Carmors

It is quite possibly one of the windiest days of the year. Above the sky is a piercing blue, here and there contrasted by tortured looking, fragmented clouds moving at high speeds. The wind practically smacks your eyes closed, and squinting you make your way with difficulty across the meadow. You're here to observe and count some deer like animals you spotted from the road. They should be around here somewhere, but while you were busy trying to keep your hat from flying off they seemed to have disappeared. Maybe it was a trick of the light and the camouflage of the animals' fur. Holding your hat with one hand and setting the other on the heavy camera around your neck, you reach a good scout point on the crest of one of the small hills that roll across this area, and have a look around.

Aha, you think to yourself, spotting one of the deer. But it's all by itself. That's puzzling, because you saw a whole group of them. Taking out your binoculars, you take a spin of the whole meadow, and at last sight the deer in a tight group, wheeling slightly as if nervous, heading for the distant swathe of deeper grass that makes up the beginnings of savannah. What could be alarming them so? There aren't, as far as you can see, any predators, and why is that deer by itself?

The lone deer starts to walk, and you understand. It's limping noticeably in the right rear leg, struggling to follow the others. If it had been left behind so quickly, the other deer must have been running a short time ago, only minutes. You raise your binoculars again and look at the herd, which has now almost scattered amid the deep grass. The crippled deer makes a bleat, a sound quickly lost in the wind.

You have a strong sense of anticipation which is immediately satisfied when a dark shadow passes straight over you. With a yelp, you duck instinctively, looking up to see a lean creature with a large wingspan fly straight towards the crippled deer, and silently except for the rushing sound of air passing over its wings. Just as soon as you see this one the sky seems filled with them, some heading towards the crippled deer and others appearing over the horizon of the savannah, soaring over the grass. Some immediately dipped into the grass, wings flailing in an abrupt halt, claws snatching and tearing at something on the ground. There was a sharp thud as the crippled deer was slammed to the ground by the slashing claw of one of the predators, its spine snapped in one swift blow. The dragons were soon settling down to tear into their kills, which were profuse; you don't think many of the deer escaped their raid.

The dragons are large, but have the thin look that predators have in their constant condition of desperation. Mouth ajar, you watch them quarrel with each other, swatting, and soon roaring, claiming their kills to each other. They seemed to work well as a pack in bringing their prey down, but afterwards when the prey was in their clutches they were less cooperative and more self interested. Numbly, you pick up your camera and take a few quick pictures, not wanting to be caught off guard; a dragon might very well choose to have you for dinner.

Suddenly hearing more wingbeats, you start, looking up as another dragon lands only yards away from you, sitting on its haunches and flicking its wings carefully across its back.

You wonder if they're sentient, raising your camera to take a closeup of the dragon, planning to scuttle further away to a safe distance.

It blinks, noticing you. To your extreme derision it pads closer to you, sniffing. Oh no, it's going to eat you. It circles, still sniffing; it must be ten feet at the shoulder. You suppress a whimper when it blows out sharply through its nostrils, blowing off your hat.

"We don't often get humans here ..."

The whites of your eyes are probably showing by now. "W-what?"

He says again, emphasizing. "We don't often see humans around here."

You stare. He has some scarring on his shoulder, crisscrossing his bronze-on-green markings.

"My name's Kuvve .. you might want to be careful, or you'll get eaten."

"B-but -- what --"

"We're carmors, Faidian dragons." He eyes the others for a moment, still talking. "It's not surprising you haven't seen one before. There aren't many of us, and we're not very friendly, either."

"Oh." You're still rather dazed.

"Listen ... I want to know something. Would you take a hatchling carmor if you could?"

Still staring, you say, "I guess ..."

The corners of his mouth spread in a draconic smile. "Really? That's good, because we're looking to extend our boundaries. Come and I'll tell you about some of the others ..." His wings shift again with a leathery sound, and he starts ambling off, tail curling at the tip as he swings it slightly in the air.

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