Sweet Death

Gorax flew gracefully above the clouds. He counted the stars above idly and, named them as a game to pass the time as he traveled. His wings stretched at his sides to twice the length of his body from his snout to the tip of his tail, and his glossy scales blended easily into the darkness of the night beneath the crescent moon. His belly felt empty, so he began to consider what he might hunt. Lazily, he swooped below the clouds, inching his way down to just above the treetops. This land was home to many types of wild pigs and hogs. His keen eyes peered beyond the trees to the ground below, able to see clearly at high speeds even between the many leaves and branches.

From below, the dragon was completely silent and invisible. He appeared only as a swift shadow that seemed more like the twinkling of the stars or the darkness playing a trick on your eyes than a humongous predator on the hunt. This made it easy for Gorax to hunt and so he made no big fuss about finding food. He looked and sniffed and listened, knowing that soon he would likely find his prey. In the distance, he heard a cry that was not unfamiliar to him but took him a long while to recognize. It was the cry of a human babe. In a few short moments, he was above the child. It was alone and very young. It was reaching its arms up as if inviting Gorax down to sup, and Gorax felt his mouth water at the invitation. The humans tasted like pigs but even sweeter and the young ones were sweetest of all. He obliged the eager child's apparent wish and with great swiftness Gorax sank his large teeth into the child. His teeth were bigger than the child and he made quick work of his meal.

"Hmmm. But a morsel," he moaned against the silence around him, "Hmmm. And so sweet," He smacked and slurped to get the remaining pieces and catch a hint of the taste before he launched himself back above the trees to hunt for more.

By daybreak, Gorax had satisfied his great hunger and departed the forest lands to find a sunny spot on a grassy hill where his kin dwelt. His belly ached and his wings grew sore with his flight. He feared he had eaten too much, because the game was abundant and easy to prey upon. He was looking forward to a good long day of sleeping in the sun. "Hmmm. Rest." He moaned. He imagined he would curl up into a nice lump and polymorph himself into solid stone. Then he could soak up all the sunlight that poured down from the sky and feel as warm as a sunbeam all the way to his core. The wind c aused a chill against his flesh and he wanted very badly to find a warm spot to rest.

His journey home was not as pleasant as his journey to hunt. It seemed to him like it took forever and as the stars began to fade he had fewer things to occupy his thoughts until his entire mind seemed to be nothing but a dull thrumming with an intense sensation of dread. His belly seemed to ache more with each passing moment and his back began to ache in addition to his already throbbing wings. All he wanted was to sleep, so as the hills of his home began to stretch before him, he did not bother to pick a choice spot, he simply slept upon the first hill he saw. He did not polymorph himself, for his weariness was overwhelming and his strength was giving out. As soon as his head hit the grass, he began to slumber.

He awoke late the next day as the sun reached its peak in the sky and was starting its slow descent to the lands beyond the West. His head was pounding, and his eyes were sore with the strain of the sunlight. He could not tell if it was the next day or the same day, but he felt like he had gotten no rest at all. He did not like to be awake during the daytime and so he laid his head back down to rest, but then he felt a sharp pain at the base of his belly that made him gasp against the shock and intensity of it. He curled and then quickly uncurled as the pain grew worse. He rolled over and examined his belly. He found a wound like an ulcer, open and oozing clear and yellow pus. He noticed the stench and wondered if he wounded himself while lunging through the trees for prey and simply hadn't noticed.

With great effort, he lifted himself onto his feet and, too exhausted to fly, he trudged to the nearby stream. Wanting the freshest and coldest water, he followed the stream to its source among the hills. Occasionally, he would dip his tail and wings into the stream for they were very hot with fever, and he was growing ever weary and putting cool water upon his neck helped to clear his head. Finally, he reached the source of the stream, a spring that flowed from a cave that was too small for the dragon to enter. He drank greedily from the spring with a thirst he could not quench, but just as he felt he might be satisfied, his stomach turned, and he belched the water back up and onto the ground. His vomit was thick and yellow and smelled and tasted sweet.

He groaned with pain and displeasure and bent down to take a few sips to wet his mouth for it felt like he was trying to swallow an entire herd of sheep without chewing. Then, very gently, he began to wash his wound in the spring water. First, he rubbed at it with the knuckles of his clawed fingers, trying to work the pus and filth out. Then he laid his stomach directly in the water and sighed as the cool stream massaged his belly, easing his pain, but only slightly. There, he fell asleep again, and dreamt horrid nightmares of monsters with countless arms reaching for his brain to eat his thoughts and steal his body.

Gorax was awakened that evening when some of his kin approached the spring to drink. Many had ignored his presence and simply drank from a bit further down, but one dragon wanted the freshest water for he believed it would make him strong. His name was Marik and his dull scales blended with the night, but a few on his belly seemed to shimmer so that in the sky he was even harder to spot than Gorax. This made Gorax jealous of Marik and the sight of his rival irritated him, but he had no energy to deny Marik's request that he move and so he made to rise but found that he did not possess the strength to do so. Marik ordered two of their siblings to remove Gorax from the stream and waited a very long time before drinking for he did not want to ingest any of Gorax's laziness.

Gorax remained where he had been placed, not far from the stream. He was not hungry, and he was still very tired. He felt near his belly and found that his sore had grown. He did not have the energy to inspect it further, and when he tried to crawl back to the spring, he did not have the strength, and so he remained. And since he was overtaken by weariness, he decided that slumbering would be the wisest decision, and so he slept.

It took only a few hours more for Gorax to die there, by the spring. His dreams haunted him to his death. Dreams of long shadows stretching out in every direction and devouring everything they touched. When his mind finally succumbed to the darkness and silence, his body stiffened and rose. His legs moved with stiff and uncertain motions and then his wings began flapping. Slowly and with jerking motions his body lifted into the air and began flying.

The wound on his stomach had eaten more than half of the underside of his body. As he flew away, a trail of yellow dust was left behind.

Marik returned late to the hills where the dragons slumbered. The sun had already dawned, and he was growing tired, though his mind was still sharp, and his body felt strong. He noticed that many of his kin were sleeping around the edges of the hills rather than atop the highest, widest, and most comfortable hills. As he got closer, he began to hear that many of them were groaning with severe pain even while sleeping. With concern weighing on his heart, he flew down to one of his kin and found a sister dragon lying on her side and asleep which was an odd position for a dragon to take while sleeping. Her belly was exposed, and he could see that she had an open wound at the bottom that was oozing with pus. Flying amongst his other brothers and sisters he saw that they all had the same wounds near the same spot on their bellies. Then he remembered that as his brothers were removing Gorax from the spring, he had a similar wound on his belly, though it was bigger than these. "Hmmm. A disease that has spread quickly," he moaned. "Hmmm. I must leave before I grow ill myself."

It was at this moment that a large army of human warriors emerged from the surrounding woodlands armored and armed with weapons designed for piercing the thick hide of a dragon. Marik thought that his kin were dying from illness and that he should leave them to their fate, but something in his heart made him stay and fight. He could not abandon his family at their weakest state while puny humans thought to destroy them.

He fought with great vigor and ferocity. His claws ripped easily through the pathetic armor that the humans hoped to use to protect themselves. His fire effectively destroyed the large weapons and missiles that threatened to slaughter him and his kin. He roared with passion as he tore through their ranks, and slaughtered the humans by the dozens. But in the end, he was slain.

He was the only dragon fighting. Though the noise of battle awakened his kin, they were too weak and wracked with pain to be of any help. Their movements were sluggish, and most were hardly able to lift themselves for the pain. Their fire would not come and some even fell back to sleep.

It was three great harpoons wielded by the three finest warriors of the nation of men that took down Marik. They came upon him swiftly from different directions while he had been distracted by a launched net. They stabbed him deeply and repeatedly around his chest and belly, disemboweling him. Marik's body fell with a loud crash, rocking the ground and leaving a small crater. His death roar echoed through the hills and to worlds far beyond so that the sound became the focus of many tales told across many civilizations.

The humans moved among the other dragons baffled both at how the great beasts let the humans slaughter them all one by one without putting up a fight, and by the sweet-smelling yellow dust that erupted from their bellies when punctured. Some of the stronger dragons tried to flee, but they were sluggish and slow, and the humans made a sport of killing them, causing their pain to be extended as the humans danced and laughed, inhaling the sweet dust and even collecting some in pouches to bring home. This was a jolly day for the warriors indeed for the hide of a single dragon was a fortune and each claw was worth a month's salary to most and here they had a field of slain dragons with many fortunes to split amongst themselves.

Their joy and ecstasy rose, and after all the dragons were slain, they threw a grand celebration atop the highest hills. They lit bonfires and cooked dragon meat and danced and sang, creating songs of their exploits and clapping and spinning merrily with hearts filled with gladness and dreams of futures living like kings. They had expected to lose many, and they did in their battle against just one dragon, but they did not lose as many as they dreaded, and this was also a cause for joy and celebration that so many could be there to join in the merriment.

Then their dancing and music stopped and their singing and clapping also. They all blinked more rapidly and looked at each other with faces of fright and confusion. Their heads grew dizzy, and their muscles grew stiff. They stopped moving and raised their hands toward the sky and began to wail. They cried out and reached up with welcoming and inviting gestures. Their legs would not move, and they could no longer control their bodies, though they were fully aware of what was happening to them. After a couple of days, their minds began to shut down and they died, though their bodies continued to wail with arms raised and legs stiff and straight.

The smell of the rotting dragons was putrid and spread far. It was the smell that first attracted Shurti, a wandering dragon who had no clan to call her kin. When she came upon the hills littered with the corpses of dragons, she was filled with many emotions. First, she was appalled and then scared. She vomited, feeling suddenly sick, and when her mind adjusted finally to what she was seeing, she noticed the humans.

She was filled with rage, then, at the sight of them, because she knew that they must be the ones who had slain the dragons. She saw their weapons and armor littering the hills, but something was odd about their behavior. They were wailing and reaching toward the sky as if to invite her. Curious, she glided closer and found that they did not move with fear as they should have. The smell around her disgusted her, but humans were a rare treat, and these were easy prey. It was hard to pass on such an easy meal, and she knew her belly had just been emptied so she would need the food. She flew down and scooped one up in each of her four claws and flew away from the gruesome scene, wanting to leave the curious slaughter far behind her.

She noticed some more odd things about the humans she carried. As she picked them up, each had stopped wailing and began to shiver. As she flew, she could faintly see the glimmer of yellow dust that trailed from the humans she carried. She could smell that it was sweet and hoped that it would make the humans taste even sweeter.