Chamois

Chamois turned his head for the first time in three hundred years, instantly wincing as it seized up in protest. “Ngh...”

Gingerly he lowered himself, draping his coils around the rim of his pedestal as he laid his head on the stone and massaged his neck with delicate paws. His body had been fine for decades of stillness, but one movement was apparently too much for it to manage!

He let his gaze travel around the room as he worked his protesting muscles. Piles of coin met his eyes, glittering dusty and gold in the dim light. Mountains of jewels, cloth and trinkets. Stacks of chests. Folios of what he could only assume were valuable pieces of art.

Which, he supposed, was something like what he had been until now. He glanced down his glittering hide, morosely trying to flap his wings and shake free of his own layer of dust. Which, of course, made his wings cramp up too. “Augh!”

That curse was really a horrible one. He was a GOOD thief, he should have been praised, nay – REWAREDED for being the first to break into the mage’s private vault! But no, his wit, dexterity and agility were rewarded with a cheap magic trick, leaving him as frozen as the gold statue he’d been meaning to steal.

How humiliating, for a thief to become part of the collection of priceless treasures.

He switched his attention from his neck to his wings, twisting his back oh so slowly and carefully to reach their glittering paleness, and paused in surprised when he saw the markings. White on his crystalline green skin, that hadn’t been there when he’d broken in. In fact, the regular, squareish row down his spine, and the long segments on his arms looked an awful lot like…

“Bones,” he whispered, and a chill went through him, cramping his muscles further. “Ugh…”

He gave up for now, lying down again and closing his eyes to think. These new markings were surely meant to be some kind of threat from the mage. He had to get out of here, that was for sure, but he couldn’t move far like this.

He began to work the very end of his tail slowly, twitching it from side to side to bring life back to his protesting flesh. He had studied this room all those years ago, before he’d broken in. He knew every exit and entrance, though he wasn’t sure if new security would have been added since his break-in. He…used to know the surrounding city – a place of wealth and commerce, easy enough to find any money he needed to get himself started again.

Assuming he could get out.

He allowed his gentle movement to travel up every spine of his vertebra, groaning as he worked the kinks and cramps out of his sinuous form but also painfully aware of the necessity of being able to rely on his body. Why had the spell worn off, anyway? Maybe the mage had died. He’d have to do some research when he got out. If he could figure out how…

Finally turning his head this way and that to loosen his neck, his eye fell on a dusty corner of the hoard, filled only by a book case bearing many ancient tombs and a few spider webs.

Relatively recent looking spider webs, too.

Chamois licked his lips, and carefully stood once more. He was feeling greatly improved after his stretch, but his thoughts were still fuzzy. There was an easy way to remedy that, of course.

Every mind thinks better with a bit of something in the stomach.

Grinning, he slipped off the pedestal, and made his way across the slippery coins to the bookshelf…

…And the large spiders so thoughtfully waiting there, just for him.