April 8th, 2004

Mask

Silken Fire Fish

She would have eaten him, but the blind albino seer had told her to spread herself open to movement, to be like a silken fish, and watch for movement with softness, and not fire.

He was walking up the mountain in long strides and looked unusual for his people, a pointed nose, pink skin, wearing no armor, his shoulders hunched inwards. He was eating dried seaweed, munching on the crackling green paper thoughtfully. Even despite the albino seer, she may have eaten him had she not devoured a stadium full of people only three months past. She scratched the soft skin under the scales of her jaw with an emerald claw and yawned, air shuddering though her vocal cords like wind through chimes.

The man looked up and stumbled. She cocked her head to the side and watched him gather himself to his feet again. He yelled something up to her, something in the ancient tongue, something jumbled and uncertain and- she paused. It was a message, from UngYung, her old master. The call of death, and a request.

She spread her wings and swirled herself down to the man, coiling around his body, surrounding his arms and legs up to his shoulders. He repeated the message, over and over, like a mantra. She breathed in his scent and smelled old blood. UngYung. Dead.

She stretched herself toward the sky and sang, shaking the mountain. The little man cowered in her scales, repeating the message, over and over, holding his head pressed between his palms.



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