“We’re never going to catch the mere dragons like this,” My-re said to herself as she shifted her battle axe across her back and began her patrol to check the snare traps set out a half a mile from the flying ship the Unsinkable III, which now sat in the middle of the Rirorni plains. For the past two weeks, repairs to the ship continued after nearly escaping the Storm Crags and crashing to the flowery field beyond.
It was getting late. Muted grey clouds streaked the sky, but light occasionally poked through. The afternoon sun started to slow drift towards the horizon. This would be the last trap to check for the day. She took a moment as 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. It was high pitched and continued every few seconds. It was in distress. She followed the sound and found a kid-goat with his hind leg stuck in one of the snares. It was small. Its fur was brown and white with a cute pink nose. It spotted her and stopped. After a moment, it continued to bleat at her.
“Great, another goat,” My-re sighed out loud. “We’ll little fellow, it seems you’re not the only one lost too. However, you’re in good company, as we’ve probably caught your parents, siblings, and probably first, second, and third cousins in the past two weeks.”
My-re bent down and untangled the creature. It licked his leg several times and she expected it to run off, but stayed. “Go, shoo.”
It looked up at her and let out a long bleat.
My-re gently scooted it with her boot, but didn’t run along. “I’m not your mother. Go find her,” My-re said and motioned with her hands for it to move along. It let out another long bleat at her.
“Stupid goat,” My-re sighed, bent down, and patted the cute animal. Its hair was course and rough. It butted its head gently 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 is more stupid? The Shagornan elves thinking this snare will trap a mere dragon or you goats that keep getting caught in them.
The goat bleated.
“Yeah, your right. The elves are more stupid.” My-re brushing off her hands, rose and began to leave. After several paces, she turned 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 through the field. In the expanse, she saw the tip of the three main masts of the Unsinkable III. She also noticed smoke rise from the fields. Another set of smoke rose. A third and a fourth followed. At first, she was worried it was from the Rirorni, but they were nowhere near any settlement. Living this close to the Storm Crags was dangerous. From the locations and her daily patrols the past two weeks, it was where they placed the traps. It must be the Shagornan elves setting the fires. She picked up Joey 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 Fae and captain of the Unsinkable III with three other elves. They had set up a make-shift spit and roasting one of the goats the caught. As she looked to the other three pillars of smoke, each camp must be doing the same thing.
“Ah, good you caught another one. We can use that one for dinner,” Vomarian said, as he looked at Joey in her arms. He then pulled out a dagger and continued, “Here you can use my blade to bleed it.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” My-re replied sternly and pulled Joey away.
“This is how the sausage is made. I’m a bit surprised, but if you don’t want to—”
“What in the nine hells are you doing?” My-re interrupted him.
“We’re going to entice the mere dragons by cooking the goats,” Vomarian explained.
“I thought that’s what the snares were for?” My-re questioned and held Joey a little tighter as he began to squirm.
“A simple snare isn’t going to capture a mere dragon. We have to 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. His tone stern and serious.
“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 that is available is gamy, thin, and tough,” My-re explained.
Vomarian opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a single, haunting lone howl in the distance.
They all looked around for the source.
Another cry followed. Then a third. A choirs of lingering howls then emanated from seemingly every direction.
“What in the nine hells is that? Wolves?”
“Crag wolves,” My-re said with distain.
Howls continued. The frequency and number growing.
“Long spears!” Vomarian shouted. The other elves retrieved their packs. On each side were two surprisingly thin wooden rods with one side ending at a grooved, spear head. They quickly took each piece and locked them into place with a resounding ‘click’. Once assembled, the upper third of the long spear was made 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 you just let them know that steak is on the menu.”