"Aren't you?"
"Yes." Keegan said this matter-of-factly, and then flapped a hand at Paley, who had twisted around like he was going to bolt from the room. "Come on, sit back down! I'm here for exactly the same reason you are, so we shouldn't be at odds."
Paley scowled yet again, but he was piqued, and he turned back around. "You're here for the same reason I am? What's that, then?"
"To kill wyrms." Keegan also said this calmly, but there was a glitter in his eyes.
"Well, of course," said Paley, though he had tensed, making the livid purple bruise on his cheek stand out even more. "It's not just my goal; Master Boigur is a wyrm-hunter. Of course that's what we want to do."
Keegan shook his head and tapped the tabletop. "Not just any wyrms. Or rather, not just any wyrm. There's one you want in particular, isn't there, Paley?"
Paley narrowed his eyes, which were hooded and dark, and put a hand on his chest. "What kind of game are you trying to play, Keegan?"
"A game where we catch the wyvern," said Keegan. "A game where we kill the wyvern. I want it too. Why do you think I'd join with you and that drunken idiot you call Master?"
"Master Boigur is the greatest wyrm-hunter there is in these parts," Paley said, though his mind was still stuttering over the word wyvern.
"Of course he is," said Keegan. "I wouldn't put up with him otherwise. You wouldn't either, would you?"
Paley glowered and said nothing. The bruise on his cheek darkened as he flushed.
"Listen," said Keegan, matter-of-factly. "My hound can track that wyvern. You'll find it faster with me with you. I've no interest in anything else besides that."
"If you can track it, why don't you just go… track it? Why have us go with you?"
"Because I wouldn't have any idea what to do with it once I got it. I don't know if you've ever been around a wyvern, Paley-"
"I have."
"-well, then you know that they are nasty, noxious beasts. And I'm more sensitive to their poison than most." Keegan seemed to look at his own skin with distaste for a moment. "I need someone like your master to help finish the job."
Paley stared at him for a long moment, then said, "It seems like you know why I want to kill that wyvern."
"No," said Keegan shrugging. "But it isn't hard to guess. There are a thousand people with reasons just like it in the world."
Paley scowled. "Well then, are you also- like that?"
Keegan said nothing for such a long time that Paley actually leaned forward, frowning, and then his fingers drummed on the table again, making him jump.
"No, I don't particularly have a quarrel with any wyrms. That's not it."
"So why-"
"But are they not vile creatures?" He was grinning again, and he nodded at the box, and a shadow seemed to flicker beside it in the candlelight. "Wouldn't we be better off without them here?"
Paley jumped again, for there came a sharp squeak from Keegan's hand. He was holding something- a tiny, writhing serpent, no more than a foot long, with a feathery crest and no eyes. The box was open and empty.
"Wyverns are the worst of the lot, in my opinion," said Keegan, and he leaned forward- Paley jumped as his hand brushed his side- and sat back. Paley's knife, which had been stuck in his belt, glinted in his fingers. The little serpent squealed again, coiling and thrashing in his fingers, trying to bite him, and Keegan pressed it against the table by the base of its neck.
"Wyverns are poisonous, you know, and they spread death and disease with every breath. And they've got that stinger, which they can use to bring down an elephant with-" Keegan seemed to realize that Paley was no longer listening, and trailed off.
"That wyrm in your hand," he breathed. Keegan's eyes lit on him, seeing how he trembled.
"What are you going to do with that wyrm?"
Keegan smiled, for there was nothing but pure hatred in Paley's eyes, fingers clenching and unclenching as he looked at the shrilling serpent. He laid Paley's knife on the table with his other hand.
"It's a little basilisk," he said. "I've already put out its eyes to show to your master, so he'd let me join. Now I've no more use for it." He furrowed his brow a moment. "Maybe I should let it go…"
In one swift motion Paley grabbed the knife and brought it down, burying it deep into the wood, deep through the basilisk's neck.
Keegan laughed, rubbing his hand, which he had barely managed to snatch out of the way in time. The beheaded basilisk was still, pooling out crimson on the table.
"I think we can work together after all, Paley."
Paley did not respond, for he had turned aside to start coughing, a horrible raking cough that began deep and did not stop, rattling his insides, until he was low on his knees in the dirt, shuddering.
Keegan got up and knelt next to him, in the dry soil, and took his wrist. Paley, caught in the last few coughs of his attack, was startled, and tried to pull away. Keegan passed his long fingers over his wrist three times before letting go.
"Better?"
Paley's brow furrowed, and he looked at his wrist a moment, then swallowed, then touched his throat.
"What did you do?"
"I can't cure you, Paley," said Keegan, "but I can at least ease it off a little. And this-" He reached out again, making Paley flinch, for he had touched the bruise on his cheek.
"Well, I can't cure that either, but I think I'll look into preventing it from happening in the future."
Paley went hunched and broody again, gaze mistrustful, though he still kept touching his throat.
"What do you know about it?"
"Three years."
That was not the response Paley had been expecting, and for a moment his face was open in surprise. "Huh?"
"In three years' time, we'll find the wyrm," said Keegan. "And we'll kill it together. And then you'll be freed from your Master, and all that pent-up desire for revenge."
"Three years…" Paley frowned. "How could you know that?"
"I don't," said Keegan, smiling a little, as they crouched side by side in the dirt. "But I'm very good at guessing."
I wrote a new intro to Wyvern's Blood, my silly YA stint with the most typical of girl-meets-poison-breathing-serpent plots.
Also featuring: a sheep-collecting dragon, a duplicitous fairy, a terminally ill wyrm-killer, and the least romantic kiss you could imagine.
This is a completely new intro, so as always, I would really appreciate feedback of any kind.
~
It was a dull early morning, with thick yellowish mist laying heavily down on the low hills and flat fields around the old man's cow byre. The byre itself had a gaping, splintered hole in the side.
The old man stood and stared at it for a while, noting how it showed quite plainly how his cow byre was cow-free, at this moment in time, and how it started a bloody trail of flattened grass that lead down the hill.
The man stood still, not just for his cow, nor for the way the yellow mist was starting to make his throat itch and ache, but because he did not know where his children were.
He coughed. The sound rattled out of him, unexpected, and he put a coarse hand to his mouth. It was curiously muffled in the fog.
The were was an answering sound, and it made his heart quicken, for it was the distant sound of a child's laughter.
At once he turned and stumbled over the grass, coughing from the exertion, following the bloody trail. It lead him to a hill, and over it, and from the top he beheld the thief.
A giant, ugly, reptilian monster; a wyvern, bigger than an ox in body and much longer, with that snakelike neck and tail, coiling and hissing with its claws in his dead cow.
In front of it, his daughter, not more than seven years old, eyes still bright with the fever he'd laid her down with the night before, smiling up at it.
"Come here!" she cooed, stretching out her hand to the creature. "Come over here!"
The animal opened its jaws- he saw the serrated teeth- and made a terrible shrill sound, hunching over his cow like a brooding vulture. It had no forelegs, like a dragon, but it had batlike wings with sharp-clawed thumbs, and it brandished these at his daughter.
The old man had been frozen with horror, and now a sort of roar burst out of him, a roar of fear, and he stumbled forward over the grass.
His daughter saw him, and laughed, and pointed. "Look, Daddy!"
The wyvern saw him, and its head swayed, and it put down its wings, and behind them rose its tail, tipped with a hooked, fat stinger.
"Bryony!" howled the farmer, running now, but he could not reach her in time before that stinger swung in a blur, and his daughter fell down, a bright red blossom on her cheek.
He skidded to a stop. He was directly in front of the wyvern now, face-to-face with it, in fact. The creature's mouth was still open, cow's blood staining the gray scales. Yellowish mist curled between its teeth, and the farmer realized, with a jolt, that it came from the creature, even as he doubled over with another braying cough.
The wyvern turned its head to one side to look at him with one round orange eye. He could see its stinger raising again, the swollen tip pulsing- but just then something seemed to distract the beast, and it looked away, and hopped off the cow.
The old man realized it was looking at his daughter's still form on the grass, reaching for it with one clawed foot. Fury filled him, and he lunged at it, madly, and the thing shrilled in alarm as he hit its scaly neck. It flapped its wings as he grappled with it, trying to bring it to the ground, to break it. Its neck was hard, writhing muscle.
He choked with sudden sharp pain and fell back. The wyvern had grabbed him with one clawed foot, piercing his back and belly. Now it shoved him across the wet grass, hissing and flapping, and then hopped away. He tried to push himself back up, arms shaking, bleary with pain and the breathlessness induced by the yellow mist.
His daughter was in the wyvern's claw now, limp, and he screamed, trying to crawl his way forward. The wyvern hunched and then, with a mighty flap that flattened him back down, was airborne.
The old man rolled over, next to the sodden corpse of his cow, and saw her- his child- looking down at him from the wyvern's claw, and oh, her eyes were open, and she looked so frightened.
It was the last time he would ever see her.
PART ONE: CHAPTER ONE
The little girl named Bryony was awake. Awake and alive, and even in her own childish mind this seemed strange.
She stared down at the ground, which was very far away, and swaying a lot with each flap of the wyvern's wings. The claws around her tummy hurt very much, but she was too scared to squirm. The wyvern was scary. She had thought it would be all right, like a pretty, bigger serpent, but it had become scary. It had hurt her father.
Bryony lived on a farm, and she knew what things looked like when they died, like a chicken that her father killed by wrenching its neck before he gave it to her to try to pluck. Now she was the chicken, and the big wyvern was going to pluck her.
She sniffed, and couldn't stop a little whimper from coming out of her.
From above her there came a low response, like a rumble, and she went stiff, petrified.
But nothing happened- they just kept flying, and the ground below her kept crawling by, in little tiny pockets of forest hedging square brown and green fields. After a while she chanced a glance upwards, twisting her neck, and saw the keeled chest of the wyvern above her, the muscles tensing with each beat of its wings. It was covered in gray scales that were just a little bit shiny, like a fish's.
She put her head back down, because her neck was getting sore, and looked at one of the talons encircling her and pressing into her armpit. It was thick and ridged, and the claw was black and curved and hard like iron. But it was warm, too, and she could feel a kind of low beating, like a pulse.
She was considering trying to touch it with the hand that wasn't pinned to her side when abruptly the wyvern jerked up, wind whooshing past her face as she choked out a couple more frightened sobs. A black ridge of rock had suddenly sprung into view, sheer and impassible, and they were flying right at it.
She let out a little wail of fear as they got closer- closer- breathlessly fast- and then shut her eyes tight for the inevitable collision.
None came, though the air suddenly got colder, and slowly she opened her eyes to pitch-darkness and rushing wind. They were in some kind of tunnel, and one of her dangling feet actually brushed up against the rock below, but she didn't have much time to ponder this as they suddenly burst into bright sunlight. Her eyes smarted and she squeezed them shut, seeing painful red starbursts against her eyelids, and the wyvern flapped and circled for a moment.
She was slowly able to open her eyes, and saw that they were over some kind of strange bowl of rock, where green grass crept up the sides and filled the center with a riot of wildflowers. And little white fluffy things, which she supposed were sheep.
They really were sheep- she noted this, because they were lazily gliding downwards now, in slow circles, and the fluffy things were putting their heads up to look and baa-ing in alarm. The wyvern cast a pretty broad shadow, and she saw it getting larger and larger underneath her, covering little individual wildflowers and blades of grass, and then she felt a little alarmed, because the wyvern let go of her.
She landed with a thud that knocked the breath out of her. Luckily the ground was soft and spongey, though unluckily that was because it was covered in scattered sheep dung. Still, it was nice to lie there in the grass a moment, feeling it tickle her face, and not being held in somebody's talons.
A heavy thump behind her told her the wyvern had landed, and she shut her eyes tight again.
She heard it step closer to her- she curled her little fists and shut her eyes even tighter- and she felt its warm breath close to her face. Its nose touched her cheek, and made it hurt- though that was from the prick it had given her earlier, that she had nearly forgotten about. There was a little dried blood making that side of her face feel stiff.
The wyvern withdrew, and she heard its footsteps retreating, and she cracked an eye open. It was facing away from her, close to the stone side of the bowl, looking into the opening of a little cave. Its long tail was twitching like a cat's.
*Ladon,* it croaked. *Ladon, come out!*
Bryony was a little surprised, because she hadn't thought it could speak- it certainly had been ignoring her earlier attempts to communicate- but she understood it well. Though it wasn't speaking in her language, Aynglish. It was speaking in some other tongue, one with harsh, angry sounds, croaks and shrieks.
It seemed to be getting a little frustrated, too, because it started pacing a little, letting little wisps of yellow smog curl out of its mouth, and again gurgled, *Ladon!*
What's Ladon, she wondered, but she didn't have to wait long to find out, for the wyvern suddenly gave a frightened little shriek and dove to one side. A column of fire burst from the cave, scorching the grass where it had been standing.
*STOP BREATHING NEAR MY SHEEP!* howled a tremendous voice, and the wyvern quailed, flattening itself to the ground like a kicked puppy.
There was a tremendous sound of scraping and clawing, and suddenly something huge and red was squeezing out of the tunnel like a weasel, snorting smoke in its fury. It was a dragon, a big one, with curled horns like a ram's, and unlike the wyvern it had front legs, which it used to swat at the poor wyvern with like a cat.
*You dare come here, breathing your filth,* it hissed. Bryony trembled on the grass, glad it hadn't noticed her. It was a very magnificent dragon, big- at least three times as big as the wyvern- but also lean and graceful, walking like a cat instead of an awkward bird, horn-adorned head long and harsh and almost handsome. It made the grey little wyvern look even more ugly.
*I should kill you now,* the dragon said, pressing down on the wyvern's back.
*Please, please,* whimpered the wyvern, in its raspy voice. *I've brought you something. To show you! Ach!*
The dragon's golden eyes narrowed, but it seemed to get tired of making the wyvern squeak and let it go to sit back on its haunches, folding its own wings elegantly behind its back.
*Show me, then. It had better be good. If I catch just one of my sheep coughing-*
*Oh, they won't, I promise they won't,* said the wyvern, slavishly, and hunch-crawled its way back over to Bryony, spreading one wing over her. *Look, Ladon, it's this, it's this thing here.*
The dragon's head snapped to look at her, and she had to shut her eyes again from terror. Ladon growled low.
*A man? You've brought a man into my valley?*
Rage was building behind that voice, and the wyvern must have been as frightened as she was, because it answered shrilly, *Not just a man! Look at the face of it! I stung it, Ladon!*
This gave the dragon pause, and Bryony opened her eyes to see that it was craning its neck to peer down at her.
*It is alive, you fool. You haven't stung it properly.*
*No, I have, look,* insisted the wyvern, and Bryony yelped, for lightning quick that stinger had flashed out and caught her on the elbow.
The dragon and the wyvern were both quiet for a moment, staring down at her with their bright bird-eyes, and she decided it was safe to rub her sore elbow against the grass and feel a tiny bit annoyed.
*It is alive,* said Ladon, after a minute. *Why, you have no more venom in you than a rat snake.*
The wyvern hissed a little at this. *I do too! I killed a cow just earlier! It's just that thing- that thing doesn't die when I sting it, Ladon!*
The dragon gave a kind of grunt, absently scratching at its scaly haunch like a dog, then reached out with a foreleg and roughly turned her over. Bryony cried out and tried to curl up, but it held her flat on her back, pinned under the claws.
*There,* it said, sounding pleased. *I see it! On the left wrist! You, look close and tell me what you see there.*
The wyvern drew back a bit, seeming hesitant, then curved its long neck to peer closely at her arm, which was splayed out between two of the dragon's talons. For a moment its orange eyes met her tearstained ones, and it blinked slowly. Then it tilted its head to peer down at her wrist with one eye.
*There is a silvery mark,* it said, *and it coils around, like a snake.*
*Yes,* hissed Ladon. *It is the serpent mark! That is why your venom had no effect.*
*Oh,* said the wyvern, and shifted from foot to scaly foot for a moment, and then said, *What is a serpent mark?*
*It is a mark for those who have been blessed by a serpent,* said Ladon, for a moment sounding as though it was repeating someone else's words. *I haven't any idea where it comes from, but I wonder…* Without warning he curved his neck and spat a little tongue of flame towards her. She cried out and flinched, closing her eyes.
*You see,* said Ladon.
She opened her eyes, finding herself no more than a little warm, and turned her head to see her sleeve still flickering with a strange red flame.
The wyvern- who was now a little ways away- cried, *You did not burn it!*
*No,* said Ladon, extinguishing the little flame with a snort. *The serpent mark protects it from our elements. Though…* He rumbled with a sudden laugh, lashing his tail, and pressed down. *It does not save her if I crush her.*
Bryony cried out, struggling, for the pressure was really starting to hurt, and the wyvern hunched and gave a little anxious-sounding whine.
*Stop it, Ladon, you're hurting it!*
*I am proving a point,* said the dragon, but he took his paw off her. *So there you have it. A man with a serpent mark. Very curious, but nothing to be concerned about.*
*I see,* said the wyvern, creeping a little closer to her. It opened one wing slightly, shading her as she wiped her tears away. *Have you found one before?*
*No,* said Ladon. *I have not, not even when I lived in Ayngland, certainly not since I came to Éiba. But I have not seen very men since I crossed the sea and settled here.*
*Are there very many more men in Ayngland than here?*
*Hmph! Yes, a great many, and a great deal more annoying. They don't run so much from me there- they've got the idea that they can drive me off to steal my treasure.* For a moment his head swung to look jealously over at the flock of sheep, which had congregated loosely on his left. *Of course, they crossed the sea eventually. You cannot ever escape Aynglishmen for very long. The Éibic were nice and timid, but the Aynglish have mostly routed them by now, I expect. You can see how they have taken most of the trees 'round here. Aynglish thing. Those big cows are theirs too, and they get awfully fussy about them.*
*Before the Anyglish came- what was it like?* The wyvern sounded enthralled.
*It was quiet.* The dragon hesitated a moment. *Well, in a sense. The fey were far more numerous then.*
*Oh, them,* the wyvern said dismissively.
*We have gotten off topic,* said the dragon, and Bryony thought he might be a little annoyed by his companion's flippancy. *I've told you what the thing is. Now will you go get rid of it?*
*Get rid of it?*
*Eat it, or drop it somewhere, I don't care,* said Ladon. *You are not leaving it here.*
*But I thought perhaps Aries-*
At this the dragon gave a thunderous growl, and the wyvern flattened in the grass.
*You will take it away, I said! And I trust you routed its whole nest already!*
*Oh,* said the wyvern. *Well.*
*Did you?* Smoke was curling from Ladon's nostrils now. *Haven't I told you? If you don't get the whole nest, they'll be after you like ants!*
*Well, I thought if one of them didn't die from my sting, then the others-*
*Have you teeth? Have you claws?!* Ladon thundered. *Are you so stupid and useless that you can only sit there and spit and sting?! Go back and kill them all at once!* He took a great breath, chest expanding like a bellows. *BEFORE I KILL YOU!*
The wyvern shrieked and grabbed Bryony with one foot and launched itself away, Ladon snapping at its tail and puffing spark-filled smoke.
They flew up out of the bowl and through the stony tunnel again, rather quicker this time, though Bryony still had to shut her eyes as they sped towards the sheer wall. She was more ready for the sunlight on the other side this time, however.
She was very sore around the middle now, from being grabbed not just once but twice, and top top it all she'd been stung and squashed and flung around, and she was beginning to get very frustrated. Feebly she swung her small fist to beat against one of the encircling talons.
The wyvern twitched, and from above her it said, *Don't do that. I'll drop you.*
*You WON'T!* she shouted, back.
There was a moment of silence, and then the wyvern seemed to wobble a bit in the air.
*What did you say?*
*You won't drop me!* Bryony was working herself up for a good strong tantrum. *I hate you! I- hate- you!*
The wyvern made a little squalling noise, and tilted downwards, circling again, and dropped her on a bit of soggy, smelly ground.
She tried to get up at once, to resume her tirade, but her legs were wobbly and as soon as she was up she fell back down on her bum. The wyvern lit beside her with a squelch. It seemed they were on a little patch of high ground in the midst of a peat bog.
*You're speaking wyrmtongue,* the wyvern said. *How are you…*
*I hate you,* Bryony repeated, since he clearly hadn't got the message, and managed to get herself to her feet and began walking away. She didn't get very far- they were on a little island, with a few piney trees and a little mound. In every direction around them, the moor stretched out in shallow murky water with floating mats of sedges. It looked and smelled very unpleasant.
*Come here,* called the wyvern. *Say something again.*
At this Bryony clamped her mouth tight shut, and wheeled around and grabbed the bottom branches of the nearest spruce.
*Now what are you doing?* said the wyvern, tilting its head, and watched her haul herself up grimly through the branches. It hurt her sore chest and legs to do it, and she cried a little more, but kept going.
*Why do you make your face wet like that?* inquired the wyvern, stretching its neck up to be level with her, and she turned and lobbed a pinecone at it.
It missed spectacularly. The wyvern tracked it as it landed in the grass below, and then looked back at her.
Without warning it lunged forward to catch the front of her dress in its teeth, and extracted her, shrieking and beating her fists, from the tree.
It put her down on the ground, and admonished, *Stay here,* when she tried to dart back around its extended wing.
Bryony stood still, mostly because she was getting tired, and glared at it. This seemed to make it a little nervous, and its head bobbed to and fro.
*Speak to me again.*
She kept her mouth clamped shut so hard it made her grimace. The wyvern gurgled.
*Speak to me, and maybe I won't eat you.*
Bryony said nothing, aside from sniffing loudly.
*Well, fine!* said the wyvern, and looked away. *Then just leave me alone and go away!*
She sniffed again, and wiped her nose.
*Go away, I said!* The wyvern turned around, dragging its tail, so that its back was facing her.
With the head not facing her, she felt a little emboldened, and ran forward and kicked it, right at the base of the tail. At once it whirled around and hissed and knocked her over with its neck.
*I hate you!* she howled, from the ground.
*Is that all you can say? I hate you too!*
*I hate you more!*
*Well- well- I hate you even more than that!* shrieked the wyvern, flaring its wings.
*Go away!*
*YOU go away! This is my home!*
That made Bryony hold still, and then she sobbed, *I want to go home.*
The wyvern froze for a moment with its wings in the air, and then slowly put them down. *What home?*
*Home,* sobbed Bryony. *With Papa and Leyley. I want to go back now.*
The wyvern gurgled. *No home!*
*Why not?!*
The wyvern hesitated, swinging its head from side to side, as if looking for help. Finally it said, *No one will be there. No more home for you.*
This made Bryony open her mouth in a loud wail, and the wyvern got even more frantic, scratching at the ground, and said, *Look! Look at this home!*
It pulled a mass of reeds away, uncovering a large round hole. Bryony stopped crying long enough to peer tearfully at it.
*I hate that home!*
The wyvern gave a kind of annoyed snort, one with yellow smog in it. *It's my home. You can't have it anyway.*
Bryony cried a little more, staring at the hole, then stepped forward. The wyvern shot a wing out in alarm.
*Don't you go down there! It's mine!*
She glared at him. He squirmed, and retracted his wing.
*I hate it,* she repeated, but softer. The wyvern stepped closer, to bring its head down to peer at her again, and she put a hand out to shove it away. Its scales were warm. She put both hands on him, for the bog was chilly.
*Do you have a name?* it asked. *I have a name. My name is Volte.*
*I have a name too,* she sniveled. *It's Bryony.*
Volte gurgled. *Bry… Bryony. Bryony. Hm.* The last was because she had moved to lean fully against his head, pressing her cheek and hands against it, for it was much warmer than the air.
*Why don't you,* he began, speaking slowly so as not to jostle her too much, *why don't you come stay down at my home with me?*
*No,* said Bryony, though she didn't get up, and in fact was moving her arms to encircle his warm neck.
*Well,* said the wyvern, *you could just- you know- try it out. For a little while. It's warmer in there.*
Bryony hugged him closer and said nothing.
*I'll feed you,* the wyvern wheedled.
*Feed me what,* said Bryony, stiffly.
*Oh,* said the wyvern. *What do you like to eat?*
*Pudding!* was her immediate answer. *Fresh bread! Soup!*
*How about a fat salamander,* said Volte, a little desperately.
She considered this a moment, for it had not been presented as an option to her before.
*A salamander!*
*Yes!* said Volte, pulling away from her to raise his head. *I'll catch one for you, right now! You watch!*
*Right now?* She looked at him round-eyed; his excitement was contagious.
*A big one! Watch me catch it!* Volte hopped into the swampy water with a splash, making her flinch, and waded out a few feet. He turned back to look at her.
*Are you watching?*
The sight of him, in the water up to his tail, looking back at her so earnestly and eagerly, was one Bryony would remember for a very long time.
*Yes!* she cried, and he shouted, *Watch me!* and ducked his head under the water.
He did not catch a salamander then, but he did catch an old perch, and he tore at the scales so she could eat it raw. That evening, after sucking the last bits of meat off the fishbones, she crawled with him into the little hole, into the warm dry den, and slept curled up against his belly, listening to his heartbeat.
She did not yet know it, but it was the way she would sleep every night for the next eight years of her life.
"I know what I am! And if you think for one moment I was never scared, or never thought I was going to die- or worse- than you're stupid. You're bloody stupid!"
"I- well- you are-" Paley was struggling for words.
"Were you expecting me different?" she snapped. "I'm not a coward like you."
This gave him pause, and he gave her another look, only this one had the venom taken out of it, and replaced with a great tiredness.
"You're right; you're not," he said.
Paley and Bryony from Wyvern’s Blood, commissioned from ichikun!
The relationship between these two has always been really interesting to me, and I'm hoping to get to more interaction between them in this rewrite of Wyvern's Blood.
Commissiony stuff. Koryos is an angel and was patient for me while I had some hiatus. I will be updating my Commissions info soon-ish. I need money for school again >: / (and bubble milk tea, of fuck )
Another commission of some of my original characters by my friend Gretshelle! She does wonderful expressions, as you can see.
Top: Nur from Mute. I believe I asked for 13yo Nur here (as she grows up during the duration of the story). I asked for her smiling because she doesn't get much of a chance to smile during the narrative itself, unfortunately... But maybe in this moment she's just woken up and Mash is in a good mood and it looks like it's going to be a good day.
Her facial scarring is much more severe in the narrative than it appears here- but this is just a quick sketch by the artist.
Bottom: Peridot from Twelve. I think the artist did a wonderful job conveying Peridot's overall feelings here, haha. And the appearance of this character is something of a spoiler... not that it isn't fairly obvious from the get-go. Life's pretty rough when you've been cursed to marry a praying mantis...
...He stood tall, feeling not the tight, confining grasp of a corset, nor the grip of stays; not the layers and layers of suffocating fabric, nor the stiffness of paint hiding his face, nor the heavy weight of his own lies pressing down against his chest: he stood tall, and straight, and felt only the cool brush of his livery, the white gloves on his fingers, and he bowed to his partner and felt his coattails trail against the backs of his legs.
She was luminous in her delicate, lacy green finery, a dress that blossomed out around her, and her smile was warm and radiant as she looked up at him and took his hand in hers.
They began to dance, and he lead, he spun her around, and took her gently in his arms as she leaned back against him, and felt her soft frame nestle into his strong arms. He marvelled at her smallness, her trust in him, his own desire to hold her, protect her- he spun her round again and again, and as they danced he felt more powerful than he had ever known- confidence and strength and power and agency-
He was frightened, though, and he did not want to feel that pervasive prickle of fear that nagged at him, for it did not fit with the warm body in his arms. His legs were cold, and he shivered, and looked down, and realized: he was naked to the waist, laid bare for all to see, and he realized they all were seeing: the guests were staring at him, watching him, with their wineglasses still balanced in their fingers- one lady raised a pair of opera-glasses to her eyes to get a better view- a horrible fright filled him, and he stood frozen, even if his partner smiled at him and stroked his face. And that horrible shame filled him, that shame that had been seeded in him and had grown so secretly and powerfully, that shame and fear and misery, and he knew what he was, and what he was not supposed to be, and...
“Please, I- I beg you! Stop! Please!”
He was weeping now, and he was still naked, and he wanted to curl and cover his shame, but he could not, and all he could do was watch the woman, and she picked up a cockroach and rent its shell and she was the praying mantis and she reached inside and scooped up a handful of its silvery entrails as its legs squirmed and worked against the air and she ate of its flesh with her ever-working mouthparts her sweet red mouth and she smiled and licked her lips as she swallowed those white ribbons and the cockroach slowly broke in half as she ate and ate those insides until her stomach swelled and the cockroach legs rotated silently, still escaping...
“No!”
There were arms around him, and he gasped into someone’s chest, and felt the heavy thrum settle back into his head. He touched cloth, skin- but this was was real, for he looked up and saw Obsidian’s still, stern face, staring over him at the praying mantis.
“He does not like what you are showing him. Stop it.”
He turned in the circle of her arms and saw the praying mantis drop the near-empty shell of the cockroach and nibble along the length of her claw, cleaning it.
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