Cute, Meet Broken Rib

 The midday sun shone down on the village and its nearby farms, fields in the process of ploughing baking under its heat, villagers and farmers alike puttering about their daily chores.

Completely unaware of the coming disaster crashing through the nearby woods.

Nyrahn scattered feed for her chooks, perfectly oblivious, her world narrowed down to the pudgy four-legged birds doing their best to wrestle for supremacy over each handful. The old farmhouse stood proudly behind her, worn but well-cared for, the yard neat, the mature cow chewing its cud in the pen next to it watching stubby wings flutter with rheumy eyes.

In the woods, a branch snapped back behind a winged blur of rusty brown, smacking straight into its pursuer’s face.

The cow’s ear flicked at a distant yell, jaw grinding rhythmically.

Hm? Nyrahn glanced up, wondering if she’d heard something. Only the wind rustled over the grass, the aggressive bok-boks of her chooks loud enough to drown out the crash of a tree toppling.

That... was a tree toppling.

She squinted at the line of the woods over the rolling hillock, past the dirt road skirting it, a shudder that wasn’t the wind moving through the treetops. What on Akabrey is that?

“That” chomped through another branch whipping back in his face, a blaze of green eyes flaring as he shoved off a trunk, rocketing straight at his target. Burn the drum of hooves desperately trying to keep up with its master, this wet-sneezer had hacked him the fell off.

Said wet-sneezer’s glowing amber eyes widened in the split second it hung there, mid-flap. Roaring Jehj, I’ve hacked him the fell off.

Nyrahn only had time to blink before the treeline exploded.

Three things happened in the space of that split second. One, the chooks’ sixth sense kicked in, their meaty little bodies scattering faster than Nyrahn’s brain could catch up with number two: a blur of fire, something the colour of dirty copper, and the shattered remains of a tree tumbling into the distant road that didn’t seem distant enough anymore.

And three, that dirty copper bundle of flailing limbs and bat-like wings streaking like a literal comet with its tail on fire straight for her, tossed by a force she couldn’t comprehend.

She would forever curse her idiot chook head for fleeing without her legs attached, leaving her frozen directly in the path of possibly certain death. Standing there like a stupified deer with an arrow pointed at its head was not the way she’d ever planned to go. She’d hoped for something more peaceful, like holding her loved ones’ hands as she faded away from a wasting disease after a decently long life. Or even something more heroic, if she had to, like saving a child from the river in flood. Maybe even—though a distant fantasy—of old age.

Death by drakyr-comet was novel, but not on the list.

It slammed into the shed beside the cow, ploughing through the fence, fire and fur ripping up everything in its path on the way to her certain doom.

And ground to a rest at her feet, wing brushing the air a breath from her nose.

...Had the world stopped, or was she still alive?

She found out when it abruptly snapped into motion and that wing slapped her halfway to Akab’s glorious shining lands. Saved from death by flying comet only to find death by the drakyr itself.

Somehow, that felt like a downgrade.

___

A distance away, but not near enough, a man staggered to his feet, slapping away a burning twig on his shoulder. This looked like human territory, better be careful. Where in the fell had that drakyree gone?

Uh, shot off into the sun, maybe? Kyteranih, the voice in the back of his head, suggested.

“Shut up.” He glanced back into the woods as his horse loped out of it, long tufted tail flicking irritably. “You’re getting slow.”

She snorted at him, shaking her bristling mane and turning her nose up as if she could understand a word he said.

That was when he heard the scream.

Or more like a primal shriek of fear and rage. Either way, loud, shrill, and definitely a sign his target hadn’t flown straight into the sun.

What kind of creature is that?

“Could be human. Could be a mad boar.” He whistled for his horse, Dirr, hupping into the off-kilter saddle. “But it’s found our drakyree.”

Mad boar, definitely.

She tossed her head, and he urged her up into a gallop, flying over a hillock towards the point of a roof rising above it. The point of a roof which turned into a farmstead sitting proudly on the next rise, as it had for generations and would for generations more. Hopefully intact.

He made no promises.

It also turned out there wasn’t a mad boar.

In the yard, a grimy female human squirmed, pinned down under the paw of his target. Its head snapped around, ears stiffening to attention.

Unless the boar ran away, and the human got caught instead.

Somehow, he didn’t think so. Also, while they were thundering over, debating it, the drakyree was sucking the life out of her. So he slipped out his bow and shot it in the face. “Stop distracting me. You’re not helping.”

I am! Boars can be incredibly dangerous, especially when mad!

“Yes, but I can’t smell one. Can you?” Stupid wet-sneezing drakyree wouldn’t stop screeching. He shot it again, the human yelping too, this time, managing to tear herself free.

Your nose’s design is terrible. How are you supposed to smell anything?

“It’s not that bad,” he grunted, slinging the bow over his shoulder and pushing off the saddle to land in front of the drakyree. “You can’t even tell your nose from your rump, so don’t start giving me the superiority talk.”

With a hiss, it yanked the arrow out of its muzzle, eyes burning a fiery amber. “You little—”

“No.” He shot it in the face again, curling his lip. “You little.”

...Little what?

It roared, and its tail whipped around. Ah fell.

Little what??

He was a little busy getting flung across the yard into the farmhouse and through the flaming wall. Coughing, he levered himself up, grinding his teeth. “Little dripping drakyr who thinks his mama should clean his wet ears for him when he trips himself into the river with his own wet sneezes.”

Oh, that’s a good one.

“Good.” He staggered up just in time to see its mouth open, glowing. Dammit. “Because I wasn’t talking about him.”

...

I’m very, very offended.

Meanwhile, Nyrahn, feeling like she’d had the energy slurped from her veins through a straw, something in her side crunching very concerningly, and having just been saved by an acrobatic madman talking to his own horse, stumbled into the farmhouse just in time for the madman to crash through the wall. Of her house.

“EH?” A voice called from the back somewhere. “Nyra, did you say something?”

She gathered herself, hobbling left into the kitchen, away from a yell and a crash, and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Go into the cellar!”

“IT’S A SMELLER?”

“GO INTO THE CELLAR!”

An unintelligible roar came from the back and the front. “A DRAKYR, IS IT?! I’M GETTING MY STICK—”

“NO, DAD! IT’S ALRIGHT!” She steeled herself and ducked to open the drawer, barely noticing the bright light and a burning projectile that might have been arrow-shaped sailing through the window where her head had just been. Mostly because her ribs were probably broken and this was minor agony. “I’VE GOT IT!”

Hissing aggressively, she straightened, heaving the cast-iron frying pan onto her shoulder. Oho no, this drakyr wasn’t getting away without some broken bones of its own. Not on her watch.

“You come to my farm.” She stumped back towards the door, grinding her teeth. “You wreck me yard. Ye try to suck the life out of me.”

The door was in splinters, the whole left side of the house smouldering but miraculously not on fire, and her hand clenched the pan’s handle as she seethed. “Ye destroy my house—”

Wait, where are they?

The yard was a torn-up mess, the henhouse... gone? She managed to spot it over by the barn, and— oh no. They were in the field. As she watched, a great swathe tore up under the drakyr’s tail, the man carving half a length of ditch across the perfect furrows as he was flung away—

They were destroying her fields.

“AND YE RUIN ME FIELDS!”