Moat

Dragon Subject: Fen and Thorn

The hour of dawn came upon a new day, its light faintly growing against a backdrop of murky clouds. A grey haze drifted across the sky. Misty tendrils dipped low to obscure the tops of leaning giants that punctuated the marshland. The trees here stood far and long, or not long at all. Most were far too small or sick to reach such heights. Smaller thickets lay below their massive limbs, holding on to their night-dark secrets.

Fen spared a glance overhead. The first cool, wet drop fell near her resting place, and then another a moment later, and then another. Soon a rhythmic patter filled the air. The guardian stretched her wings and gained her feet. The covered ground held her impression in its crumpled weeds. She stood in the shelter of a greater marsh tree watching the rain fall, occasionally catching a drop upon her skin. She found the drum of the weather to be a soothing thing after the heat of the last week.

She mulled over the day's work ahead, staring absently at the set of prints she'd made last eve as they collected falling water.

A rustling apart from the rain drew her attention outward. It was faint at first. Could be a podid foraging for its breakfast? The rustling sounded again with quickening momentum. Despite the rain the tangles of long-dry brush whispered against the thing as it moved with controlled speed. Then the rustling broke apart and spread in several directions.

Fen assumed a guarded stance, closing her eyes against the sound, letting her hearing follow its divided pathways. She could almost visualize the small, clawed feet that went with those steps. A strange gurgle reached her from the left, barely more audible than the falling droplets, followed by an answering gurgle to the greater left. A series of clacks spawned another round of bubbling chatter, interspersed with measured taps that suggested intelligent communication. What were these things?

Something crept down the trunk of the tree the guardian was positioned beneath. It sat close enough that she could've reached out and captured it.

"You hear them?" Came a soft inquiry.

Fen nodded. "I can't see them, but they're nearly even with us now." She crouched to a depth as close to the tops of the weeds as she could manage and cast a glance at the speaker, a nocturne by the name of Thorn, friend and ally, who'd made a habit of resting in the higher limbs of the guardian's shelter tree. Seemed that the noise had roused her interest as well. Fen resisted the urge to deliver a compliment at her early morning perceptiveness; it was a comfort to know that she was no longer the only dragon watching over the marshland.

Thorn slid closer, nearly touching the guardian's side. She braced upon the hard knots of her wing joints and leaned in close to speak without risking their discovery. "Fancy a guess at what they are?"

Fen tracked them a few seconds longer, but she believed she did know. "Goblins," she answered, opening one yellowed eye at her shoulder to look at Thorn. The nocturne swiveled her head to meet it, surprised.

"Again, you think? Would be awfully brave of the lot after the last wave of trapping."

"Hmm," Fen nodded, and the eye at her shoulder blinked in time with the origin set of her head, "Seems like a mixed batch this time. I'd say water and plague, by the style of communication."

Thorn sighed through gritted teeth at the revelation. "As if one goblin invasion wasn't bad enough..."

The skittering things were nearly past them now. The breadth of travel seemed as though they'd miss the opportunity to spot the debating pair.

"You think we can catch one?" Thorn asked, glancing away into the marsh, watching for signs of approach beyond the intermittent chatter. "We'd need one to make a distress call before I can throw it back, but if I mimic it I might be able to get them to follow me."

Fen considered the ideal of an unharmed gathering, but... this was the second time they'd made an attempt on their home. If they got far enough into the territory to damage Peat's herb garden, or worse, if they ate one of his beloved rats, only the Gods could predict the rage to follow. "I think we need to take a bigger stand. They clearly hadn't appreciated the recent trap and release. I don't think moving them further out would help." The guardian adjusted, closing her additional eye to better concentrate her hearing. The pack had nearly moved beyond them now. "I wonder if the creature tamer for The Brethren would be interested in taking them on."

Thorn began a slow creep towards the trunk of their sheltering tree. She made a silent ascent, claws digging into the bark, peering around to gain the locations of the pests. "You think they'd want to take this many?" she asked without looking back down, "There may be a dozen here."

"I know that The Brethren put their familiars to work." Fen shrugged, though the other could not see. "They're a massive clan. They have the resources. If they've the interest to match, then they gain the lot and we can regain our peace."

The nocturne was several meters high, nearing the lowest fan of crooked branches. She could see the underbrush parting where the goblins moved. "Targets sighted," she hissed, maneuvering onto a branch. "You wanna do this fast or quiet?"

Fen chuckled. "Fast is the only way to deal with these things. I don't think stealth will matter once they know we're here."

"Fair enough." Thorn tucked in her neck and flexed her wings, preparing to leap into a glide. Her companion moved into a space below the other's launch point.

"Ready?" the nocturne shouted, and the parting of the ground slowed ahead, their quarry hesitating.

"You know it!" Fen bounded towards the numerous trails, a whoosh of air overhead signaling that the nocturne was in flight. She flew at pace with Fen's run, shielding the guardian from the rain as she opened every yellowed eye, multiplying her sight for battle.

They converged upon the nuisances with a joint cry. The snarling, roaring, chittering and scrambling commotion rose to dance in the air amongst the water drops. The earth gave way to mud and from mud to small rivers and lakes as their pursuit gave way to struggle, but to the marshlanders, it was not a hindrance. This was how they lived, and in that knowledge they had the edge. The goblins were slowed and confused as the dragons used the familiarity of their home to achieve victory.