The Wolf and his Dragon (1)

Alanar stared helplessly at the blanc parchment has he dabbed his quill in the inkwell. Why was putting stuff into writing so hard? He thought, looking through his high window onto the city below. The candle next to him flickered in the wee hours of night, casting a golden glow on his pale green eyes. Those eyes stared deeply with yearning for fame. Fulfilling his lifelong dream of being a great writer was a long, and vigorous test.

The fire in the hearth warmed the cold stone flooring around him. And even the mouses found comfort within Alanar’s room. Though he couldn’t see them, he can hear them, and smell them. Scraping along with their bundles of cheese.

His black nose twitched curiously in the cozy room. Maybe his story should be an epic saga on mouse’s.

Of Mice and Wolves? He wrote down a few ideas.

He stood up, and blew out his candle. The grey smoke reefed around the paintings in his room. Alanar walked around his room, the light of the moon seemed to fill him with new strength. It wasn’t just him who felt the moonlight in their blood, maybe it was common Demi-Wolf nature. Though un-dignifying, he howled to the moon, sending cold shrills across his spine.

He sat back down, and re-lit the candle. The flame burst into light, like new-found inspiration. Alanar steadied the quill in his paws, and began writing.

Across the sky the sun looked melted, red as blood.

Almost normal for the late summer skies to behold such a scene, and Nyzaar would’t have it any other way. Growing up as a winglet in the forest made him accustomed to the changing seasons. Warm red summer, and dreadfully cold winter (why couldn’t he be warm-blooded?).

The forest was lush with flowers and trees, odd birds and the normal woodland cows.

But hidden from sight there was something. Breathing… stalking… waiting…

Nyzaar stepped breezily across the fallen trees, and effortlessly glided beneath the forest canopy. Safe, and protected (Translation: Hidden, and Feared), from the DemiWolfs that roamed across the plains of Carn. The DemiWolves were no fools (for the most part. Nyzaar often thought), they knew if they dare ventured into Dragon Country, their lives are forfeit. But that didn’t stop most wolves, they came in, with their bows and arrows. Hunting, and skinning dragon hides, making weapons of dragon bone, and other vile stuff.

And Nyzaar knew the situation was dire.

Nobody talked of the hunters, but you can see their destructive nature in the eyes of those who lost their kin. And the unmistakeable look of despair on the elder’s face’s. Though Nyzaar was young, he was unusually wise.

But not he in all of his wisdom could prepare him for what he heard next. “BLURP!”

His ears perked up, and he became acutely aware of his surroundings. Then he heard the same cawing noise again. He crouched low to the forest floor, and stalked across the ground. Then he saw in a clearing was something swaddled in strips of cloth. It made pathetic whimpering noises when Nyzaar approached. And that’s when he stared into the giant blue eyes of a baby Winglet.

His eyes went wide as he gasped.

It’s a dragon. And it came with a crisp scent of wolf.

His head jolted to the sky, and in an instant, he was surrounded by netting. It was a trap! He thought bitterly. His fire was being choked back by anger and confusion. I need to calm myself, I need to calm myself, he told himself fiercely.

He struggled with every bit of strength against the net. He wasn’t going to become another ‘lost’ victim.

SNAP! Tree limbs broke against his iron hard scales. He caught his claws against the threads, and ripped the net to shreds. But that’s when he realized he was surrounded by a score of DemiWolf hunters, that seemed to materialized out of the forest.

In their paw’s spears were raised, they took aim as Nyzaar was still confused.

And then fired.

“Your majesty?”

Alanar awoke suddenly to the face of his servant, Elcar.

“Your majesty, Crimsonsun’s court is meeting us by nightfall. Pardon me for saying this… but you don’t quite look presentable.”

Old Elcar began hustling through the room, preparing, and sweeping, and washing. Alanar’s head slowly raised from his parchment on the lectern. He must have fallen asleep. His hand went to his furry cheek, wiping the ink stains off of his silver face. Then his hand went to the heavy iron tiara on his brow (a crown is more manly. But a tiara is the only thing that could fit over his wolf ears).

“Your majesty, how about this?” Elcar held up a black robe. It was nice, but Alanar wasn’t really paying attention.

“Quite the crowd out there” he commented. He said looking out of his window, onlooking crowds clambered across the city centre, vying to see the king from his window in the Wolven palace.

“They’re all anticipating your speech” said Elcar.

“Speech?” Questioned Alanar.

“I assume that’s what you were writing” replied his servant. He then began fingering through the parchment on the lectern. Alanar took the parchment from Elcar. 
“Of course” he responded.

“Now let me get ready”.

“Right away, your majesty” Elcar bowed low, his old white fur seemed more regal than Alanar’s, then he left. Alanar heaved a heavy sigh. Life here was often great, and exhausting. But he shouldn’t complain. He only found peace in the halls of Glardien, walls of archives, beautiful art, and only royal access.

Which meant peace from the court.

Sometimes he wishes that he could hide away in the forest, with his books and papers, and not come out until he wrote a masterful piece of Wolven literature. Thus becoming one of the 'Greats': Anarê kan Great, Trant The Weird, Qu'Warnt The Dumb (He locked himself into a cave and swore he wouldn't come out until he wrote his 900 chapter saga. He died).

Alanar did his best to wash the black ink off of his left cheek, and what was left was a dark black spot. “Great” he muttered to himself. As if he didn’t need to tarnish his own reputation enough, being the young king of a powerful kingdom was difficult. Especially since his own father wasn’t exactly the greatest king. King Alanar The not-so Great. He wedged himself from foreign relations, and divided the kingdom. Now it was up to Alanar II to bring order and peace.

King Alanar Goldsun II: Was the reality. Master poet, and Author Alanar Goldsun: Was the dream.

Alanar went through his stacks of paper. “This will do” he said to himself. And he pulled out a ready made speech.

He clothed himself with the black fabric cloak Elcar handed him. The cloak was laced with royal blue stitchings. And the Goldsun insignia was a blazing gold emblem on his chest. His iron tiara was polished till it was mirror-like, the embodiment of the wolfish spirit. Only when he was looking majestic did he feel like he could be a great king.

Alanar walked through the bustling streets, escorted by a dozen of guards. The crowd pushed against the guards, trying to see King Alanar; as if he was a great wolf. He made his way towards the large wooden platform in the city centre. The crowd roared with applause. Alanar never understood why the crown was so loved: he was just happy that he was the one wearing it.

He climbed up the wooden steps, and the guards waiting for him bowed low. The guards towered over the inexperienced king. Yellow capes flowed down their giant shoulders, like waterfalls of pure gold. The captain of the guard was the most noble one, a friend of the former king since puphood. He stood up, and the others went to attention.

“Morning, your Majesty”, his deep voice gurgled.

“Morning” Alanar nodded.

“They’re anticipating your next move for our union with Silversun, Crimsonsun, and Scarletsun”.

Alanar gave a sheepish smile, self conscious about his ink-stained face. Alanar rose up to the pedestal, and took a deep breath in.

“Welcome! Who here wants our former brothers united once again?!” The crowd howled with approval.

“Then it’s time fo—!” His voice was muffled by giant strong paws. They squeezed his muzzle tight, and a sharp dagger pushed on Alanar’s throat so harshly blood began to trickle down. Alanar struggled and managed to get his muzzle free.

“guards!” He bellowed. But no one came to his rescue.

“Shut your yap!” The armed intruder told him, he flashed the dagger dauntingly. “Silversun’s court is taking over this kingdom” the wolf said slyly, “now hold still, and let me execute you!”

(note to reader: I have devised a written language for the Demi-Wolves, but for audience readability; Wolvish has been translated to English. If you want to read their quotes in both Wolvish, and English, please leave a comment).