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The aquila lands and Lord Everan steps off of it, joining the crowd. They all marvel upon him, as though he doesn’t attend every single one of these events.
“Our bidding has stopped at nine-hundred mena,” the auctioneer declares.
I feel myself internally pleading with him as he admires every curve in my exposed form. If the bidding stops here, I can learn to cope with it. The woman is frail, and in time, she’ll certainly die, granting me my possible freedom.
“Five-thousand mena,” Lord Everan says casually, flashing me a vindictive smile.
The auction handler knows that nobody will match this offer.
It’s over.
“Sold to our gracious Lord Everan!”
I look around me, determined to find some method of avoiding this purchase. But as my chains are handed off, and I’m led off the auction block in his possession, no ideas are coming to me.
2
ZYRANTH
Isnarl, running on all fours through the dark woods. “Hungry,” I growl out.
The scents and cries of my potential prey carry on the wind with the rushing leaves and the whispering ponds. I find something peaceful in the moments before my attacks.
My protruding claws dig into the soil and flora beneath me with every leap, propelling me forward with extra distance. The rush of scenery flowing past me appeases my aesthetic senses, but I hunger. My jagged, curled fangs have grown bored and long for company. My spiny tongue wants only for the savory taste and texture of blood and viscera.
Roaming through these uninhabited woods makes me feel powerful. I can venture for miles, moving faster than any other creature, without fear of discovering settlements filled with sharp objects, fires, or magic. These are all minor inconveniences, but they cause some resistance, and the longer I spend without something in my mouth, the more unhappy my biology becomes.
A creature such as me needs to eat constantly, driven by an ungodly metabolism. All of my waking moments are spent hunting. When I sleep, I dream of something more complex. What it is eludes me and cannot be put to words.
Something catches my senses. There in the clearing ahead, beneath a crowd of tizret trees, is a small suru family. Their aroma beckons me, drawing me in with its sweet and savory profile. I can already feel the texture of their flesh in my mouth, so familiar and predictable but still fulfilling enough to serve its purpose.
They still do not detect me and haven’t begun to flee.
“Mine!” I bellow, jumping toward the quickest-looking member.
Its back feet thump, and its body tenses. Its long ears swivel around toward me. If I were any other predator, these gestures might spare its life.
But I am far too quick.
Leaping forward before it can seek safety, I rend it, tearing into its fluffy, cottony fur while avoiding its unruly, sharp horns. Its small tail is the most delectable treat and tastes sweet, like nimond.
Nothing trumps the green rush of its flowing nectar, pouring from its mangled viscera.
The taste is heightened especially in the presence of fear. These pathetic creatures are best when they’re frightened. The hormones and blood mix for a splendid concoction that satisfies my tastes but not my ever-growing appetite.
Four more creatures, the mother and children of the family, attempt to flee me. I chuckle that they think they have any chance of evading me. They should just accept their fates.
As I bound forward, abandoning my scraps for later, a likar emerges from a den to challenge me, baring its fangs.
In nature, most creatures know not to challenge larger predators. But this creature has not learned the art of survival. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my blood-addled mind is the faintest hint of sympathy.
As if in one singular movement, I leap between the fleeing suru, snapping each of their necks with a single bite. This likar will not poach my kills away from me.
In fact, it may just join my meal.
I do not often get to sample the tastes of likar, for the simple reason that most know to stay far away.
The likar realizes the error of its ways and attempts to escape, but with one more bound, I tackle it to the dirt, appreciating the terror in its feline eyes as it understands its life has ended. It is delicious to me. I laugh as I rip into its muscle, savoring every part of this glorious kill.
