Just a few more sentences and this chapter will be complete.  Then, I’ll probably have to do some creature concept drawings depicting the moss dragon. I did some before starting the novel, but now that it’s actually going to be a part of the story, I think it calls from some revamping.


Jenario sprinted once out in the open. Yet here, there was no place to hide. A dead tree covered in hanging moss perched next to a set of large, flat rocks. Like a staircase, they stacked up against the tree as though meant for climbing.

The beating of wings grew louder, and he hew it was on top of him. In the midst of his mad dash, he scooped up a rock. Courage was slim to nil at this point. Still, he closed his eyes, whirled on his heels and threw as hard as he could.

“For Shafari,” he breathed.

There came a thunk of solid hit, followed by a shrill cry that paralyzed him other than to cover his ears. Something smacked into him, and he went flying back. He landed hard and opened his eyes to find himself in a similar position with his back against the dead tree. Yet Jenario knew his end would not be the way Shafari went. There was no dramatic spell he could cast for quick release. His side ached where the thing’s wing had probably cracked a few ribs. Trying to move brought unbearable pain. All he could do was wait.

Thomas Gracie’s probably dead, too, he thought in despair while watching the creature finish rubbing its feathery face.

Amber eyes finally turned his way, the pupils little more than slits. A snarl of anger revealed a set of fang while other features stood out that Jenario had not noticed in the concealing shadows. It looked a bit awkward as it stood upright like a human. Its upper torso was a massive mound of muscle meant for pumping those huge wings. And yet it did an extraordinary thing by folding them into a fade.

Jenario stared, his pain forgotten. The wings…were gone!

“Di cu’ niédo,” that deep-throated sound again as it slowly approached, looking more and more like a feathery gorilla without its wings. “So much noise.”

The translation from one dialect to another nearly stole Jenario’s breath.

“Puny non-Lsahr’ken.”

Jenario’s gaze flicked to the ground for another stone, but there were none close enough to reach. He could only watch his impending doom approach with tears streaming down his cheeks. He pressed himself as tight up against the tree as his body would allow and closed his eyes when a talon raised for the final blow.


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