“The mere dragons are not coming back. Probably lost in the wild,” My‑re said to herself. She shifted her battle axe across her back and began her patrol to check the snare traps set out half a mile from the flying ship the Unsinkable III, which now sat in the middle of the Rirorni plains. The repairs to the vessel continued after nearly escaping the Storm Crags and crashing into the flowery field beyond.
It was getting late. Muted grey clouds streaked the sky, and the afternoon sun slowly drifted toward the horizon. This would be the last trap to check for the day. She took a moment when a strong wind blew. The scent of wild lavender flowers growing in the far distance washed over her. It was lovely.
Not too far off, My‑re heard the bleating of a goat. High-pitched and in distress, it continued every few seconds. She followed the sound and found a kid goat with its hind leg stuck in one of the snares. Small, with fur brown and white fur, it had a cute pink nose. It spotted her and stopped. After a moment, it started to bleat at her.
“Great, another goat,” My‑re sighed out loud. “Well, little fellow, it seems you’re not the only one lost too. However, today is your lucky day, as I think we still have plenty of meat.”
My‑re bent down and untangled the creature. It licked its leg several times, and she expected it to run off, but it stayed. “Go, shoo.”
It looked up at her and let out a long bleat.
My‑re gently scooted it with her boot, but it didn’t hurry along. “I’m not your mother. Go find her,” She motioned with her hands for it to scamper along. It issued another long bleat.
“Stupid goat,” My‑re sighed, bent down, and patted the cute animal. Its hair felt coarse and rough. It butted its head into her leg and rubbed against her a few times. “Alright, alright, you’re welcome.” She then re-set the snare. “I don’t know who’s more stupid. Havelock thinking the mere dragons will just return or you goats that keep getting caught in these snares.”
The goat bleated.
“Yeah, you're right. Havelock is more stupid.” My‑re brushed off her hands, rose, and began to leave. After several paces, she turned back to the goat. “Are you coming…Joey?”
The goat hopped after her in the flowery field.
“Joey, it is,” My‑re said as they walked. In the expanse, she saw the tip of the three main masts of the Unsinkable III. She also noticed smoke rising from the fields. Another set of smoke rose. A third and a fourth followed. At first, she worried it might be from a nearby Rirorni settlement, but living this close to the Storm Crags was dangerous. From the locations and her daily patrols over the past two weeks, the Shagornan Elves must be setting the fires. She motioned for Joey to follow and headed to the nearest one.
Still a ways off, the aroma of cooking meat hit her nostrils from the strong wind. It smelled good. Arriving, she found Vomarian with three other elves. They had set up a makeshift spit and roasted one of the goats they caught. Looking at the other three smoke pillars, she saw that each camp must be doing the same thing.
“Ah, good you caught another one. It’s small, so we can use it for dinner. Make a stew,” Vomarian said, looking at Joey. He pulled a dagger and continued, “Here, you can use my blade to bleed it.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” My‑re replied sternly, grabbing Joey. The kid goat sniffed the air and began to look around nervously.
“This is how the sausage is made. I can if you don’t want to.”
“Why are you cooking that goat all the way out from the Unsinkable III?” My‑re questioned.
“We’re going to entice the mere dragons by cooking the goats,” Vomarian explained.
“I thought Havelock said they’d come back when ready,” My‑re said.
“I’d like to take a more sensible approach and lure them to us,” Vomarian replied.
“You don’t understand,” My‑re said.
“I understand how to stalk quarry,” Vomarian replied and continued with pride, “I’ve been on my own Wyld Hunt.”
“I don’t care what kind of wild and crazy hunt-”
“A Wyld Hunt,” Vomarian interrupted with a stern and severe tone.
“A Wyld hunt then. You don’t understand hunting in the Rirorni plains.”
“Just what don’t I understand then?”
“The hunter frequently becomes the hunted. Food is scarce. What meat is available is sparse. It’s all gamy, thin, and tough,” My‑re explained.
Vomarian opened his mouth to speak, but a haunting lone howl in the distance cut him off.
They all looked around for the source.
Another cry followed. Then a third. A choir of lingering howls then emanated from seemingly every direction.
“What in the nine hells is that? Wolves?”
“Crag wolves,” My‑re said with disdain.
Howls continued. The frequency and number were growing.
“Long spears!” Vomarian shouted. The other three elves retrieved their packs. On each side were two surprisingly thin wooden rods, with one side ending at a grooved spearhead. They quickly took each piece and locked them into place with a resounding ‘click.’ Once assembled, the upper third of the long spear was composed of metal to parry blows. “The five of us against maybe a pack of ten wolves. I don’t like their chances.”
“They aren’t summoning the rest of their ten or so members to us. They are summoning ten or more other packs to us. Like the Rirorni, Crag wolves run in a horde, and your cooking just let them know that steak is on the menu.”