Are you our Third, Part 1 (Patreon)

"That's the situation," concluded Eiven Straghoff to the huddled group of hastily-armed and less than armored village-conscripts before him. "You have all been chosen, by his lordship, to rise up and defend the boundaries of our princedom, Bolgrad, against the invasion of monstrous beings that do not belong in this, our God-given country." He swept a mail-clad arm out wide over the assembly. "Today, we do our duty, to our Prince, to our people, and to our God most Holy!"

On either side of the group of roughly twenty men, a squad of six armed soldiers wielding long pikes, chainmail coats, and domed Romanian helmets grimly observed. They looked across the faces of the peasants who had been forcibly dragged here against their will for any sign of dissidence or for those about to make a break for it.

Any who did harbor such thoughts did not need the intimidating glares of those guards to cowe them. One only had to glance to the side, where Nikolai and Urning, two local farmers, still hung, swaying, from a tree by knotted lengths of rope. Caught and strung out, just that morning in the wee hours of misty dawn, like fish. Their cowardice was understandable. It permeated the group of wide-eyed, white-knuckled Bolgradians.

"You will all advance first," continued Eiven, gesturing then at the mouth to the cave. All eyes fell upon that sinister opening. Even without such orders, it was common knowledge that the populace of this country did not dare venture forth into such mounds. Ill spirits lurked there, eager to punish intruders. The only beings who would dream of entering were such creatures that felt no fear for the mere shades of men or stalkers of the night. Werewolves, vampires, ghouls and ghasts, spectres and cannibals. The Romanian people knew their fears well.

But something much worse supposedly had taken up roost in that dark, ominous mountain-side crevice. Its opening stood at least three times higher than the height of the tallest man here, wide enough for an entire wagon train to pass through with no jostling of wagons or oxen that might have pulled them. It was a lair, a true lair, befitting the beast that had been supposedly seen only a week or so ago.

"Following you will be my guards and me," Eiven explained. "You will form a wall with spears in front." He cast an eye on the frontline of eight or so men bearing pole-weapons. Unlike the pike-bearing guardsmen, these were no tools or war. Maybe two true spears were among them. Pitchforks were more prevalent. One man had been given a spade. How fitting for him to literally be walking into his own grave. "Behind will follow those with axes and swords." Again, these men bore hatchets, not battle-axes, and swords were a laughable idea to be given to a peasant. Only two swords could truly be seen here. One belonged to Eiven.

Peytor bore the second.

"Form up!" the officer bellowed.

The guards immediately shoved in, laying about with cudgels to speed things along. Orders of 'Get into position,' or 'Move quickly now,' came hard and swift, as did the blows of those clubs they bore. In short order, the conscripts were assembled into a loose formation, five men wide with 'spears' in front.

Once grouped up, a whip cracked from somewhere behind them. Shaking in their boots, the men began to advance. As the shadow of the cave mouth fell upon them, all trembled in fear. Even the armored guards in the rear of the column could not keep their trepidations held totally in check. Eiven almost didn't follow his men inside. This was as much a danger to him as it was to the rest. His sadism toward them did not spare him the task he had been given.

How much he regretted, only now, making eyes at the Prince's wife a fortnight ago. To be saddled with this was, under no certain terms, a punishment. These men before him were in just as much trouble as he was. At least their fates truly had been and would be random. True, that would serve little comfort to their families. But maybe they would get lucky, score wounds on the beast before it slew them, and ensure his ability to slay the creature. His task would be complete, and he would return to the court as a hero.

Such aspirations did not exist for his charges, especially the tallest of them all. Peytor's grim eyes were fixed solely ahead. Just like Eiven, his presence here was not by accident or random selection. When the name of his close family friend's older father, a staple of their community, had been drawn, the soldiers had immediately gone to seize the patriarch.

Peytor had stepped up immediately, without thinking, and punched the armored men out cold with a blow apiece. For his crime of striking a Prince's sworn man, he had lost a finger for each one. A man could live with only four fingers on each hand. He could work. And in the eyes of the commanding officer of that group, for his valor, he had been declared as one who could also fight as replacement for Ilana's father.

He was not like the other villagers. He was a hunter, a loner, one who dwelt on the outskirts of the village and served to protect them against wolves, bears, and other beasts who would otherwise prey on livestock and unattended children. His keen, grey eyes also helped serve him as scout and lookout for invading forces. Living on the border of Bolgrad, near the Russian lands, was a dangerous place. His father's old sword, nicked from its days of actual battle against the Ottomans, had seen much service, as had his sling and deployable hand crossbow. Whether beast or man, Peytor was no stranger to fighting for his life to defend his fellows. But a fighting man, even a woodsman, was not equipped to fight monsters.

The gloom surrounded them, pervaded them, as did the acrid stench of mold and decay. Moss clung to the walls of the cave, the dark stone walls lit up by the torches carried in the rear of the group by Eiven's personal guards. Peytor threw a look over his shoulder at them all contemptuously. The Romanian soldiers and nobility lived far different lives than the common folk. Even so, they were expected to, at any time, rise up and defend their lands and their Prince, from any and all threats, for the glory and privileges' of living on his property. Half their grain went to the castle, as did much of their coin.

Up ahead, a steady sound of water dripping could be heard over the tramp of the soldiers' armor. Light even broke through the shadows from a broken spot in the ceiling, high above, as they entered the open area of the cave proper. The floor sloped slowly down on a curved decline, ending in a small, flowing stream from another end of the cavern. Grass grew around the rippling water, soft moss in abundance on the other side. Many eyes blinked in surprise and soft murmurs could be heard from all of them. Even Peytor could not believe what he was looking at. As beautiful as the scene was, all eyes were fixed on what instead coated the immediate ground before them.

Gold.

Mountains of gold lay everywhere on large strange flat panels of tooled leather, arrayed in somewhat uniform piles. The yellow metal gleamed in the light of the silver sunlight streaming in from up above. Romanians, even nobles, were not used to seeing such coin. Silver was the more commonplace currency. There was enough wealth in even one of those piles to purchase their entire village many times over.

But Peytor did not let such riches distract him. Those did not belong here, nor to any amorous or greedy eyes that marveled at their sheen and sparkle. Just like whatever had been seen crawling into this place, this vast hoard was new to Bolgrad.

"By the Saints..." breathed Eiven from the rear. He began pushing his way forward through the crowd. His guards followed, pretending only to wish to stay in formation around their commander but unable to hide the similar gleams in their eyes that reflected off the coins. Even these men, who dwelt in the castle, had likely ever seen such opulence. One man bent down to palm a single coin, marveling at the foreign markings on its face. When his officer grunted, he dutifully handed it over with only slightly reticence.

Standing back up straight, Eiven Straghoff held the coin up to the light. His eyes, dark, reflected back at him from the strange currency. Odd symbols were carved into it, as was a deep, dimpling groove across one side that dented the metal deeply. His gloved thumb stroked over it, surprisingly deeply cut into the gold without breaking through it. He grinned.

"We are blessed indeed," he announced to the assembled folk. "We can have the honor of not only clearing these creatures who invade our lands, but also bringing great riches back to our Prince!" Sullen eyes gave him no real belief that any but he would recieve praise and thanks, or even reward, for this. Seeing their angry looks, Eiven coughed. Such wealth was enough to make any willing to consider mutiny. "Should any survive this day," he went on. "Each of you will recieve, from me, a small bonus for helping protect these lands!"

That made the eyes brighten up. Several poor farmers eyed the gold around them again. Even one coin would change their entire futures. Peytor alone was the only one who didn't buy into the obvious ruse. His eyes continued to stay open and alert. That was when he heard it. Soft as grass rustling, the dim sounds of something like hooves clipped on the floor of the cavern.

"Sir Eiven," he called, in a low and urgent voice. "Behind us, the back of the cave."

Every man immediately went on guard. The soldiers in the front gripped their spears and Eiven even put a hand on his hilt. All eyes scanned the area. Their less-trained ears caught the hoof-sounds a few seconds later as they gradually grew louder. Then, it emerged from a distant crevice across the way from them. Human breath caught at the sight of the creature that appeared before them.

It stood over the height of a warhorse's head just at the shoulder, covered in a thick, lustrous mane of fur that rippled in an unfelt breeze. Its head was vaguely stag-like, which fit for the protrusions that sprouted from its skull. These however were not antlers, but horns, four plated, ribbed horns, like those of a goat, of a bizarre greenish-gold color that looked sharp enough to pierce. Pointed ears quivered above that deer-like head, flicking around to fixate on the Humans before it. Heavy, pale fur plumed out across its throat and underbelly, great tufts of tawny hair around its knee-joints. Its feet were not hooves but scaly paws like those of a rooster or eagle. Great talons terminated those green-colored digits. Its graceful stance perched upon the tips rather than the whole fingers, giving it an unnaturally beautiful gait. Behind its hindquarters waved a long, flowing tail like that of a fox or perhaps the plume of one of the exotic birds the Prince had once paraded around the streets of the village in gilded cages.

For Peytor, however, it was the eyes. They were yellow and deep, accented around the edges like a woman at court's dark makeup. The face entranced him as did the waving of that tail. Several men marveled at the colors its mane and coat produced. As it stalked forward more, balancing on the tips of its bird-like feet, they produced the strange, hoof-like sounds once more on the floor of the cavern.

"Good...grace...of God..." murmured one of the soldiers. "It's beautiful..." Peytor could not help but agree.

It watched them all from across the stream. Those eyes bored into them all, transfixing them like a serpent's. Peytor felt its gaze, wary and distant, fall upon him. Unlike the others, who shied away from meeting those orbs, he looked right back, unable to make himself look away and risk breaking the charming spell it had lain upon him. He had never seen a more gorgeous creature in his life.

The rasp of a sword disturbed the groups' reverie. Eiven grinned cruelly as he palmed his blade. "A hundred silver to the man who takes it..." he growled. "Its pelt will make a glorious gift to the Prince..."

His soldiers immediately snapped out of the trance and began to approach it, lifting spears. Without thinking, Peytor burst forward from the crowd. He whirled around, boots shuffling on the cavern floor, and faced the rest of his fellow Bolgradians' shocked faces with his own. His hands, one wrapped in stained linen around the stumps of his two missing fingers, were spread out wide.

"Do not harm it!" he commanded them sternly. His fierce eyes locked onto the faces of his countrymen and the livid expression Eiven. "It is a creature unlike any we've ever seen!"

"Thus making it worth all the more should we slay and skin it!" snarled the commanding officer. "Out of the way, boy!"

"I will not!" he snarled right back. His hand went to the hilt of his own sword. He didn't know what or why he was doing this, only that he had to protect this creature at all costs. "You'll have to kill me first."

Eiven's eyes widened, as did the other Humans. Then the officer grinned. "Seems he's been bewitched by the creature. I've seen this before men...the only solution is to kill the afflicted. Suits me just fine," he snapped, startling them all. "You've always been a trouble-maker, fine-hair." He waved his hands at his men. "Kill the whelp. Let the Devil punish him in Hell for being a traitor."

One man lunged immediately, stabbing with the seven-foot spear in his armored hands. Peytor, however, had grown up learning to dodge the tusks of charging boars. That was all that pike was to him. He flowed around it and drew his sword. He slashed wildly at the man, clipping the rings of his armor and then shoving him back hard with a kick to the chest. The man stumbled and fell. Another growled and stabbed as well. He barely blocked the iron tip before he dashed forward and slammed the hilt of his weapon against the man's nose-guard. There was a breaking of bone and the man staggered back too, swearing.

Peytor drew his hand crossbow from his belt and pointed it at the group of four other men starting to circle around him. He had to make the shot count. But a single bolt like this wouldn't be able to down a man in full armor unless he struck the seemingly impossible target of a throat or eye. And the only one he actually wished to kill was too far back to accurately hit at all. Not to mention he didn't want to fire near a crowd of his fellow villagers. They stared at him in utter shock.

So he did the only thing that made sense. He whirled around and pointed the loaded weapon at the creature. It still had not moved. "Run!" he yelled at it. "Go, now!" He fired, wildly and deliberately away. The bolt sailed across the cave and clattered against the wall a good ten feet from the mysterious animal. It jerked in surprise and in an instant it turned and flashed away.

A second later, pain stabbed through him in the form of a spear in the back. Peytor groaned and toppled to the ground as the pike was jerked back out of him. He sagged, gasping in pain as blood rapidly pooled around him. The guard hefted his bloodied weapon triumphantly.

Eiven strode forth then, glaring darkly down at the grievously wounded hunter. "You utter fool!" he snarled and backhanded Peytor across the mouth with a ring-mailed hand. It split his lip and he toppled to the side. "You made it run!" He gestured at his men. "After it!" He pointed then at the other villagers. "If even one of you touches just one coin before I say you can, you'll end up like this boy!" He kicked Peytor hard, pocketing the coin he still had been holding onto. Behind him, the fair-haired loner saw his fellow countrymen wavering. They had no love for soldiers or nobles who regularly tormented them, killed them with barely a moment's hesitation. They were scared, too scared to help him.

Then Peytor saw movement behind them all.

His eyes went wide then at a flicker of movement in the back of the cave. A long, scale-covered limb just barely rustling through the darkness surrounding them all He had seen that color only once before on a living creature, the same as what pooled around him steadily by the second. Gut wounds took a while to kill. He knew, because his father had died the same way. Even through the agony, he could not stymie the rush of terror that coursed through him as the red scales of a long tail whispered across the floor just behind his fellow villagers and up towards the darkened ceiling.

"R-Run!" he shrieked at them, startling even Eiven and his guards as they made to leave him to die. "All of you! Get out!"

"Still entranced," sneered Eiven.

"No!" Peytor coughed. "You don't understand! That creature is not one who naturally desires gold, you noble-born idiot!"

"You insufferable pest..." snarled the officer, baring his sword. "I'm liable to put you out of your misery right now, if you didn't constantly deserve to be bled like this! What do you know of beasts?! Have you consorted with them, eh?!"

"No..." he groaned. "But any man...knows...not...to take a Dragon's...gold."

"Dragon?" Eiven asked, momentarily confused. A single stone clattered down from the ceiling, bouncing off of the officer's armored shoulder. He jerked. As one, all eyes traveled slowly upward. As one, they all went wide with terror.

The dragon clung to the ceiling, red scales glinting with a light all their own. It was massive, dominating the entire rocky plane as it hung there like some demented cave lizard mixed with a bat. Eyes, cold as ice, glared with hatred the intruders to its domain, at the armed men who had taken of its hoard. It opened its jaws, displaying row upon row of teeth as long as daggers, took in a deep breath. It roared! The sound bounced all around the confines of the cavern, nearly deafening them all.

It was a sound so primal that it could almost be heard as words. The meaning was unquestionable. "Get out!"

Peytor was the only one who could not clap his hands to his ears to stifle the echoing scream, as one hand was still firmly pressed to his bleeding side. The soldiers yelled in terror. The peasants broke. Eiven turned to shout after them, his voice unable to be heard over the dragon's rage. He had probably been shouting at them to hold, to come back. But Eiven's voice was never heard again even as the dragon's roar finally ceased to echo around the cavern.

The beast of legend dropped from the ceiling. Great wings flared out, slowing its fall. A massive paw lashed out, flattening the armored man right in front of Peytor. There was a horrible crackling of bones as it squashed him like he might have to an ant or rat underfoot. Again, the dragon roared.

It loomed above them all, easily twice as tall as any of them at the shoulder, possibly almost a third. Long, powerful limbs rippled as it lumbered there upon the floor of the cavern right in front of their stunned faces. Talons, black-gold in color, bristled at each of its paws. A spined tail lashed behind it. Its armored underbelly was a gleaming shield wall of gold plates, the chainmail thick scales of its ruby-red hide flowing in the dim light like a rippling tapestry. Teeth shone in its maw even with the lips closing from its second utterance of rage.

But again, to Peytor, his gaze settled most of all on the eyes. They were sky-blue, blackened around the edges and sunken deeply into its horrifying skull. Flat, emotionless save for anger, and full of righteous and horrible justification to destroy the invaders of its home, for bringing weapons and spilling of blood. The soldiers yelled and did the only thing they knew how to do. They charged.

Spears stabbed and whirled at the dragon from all sides as it loomed above him. He tried to jerk himself weakly out of the way as those huge, four-digit paws stomped all around him. Its wings fanned out above it like walls, flashing pink and red as it postured and pranced like a fighting cat mixed with a screeching eagle. One spear lunged in too far and the man holding it paid with his life as that spined tail lashed out, striking him in the chest and sending him flying a good twenty feet to smash into the wall of the cave where he crumpled and moved no more.

Another two men were felled as its claws slashed them to ribbons, cutting through their armor as easily as their spears had to Peytor's flank. A fourth was caught in its jaws and bitten clean in half before tossing the separate parts away from itself. Blood coated the floor. The fifth tried to run only to be flattened like Eiven had been, stomped flat.

It was the sixth who scored a lucky blow. Just as the dragon continued to hammer the flattened corpse of its compatriot into paste, he darted in and jabbed with his spear. Its iron tip did not glance off the sloping curves of its armored sides and instead sank in just behind one limb. The Dragon buckled and screamed again, immediately jumping back. Its back hit the cave wall and it stumbled.

The man drew his hands back to throw the weapon at the beast's exposed throat where it met the underside of its muzzle, where the scales did not cover. Peytor, bleeding and terrified, again moved without thinking. He lashed out with his sword as he grabbed it up from the ground, cutting out the man's leg from underneath him. The soldier, the one whose nose he had broken, staggered and screamed.

He turned back to look down at the wounded hunter. "You little-!" he swore and drew his spear back instead to stab Peytor again. He never got the chance. The dragon roared again and a second later the man was plucked up in its maw like his fellow had been. He screamed once and then vanished down its gullet, accompanied by horrible rending chews before it swallowed.

As the battle died away as abruptly as it had begun, Peytor's vision continued to fade. The room was in utter chaos. Gold coins were scattered everywhere during the melee and blood pooled all around. The dragon loomed above him, the last human who had dared to enter its lair. Lifting a huge, bloody paw, its claws flashed, ready to end him.

He looked up only into its eyes. They were cold, implacable, and merciless. He couldn't help feeling scared but also relieved. Why had he done any of this? Who knew. It had just been the right thing to do, he felt. Darkness began to rush over him as that fanged maw began to open like the gate to eternity above him. His side didn't hurt as much anymore. His eyes slowly closed. He could have sworn, before his world went black, that he heard an angelic voice crying out.

***

"Stop!" cried Karine as she reentered the blood scene. Her paws clicked upon the floor, delicately skirting around the corpses that lay everywhere.

Burn paused, about to devour the last human as she had his compatriot. Her cold gaze swept across the room toward the Kirin. "Why?" she demanded hotly. Blood dripped from between her teeth, battle wrath blazing in her expression. She favored her wounded leg still. "I'm just finishing the job."

Karine crossed over to her mate. "You would be remiss in doing so," she spoke, voice calm and soothing to assuage her fiery draconic partner's ire. "Have you not killed enough today?"

"They drew steel in our home," countered Burn angrily. "They meant to harm you."

"But they did not."

"They would have!"

Her flowing, glorious tail brushed across Burn's flank, causing the red-scaled bulk to shiver. "But you stopped them. The dealing of death is done. Those that escaped will not return here. You have defended our home well." Her calming tone and golden eyes bored into and through the wall of ice and anger that had built up in her companion. Burn visibly relaxed, but slowly, and finally sagged. Karine saw the bleeding wound then. "My beautiful Scarlet-Dawn..." she sighed. "So brave..." She crossed over and pressed her muzzle to the injury. A single tear rolled down her furry cheek, dropping onto the rend in the flesh. The bleeding stopped. She then licked the cut and it reformed before her eyes.

Burn sighed and settled her weight gingerly back fully onto the limb again. "You are unhurt, my Golden-Morning?" she asked, tone now worried. They bumped muzzles, dragon and Kirin, nuzzling softly.

"I am," she replied. Then a groan disturbed them and together they looked down at the last surviving human. Blood continued to trickle out of his side. "Thanks to this one..."

Burn scoffed. "He came with them. His fate was sealed the moment he came inside. You should let me take care of him, as I did the others. One more Human death will not trouble me."

Korine flashed her a look, causing the dragon to pause. "You'll do no such thing," she commanded. "He stood up to his fellow Humans to defend me, knowing me not, and told me to flee."

"He fired a weapon at you!" snarled Burn.

"If he had wanted to hurt me," she replied then, soft and sweet up to the Dragon, "I suspect he would have. I've seen him before, when we first arrived in the area. He's unlike many of his kind. His accuracy with that little weapon is commendable."

"You and your habit of watching Humans..." grumbled the Dragon. "It'll get you killed one of these days."

"That's why I have you to protect me," Korine teased. Then she bent down onto her angled knees and leaned down toward the Human.

"What are you doing?!" demanded Burn, but it did not stop the Kirin. Another tear rolled down her cheek, falling into the slowly bleeding hole in his side. Again, the bleeding stopped, and she licked the wound closed. As it did, his face calmed and he seemed to drift off into actual slumber rather than near-death unconsciousness as the magic healed him completely. "Why would you heal him?"

"He saved me," Korine told her softly. "Such valor is commendable, and deserves a better fate than to bleed his last among these others." She looked around at the gore and grimness around them. Her delicate nose wrinkled. "Could you please tend to these?"

Burn rolled her eyes but shook her head. "Of course," she replied and turned to take care of the corpses in her own way. So many bodies would mean she did not need to feed for a while. Sometimes, she missed the taste of Human. Being able to indulge in old habits was a nice treat, combat included. Still, she didn't regret no longer being free to devour the treacherous, hated foe's flesh, having sworn off her rampaging days of revenge when she met her mate. The metal armor they wore was especially nice.

When she had finished, she looked back at Korine and the Human. Her eyes went wide to see the Kirin had gently moved him from where he had lain and now nestled him down onto the plume of her tail like a bed, wrapping her long body around him as well. She met Burn's incredulous eyes and hers gleamed warmly.

"Isn't he lovely?" she asked the dragon, forestalling Burn demanding what she was doing again. The tip of her tail brushed against his stubbly, handsome cheeks, rustling through his reddish hair atop his head. "So different than most of the others around here."

"He looks Gaelic," replied the dragon, sighing and letting the issue go. She had long ago learned to not try and understand her mate's bizarre mannerisms. After all, if she really started questioning it, their status as mates would be put under scrutiny as well. It was not often at all that a Kirin and a Dragon became a mated pair. Some mysteries of the world were better left as just that. She nestled her huge, scaly body around the pair of them then, mostly just to be close to Korine.

"Indeed, but he has the Romanian features and eyes," Korine marveled. "Perhaps a mix?"

"I've no interest or clue in the breeds of Humans. They all look alike to me, the same that killed my first mate," she snapped, then amended her volume as he stirred. "... I suppose his features are rather...striking compared to those others." It wasnt unfair for her to make such note of his features. He was a bit taller than most others of his kind, broad shoulders but athletic in frame without being bulky. His reddish hair looked soft too. If one cared to observe such things.

Korine hummed and laid her head down across his chest. "His dreams are lovely but also sad..." she murmured. "I'd like to give him better ones. Share them with me?"

Sighing, Burn laid her head down, long, serpentine neck stretching to accommodate the angle as she placed her muzzle tip to tip with Korine's. Her eyes closed and she felt the Kirin's magical presence wash over her mind, calming her aches and pains of battle and stress.

Korine dove their combined minds together then into Peytor's dreaming brain. They saw what he did as he slept in the midst of their coils and fur. They saw him as a child, running through the fields and trees. His red-haired mother chided him for going out too far. His dark-haired father laughed as he held her around the waist. Horns came. The father went off to war once again, never to return. The mother stayed with her child as he grew, aiding the villagers but ostracized by them at times for her foreignness. She had come home with the father from lands far away from Bolgrad.

Years passed. Peytor's mother died of a sickness. Peytor grew more, staying as a loner away from others. He hunted, fished, farmed when able. Soldiers came and caused trouble and he always spoke out against them. He was punished many times. The others wanted to help him but were too scared to. He had friends but lived sparingly. Life had been hard.

He stirred as old nightmares began to surface. In an instant, Korine washed them away, brushing them aside as if using her tail. At first she only tried to distract him from his old pains but her memories alone were not enough. She implored Burn and, reticently, the dragon agreed, if only to make her mate happy. Calmer dreams came. Days of distant, mist-shrouded forests of the far east from where the Kirin had come. The haunting mountains of the west which from where Burn hailed. Their uniting as one fled the culling of her home and the other moved to escape her burning hatred. They met in a glade of a forest.

Burn had been shy, wary of approaching any other creature after the loss of her original Mate. She had been a Dryad, a woodland fey creature of the Gaelic lands. Together, they overcame her grief by planting a tree. Over the course of a decade, they came back to that sapling, watching it grow together. Burn allowed herself to mourn. At long last, Kirin and Dragon joined together, three hundred years ago. Time slowed to a crawl as they enjoyed each and every day together.

Peytor watched it all through his dreaming mind. His smile was soft as the two creatures finally pulled back and let him drift in his mind alone again. Burn looked down at him less distastefully as before, but marveled at the light shining in Korine's eyes. She looked even more radiant than ever before.

"What causes you such light?" she asked softly, to allow Peytor to sleep as soundly as possible. Seeing his life as she had, she realized that there was something of an old world feel to him, like the old Druid tribes she had occasionally seen in her old days in the west, before the days of armored men came.

Korine looked up at the dragon with sparkling yellow eyes. "How many years have we been together?" she asked.

"Close to almost four centuries," she replied.

"Have you been happy with me, all this time?"

"Of course," Burn replied. "You are gentle where I am not, flowing water to compliment to my raging fire."

Korine smiled and they nuzzled their noses against one another, fur against scales. A small spark leapt between their minds during that exchange. Burn blinked down at the Kirin as she coquettishly continued to rub her soft nose against the dragon's hard, scaly one.

"Kor..." she chided. "You cannot possibly..."

She blinked again, fluttering those gorgeous golden orbs in that playful, teasing way that always got her what she wanted.

"He's a Human."

"My tastes have always varied over the many years I've been alive," she responded.

"He's male!"

"Again, I don't know specifics, only joy." She licked Burn's scarred muzzle affectionately with her foot-long, purple tongue. "And you said I could have any one treasure to add as mine only five years ago."

She snorted, leaning up and back from her mate. "You cannot be serious..." she growled. More fluttering eyelashes and a waving of her tail seductively. It made her scales itch and ripple across her bulky hide. "...I will give you two treasures of your heart's desire instead," she tried to implore.

Korine shook her horned head. "No, my love," she whispered. "I know your old hatred but he is different. Pure. And I would want to reward him for saving me, for saving you."

Burn scoffed. "He did not save me." Glancing down at the Human again, she knew this was a lie. If he had not acted, that spear might have felled her if the throw had been right. He couldn't have trusted it wouldn't, acting out of instinct. She had seen that in his mind. An old mind, that prized the odd and magical above that of the natural, Human desires of wealth, status, power, and command. "Is there no way to sway you?" she asked.

The Kirin smiled, showing only the tips of her sharp teeth. "One night, that is all I ask with him. We've long and happily dwelt, just us two. A third, but for an evening, is not too much to ask is it?" She brushed a scaly, bird-like paw against Burn's favorite spot on her flank. There was no arguing with her.

The Dragon growled and looked away, scales rattling and wings shifting uncomfortably. "If...it is what you desire...as an anniversary gift," she relented. She glared down at the Human's slumbering face. "I can't see why, but I won't deny you. You freak..." She said this last word in a scoffing, flustered voice.

A furry face nuzzled intensely against her, making Burn's sides ripple. "You make me the happiest creature ever, my Burn," she murmured. "And I will forever be your Freak. You wouldn't love me nearly as much if I wasn't always this way."

"Do you even know how to...with one of them?" she demanded, face heating up at the implications and puzzling mental images already forming in her mind.

"It would not be my first time," she admitted, waving her tail. "Sometimes I would shapeshift, but I find the experience best as I am." Her eyes twinkled. "Would you like to see a few of my older memories?"

Burn looked away, clenching her jaws more. "I...can abstain," she countered swiftly. She sniffed the Human then, grumbling in a deep growl. "He smells."

"I will tend to that," she remarked brightly. "You truly are the most wondrous, kindest, most giving mate..."

Burn growled sullenly. "Save your breath, minx," she snapped only a little amusedly at the nuzzles and placating words. "You're lucky I love you so."

Uncurling herself from around the Human, Korine rubbed herself, catlike, all across Burn's flanks. "As I love you," she hummed. "Can you please lay him in the back of the cavern for me? There is more moss he can sleep upon."

Grumbling, Burn rose. "If he is your present, you can move him yourself," she remarked. At the Kirin's cute huff, she sighed and licked the fuzzy mane and muzzle once with her forked tongue. "I am just...dealing with this my own way," she relented. "Dragons don't share well, you know."

Korine smiled again. "Don't think of it as sharing," she teased, grinding her whole furry form up underneath Burn's throat and playing her tail across her scales. "Think of it as...us bonding in a whole new way as never before."

Burn wriggled at the touch and her scales rattled more. "Off and away with you, coy temptress," she growled soft and low. "Before I take you myself here and now."

"Not in a bloody cave you will not," she chided. Then her eyes sparkled. "Now, please do move him. I could but I'm nowhere near as strong as you are. I might hurt him, dragging him across the floor. I'll stay and clean up this mess." Again, she batted those pretty eyes. After that she turned and her eyes flashed. Water flowed up and out of the streams bank as it seemed to overflow at her command, slowly washing away the stains on the floor that had been left.

Grumbling, Burn leaned down and ever so gently hooked her teeth into the collar of his tunic. She plucked him up and carried him to the hidden alcove in the far back where they slept on a massive bed of moss. There she laid him back down, careful not to jostle his small form too much. She inspected him up and down, this Peytor. He actually was quite handsome, in a strange way.

Memories of young Druids who praised her flashed before her mind and she pushed them aside, leaning down to sniff at him. Beyond his normal, skin-level scent of dirt and sweat, he wasn't that bad to smell or look at. Looking back at the other end of the cavern where Korine was still working on cleaning their home, she looked back and down at Peytor. She pondered things for a while before she leaned down very gently.

"Listen here, Human," she whispered in a soft rasp into his sleeping ear. He stirred a little. "My mate has a soft spot for you, and I owe you for helping her. I would not say this in front of her, I'm not good at these sorts of things with your kind. I've known nothing but hate for you. Not you but...those like you. I suppose what I'm trying to say is...thank you. You are different and you have lived a hard life. Korine wants...we want..." She blushed to admit it. "To give you some happiness. If you don't want it, then at least we will have offered it." She touched him gently with a claw tip, careful not to nick him. He stirred more.

Burn continued speaking softly. "Think of this as...just a dream for now, if that helps you." She opened her mouth and delicately licked his cheek once, rough texture rasping over his lightly stubbled skin. He gave a soft sigh. "We will not hurt you. You may even...like it." Again she flushed, scales rattling. Maybe just...one more lick? She didn't have to indulge more than that. Her mouth opened again and she leaned down toward him.

That was when his eyes opened. Burn was abruptly staring right into his wide grey orbs with her large, gleaming blue ones. There was a momentary silence, her maw still open above him as it had been when he passed out. Peytor's eyes went wider and his mouth opened to scream.

Whoops...she thought.

***Part 1 of 2. Hopefully ya'll like it. This is a new one for me, that's for sure!***

Patron Shout-Out

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Kevin Red