Quick Trip

Quick Trip

The intense crisp of a clear night, impressed upon all of her senses. The delicate warmth of the river rocks boiling into the bare pads of her feet made it a cheap luxury to work out the stiff posture of walking on flat ground. Even when needy branches clipped into her translucent skin, and the noise of the undergrowth insects, generously renewed the breath of spirits
Noises not imperative to the wind’s workings, but to something quite organic and with a predatory lifestyle of stalking movements that wasn’t its own was following her trail down the dried river. She ignored for long moments at a time, thinking and chirping to her own tunes, and when it came obvious that her stalker wasn’t just a lost house pet, guesses of familiar faces reached into dark space in front of her.
With skillful footing, she gave little to no difference in sound of her pace and Viant swept into a pocket of air enveloped by low branches and waited like a patient Tak, a beast that doesn’t blink, till her pursuer got too curious for its own good. The quick dry tapping of rocks clicking against each other was enough of a signal. A stick with the thickness of a child’s arm and length of her own body head to tail took a classic golf swing into the darkness where a plain ‘oof’ toppled into a loud existence. Stepping into the dim crescent of two moonlights, the dead waterway had been filled with a rather large red goofball.
“Domin, what have I told you about following me on my missions? All that flog about being short I have proven myself against the trainers and you’re the one that’s worried enough about me to do this childish act.” Bothering to banter his feelings, she stepped onto his blunt tail before going forward down the natural path. Domin himself was rubbing his scaley shins, even if they were protected by the uniform’s blue armor, he winced twice at standing and the way his tail had an ache that made him imagine she had created a sharp kink into it.
“I’m not worried a bit about you. It’s the world that should be afraid of you walking its soil.” She heard the defiant snort of the rebel in his personality.
“You’re the klutz. Not me.”
“Oh, I’m not the only one that could wreck a market or two on my good days.”
Viant turned to look at him, seeing that they were both thinking of that horrible yet too well wanted water fight using every kind of trick of the book, and a few more on the spot inventions, that had its run through half of a large town. The flick of her tail was enough to make them laugh, as well give Domin a chance to catch up on complaining legs.
“It seems like the sources identified a pack up head a day’s worth, but they aren’t sure if they’re humans or something new that’s mimicking human behavior. I told them to wait that day’s worth of travel to rest and have some campfire entertainment while I investigate. I’m assuming you didn’t do any of that work for me?”
Domin appeared indifferent, but he knew better than to provoke the hunger of Viant’s curiosity. “All I heard it that there’s freshly burnt out campfires, but they don’t belong to your group. I should be breaking to the wind’s will to get to my own appointment in a few hours. I don’t suppose you’re willing to let me tag along for a while and send reports if this happens to be a hoax.”
Shrugging and pulling out her Surploc, a kind of compass that didn’t point to magnetic tugs but to a small bug’s home, she squinted at it before pumping air into her wings. “Think you can keep up groundy? Heaving an hour’s walk will do some good in this foggy summer weather.”
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Viant and Domin found what they were looking for, the campfires were hardly considered any more than wildfire that seemed to be in a spastic fit of pain. As if the fire jumped free of its pit on a pair of legs and frolicked as an angry convulsion. Following this new trail, speaking softly in joking tones about what could possibly have done such a masterwork of burning, they came to an end as the sky was becoming a piece of black parchment being lit devilishly red at one edge.
It was a mound of something; Like a child’s idea of a mud pie or a fairy’s home. A black splat at the base of a tree’s white trunk made of burnt mud, withered spouts and small trees with the surrounding area’s own ingredients of small rocks and fresh grass. Both dragons* stared bluntly at the sight, smelling damp smoke and a mornings dew ruined by the stink. The lump that made of the body of the mound was the side of a small dog, and odd projections poked out underneath the mass of ashen leaf litter. The mud was a sign that someone dumped water atop it all.
*I need to find a name for Viant’s race.