Dinner and a Show

Had any distant travelers chanced to look to the moon on this storm-shrouded night, the shadows cast by Larafael's enormous wings would have likely sparked great panic. Though, being the size of the baroque cathedrals of the elves, Larafael did not pay much heed to the concerns of humans, not unless their concern could produce an army of war machines eager to be turned into kindling. An unlikely prospect, for he lazily soared over the treetops of a forest far removed from the reach of their paltry enclaves. He belched a small gout of smoke and spat out the charred femur of a sheep that had been stuck in the back of his mouth for much of the flight back.

Oh, now that's satisfying, Larafael thought, watching the bone bounce and break on its fall through the branches below.

I wish the humans would keep larger herds, he groused. Eighteen of those scrawny little things just aren't enough nowadays.

His stomach rumbled in agreement.

Doesn't help that we're having to fly out further every year to even find a decent dinner.

He coughed up another smoke plume. He beat his wide, leathery wings twice in the air and closed his eyes, enjoying the silence of the night sky.

Down in the forest below came a sudden, unpleasantly high-pitched sound. The wail was particularly noticeable for Larafael's acutely sensitive ears. He sighed heavily.

I suppose I should go see whatever morsel is making that racket.

His stomach gurgled as it continued to digest the malnourished herd of sheep.

One more mouthful, but a mouthful, nevertheless.

Arresting his glide against the air currents, Larafael dived towards the sound, moving swiftly like one of the great birds of the old world when they caught wind of their prey.

Long gone now. As is so much else.

He broke through the crown of the forest with far less grace than those extinct hunters, however, his outstretched claws tearing through the hefty oaken branches like a winter wind through wet paper. As he landed with an unceremonious thud, autumnal leaves flew up en masse around him, briefly obscuring his vision of his landing site. His gigantic form filled up much of the space in the surrounding glade, but when the cloud of golden leaves settled, he saw the aftermath of what had only one explanation:

Elf ambush, he thought with distaste. He bent his long, sinuous neck in an arc around his body as he surveyed the scene.

The still-smoking shells of two wooden carriages lay in ruins along the thin hunter's path wending through the glade. Scorch marks covered the entire left side of the rearmost carriage, its door shattered from the blast, and the charred corpses of three humans still burning with bright blue elf flames crackling in the interior.

Craning around the blown-over carriage, Larafael saw a similar result had befallen the carriage driver and his two-horse team, though these remnants were far less…intact. The driver's legs were still belted into his seat, while his missing torso was presumably the viscera now smeared on the forest floor.

A particularly well-done snack, Larafael mused as he leaned down, hungrily devouring in two chomps the horses' partial carcasses.

He momentarily thought to do the same to the human bodies.

If elves now feast on human blood whenever a frenzy consumes them, why can't I have some of their leftovers?

He idly whipped his tail back and forth at this delicious thought, blithely ignoring the fact that he felled several saplings in doing so.

No, I shouldn't. Aelyr will smell the human on my breath. She does tend to complain so long and so loudly when I do. He huffed in exasperation, looking ahead.

The second carriage, some dozen yards ahead on the path, seemed to have managed to put up an unsuccessful skirmish, likely alerted to action by the brutal incineration of their rear guard. The human occupants were covered now, not in flames wriggling with turquoise fury, but in deep gashes and bites. These had been no less lethal though, for the three men lay staring vacantly at the tempestuous sky, their poor-quality steel breastplates and leather clothes offering little defense against the elven claws. A lone elf was also left from the attack, taken down by a lucky crossbow bolt. Larafael looked down at the body, the barbed steel bolt firmly lodged in its skull, and blinked softly.

Her pale face was gaunt, more skull than skin, and lined in dark spider veins stretching from her glassy green eyes in rivulets down the sides of her neck, a telltale sign of prolonged magical starvation. Smattered with dried blood, the she-elf's mouth was ajar, a hideous display of jagged teeth with two prominent incisors standing out from the rest. It seemed to Larafael that with such a visage, even in death, her famine had been left unsated.

Illohir enhai, ca'ave dhulas. He considered the old prayer words slowly, drawing them up one by one into thought from an abyssal well of forgotten memories.

Then came the piercing yowl again, breaking his moment of reverie.

Were the humans transporting a litter of kittens? Larafael growled, stomping heavily on the grass as he searched for its source.

Following the trail around an outcropping of moss-covered stones, Larafael found the wreckage of a third carriage. The rear axle had snapped and the broken wheel, cleaved off as if by a sudden, razor-sharp wind, lay in pieces behind the overturned vehicle. As Larafael approached, he noticed no signs of struggle, perplexing when compared to the gruesome fate that had befallen the rest of the traveling party.

Even their horses managed to escape the slaughter behind them, Larafael thought. No, not simply escaped. He studied the pristinely intact body of the carriage. They had already been unhitched and fled before it crashed. Then how…?

Even louder now, another bout of sustained crying grated against Larafael's mind, distracting him from these oddities. His cat-like eyes darted toward the center of the vehicle. Cocking his head to the side, he peered down into the carriage's back window, focusing through the cracked web of stained glass until, at last, he saw the irate vocalist.

Ensconced in a maroon fur blanket, an infant boy lay in an ornately carved, mahogany cradle, somehow still upright and fastened securely to the carriage seat. His red cheeks puffed, and his miniature mouth formed an "O" of curiosity as he abruptly stopped his indignant bawling. For a moment, they regarded each other in equally surprised silence, from Larafael with one unblinking vertical pupil, wreathed by an iris of glimmering gold to the human child with his teary pair, one eye in emerald shade, the other, a storm-dark blue. Then the child resumed his crying, louder and more insistent now that he saw that he had an audience.

Where are your parents, little one? Taken by the elves most likely. But why leave you?

The child had no answer to this unspoken question except to continue to cry. Larafael raised his head from the carriage window and closed his eyes tiredly.

Perhaps it will shut up if I feed it, he wondered.

Yes, Larafael thought, food is the answer to most problems. I will find it some food. And should it not quiet down after that…he looked back down at the child.

Then I will eat you, loud morsel.

He chuckled to himself at this thought as the infant was no larger than one of his smaller teeth and would likely not even be a noticeable snack.

Aelyr will know where to find it the appropriate food. Perhaps it is her youth, but she has always been much better with humans than I. But how to bring it to her? Bothersome thing.

Had any travelers been passing near that nameless stretch of forest and managed to swallow their initial sense of fear, they would have witnessed a remarkably comedic sight – a dragon delicately clutching a whole carriage in its hind claws, broad wings carving long shadows beneath the fullness of the moon.