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As the edge of the clearing came into view, she reasoned that the creature in the well must have some motivation for keeping her alive, else he wouldn’t have treated her wounds, or tucked her into his sleeping pallet so carefully. Would he defend her, if he felt she was in danger, or would he rend her flesh as punishment for her escape? Surely a beast like that had fangs and claws. Maybe even venom, like a serpent? She shivered, as much from the furious turning of her own imagination as the night’s chill and her body’s ache. She’d have to get the beast’s attention, if this truly insane mess of a plan had any chance of working long enough for her escape. The idiot brigands would be occupied with the beast, the beast would be occupied with the idiots, she’d slip away in the scuffle. Simple. It could work.
Minutes later, the well came into view, and a sharp intake of breath sounded behind Tira - it seemed neither man had really believed she was telling the truth. Taking advantage of their momentary distraction, she pulled in a deep breath, getting ready to scream. Before she could make a sound, Sam’s free hand, reeking of meat-grease and sour ale, clapped over her mouth firmly and the knife reasserted itself at her lower back. “Hold your tongue, wench. Legend says the well guardian doesn’t like noise.”
Kent snorted from atop the horse, which he’d been riding in their wake, Tira’s stolen rucksack wedged behind him. “Superstitious wretch. Get a pair o’ bollocks Sam, ain’t nothin down there but dirty water, mark my word. Fool’s errand, this.”
Sam growled and drew a hand down through the air, indicating for Kent to lower his voice, answering in a quiet tone as oily as his unkempt hair. “Well the well’s here, ain’t it? Dirty little thief found in a day what none ‘a our crew managed in Gods’ know how long.”
Sam clucked his tongue irritably, shoving Tira towards the well as if to punctuate his declaration, the wall hitting her squarely in the stomach and forcing her to curl over the top edge. His voice was a cautious hiss. “Now get your ass down there, tart. We’ll make off with the treasure while the guardian’s gnawing your birdy little bones.”
Tira spun, shooting Sam a look of irritation in the moonlight, and Kent snapped from atop the horse, leaning over the saddle and squinting. “Eh! Sammy boy - girl’s got something in her bubbies. Look.”
Kent stabbed a finger down towards Tira’s bodice, eliciting a frustrated groan from her - the top edge of the coin now winked in the moonlight like a greedy beacon, forced up by her stumble. Furious that she’d be forced tohopefullyflee without even that small treasure, she yanked it out and flashed the coin peevishly, giving her voice a breathy, tavern-girl tone of mockery. “Ohthislittle thing? WellI wishthe well guardian would…”
Tira yelped in alarm, cutting off as Sam’s eyes lit up with greed and Kent scurried down from the saddle, both lunging at the prize in her fingertips. Rapidly deciding on a salted earth policy in terms of her treasure, she flipped more money than she’d ever held in her life over her shoulder, down into the well. After a moment’s hesitation, she also shoved the makeshift grappling hook - the only way back down - off the ledge behind her for good measure. There. Nowno onecould climb down into the well, and hopefully the noise would wake the beast.
The raucous clank and crash of the pulley was followed by the gentletinkandplunkof the coin into the shallow pool far below, both sounds echoing off the stone and filling the clearing. A rushing sort of sound, like a bag of clothes being dragged across wet cobblestones, came shortly after.
Then came a growl that reverberated in Tira’s arms and chest, tightening her nipples under her bodice with shock, awe, and an imminent sense of danger.The well guardian was awake.
Taloned, lightly-scaled fingers crested the well-wall beside her faster than she’d thought possible, followed by the handsome visage of the half-serpent man she’d escaped earlier. His turquoise gaze glowed alongside little specks of freckled gold, scattered like stars across his skin in the moonlight. His eyes were blue, she thought numbly.
Death had come for her with beautiful blue eyes.
“Fuckme,” she breathed, terror setting her heart racing faster than a rabbit’s.
A rumbling growl sounded again, and the white flash of fangs glittered where the strange man parted his plush lips. Was he….smiling?
Tira sucked in a breath, fingers digging into the well edge, frozen in fear like the two idiots behind her. The horse, being the only sensible creature in the clearing, reared up and bolted at the sight of a man emerging from the well, dumping Tira’s rucksack into a patch of moss as his hooves thundered a hasty retreat. Sam and Kent grasped at each other’s filthy sleeves, gaping at the creature that had emerged from the well in front of them, stuttering in shock.
“As you command.” The creature’s deep voice purred the response, tinged with the warmth of humor. His words echoed off the walls of the well as he swiftly wrapped a muscled arm around Tira’s waist, dragging her backwards over the edge and down into the well without hesitation.
Moss-fang had woken groggily,entirely unused to having his post-wish slumber disturbed. He’d had two coins in short order, after all, which meant he should have been completely sated and deeply asleep for many days. Thefeeling, however, had pulled him from the depths of dreams into the cocoon of his subterranean home.
He grumbled with irritation, settling his head down against a pillow, determined to get back to sleep. Sounds rang out before he could even try - an unfamiliar cacophony of clanging metal, followed by a familiar noise that made his heart lift with happiness. Acoin. Awish. It was in the water, but that was alright, he’d retrieve it and add it to the pile to extend his meager stores. Thefeelingbloomed like a bonfire springing to life, but it felt…wrong. Unfinished, somehow, even with the coin already in the water.
Then, like a blacksmith hammering an errant chain link into place, everything snapped to rightness. Thefeelingpulled him irresistibly up the well cistern to face the woman who’d escaped, finishing amost unusualwish with a stunned expression as their eyes met. And to think, she hadn’t even seen what she’d just asked for - well, that is, unless she’d peered under the covers of his pallet while he’d been asleep, the daring little thing. He was suitably impressed she’d managed to escape the well without waking him, as he was a notoriously light sleeper. His uncharacteristic coin-glut - two, in a day! - likely had something to do with that, though.
As he waved a hand to light the torches ringing around his home, Moss-fang pushed aside the visceral displeasure of knowing two other humans were inhisclearing, their presence uncomfortable and weighty. An illogical pang of betrayal undercut it all, knowing the woman he’d saved must have led them here. He had no right to expect loyalty from the little human, but it still stung to have his kindness repaid thusly. It further soured his mood when, reaching the bottom of his well, he spotted one of his own coins winking up through the water. She’d stolen from him, too?
Before his anger could bloom further, the wish itched at him, tightening his bracers and demanding he fulfill his destiny, shoving out all other considerations. As he set the struggling woman down on the wide, dry ring of his well’s floor, faint scuttling and rustling sounded overhead. The two men were thrashing their way out of the clearing, likely in pursuit of their more intelligent steed, and that made Moss-fang’s shoulders drop in relief. He didn’t like company, or change.
Not usually, anyway.
But the pretty human had spoken a wish he’d never heard before, a novel desire he found himself extremely eager to fulfill. While he wasn’t the most fearsome of dragons, nor the most intimidating of djinn, Moss-fang was still a monster by the standards in the world above. His eyes were rimmed in tiny scales, his fangs visible when he spoke and smiled. Small, blunt talons crested each fingertip, his hands lined with a faint pattern of scales like a textured veil. His lower half, a combination of dragon tail and djinn-smoke, curled and moved like a massive serpent, edged in translucent, fluttering fins. He had a terrible sort of beauty, he knew, but it was not one that had ever, as far as he knew, turned the head of a human.
Beneath the wrap-like swath of fabric he kept fastened at his hips, Moss-fang was fashioned as a man might be, albeit with a bit more sword in his scabbard than a non-magical creature would have. The little human would discover that soon enough, he thought with a frisson of satisfaction.
The quarry in question stumbled back away from him, catching her boot-sole in the edge of the linens that lined his nest and sitting down hard, her eyes never leaving him. Moss-fang frowned at the dark, damp patch at the edge of her hair, his earlier ministrations apparently no longer stemming the slow bleeding. He plucked a gleaming coin from his pile of cleansed discs and crossed the space to her, grasping her wrist and pressing the golden round into her palm.
She turned wide eyes on him, stammering, her gaze darting from his face, to his scaled hand, to his tail and back again. “I-I-forgive me, guardian. You are angry at my theft, and I deserve your ire, but please don’t devour me - I-I can serve as your handmaiden, or bring you tribute, though I grant it will not be as fine as-” Her fingers closed and opened reflexively around the coin in her palm as she gave it a guilty glance.
Moss-fang laughed loudly, his voice echoing off the walls. “Little sovereign, I will not devour you unless youwishme to. Right now, however, I need you to wish for healing. I am a brute only in strength, not manner - my fathers did not raise me as a beast. I will not fulfill your first wish unless I’m certain you have a clear mind and determined…heart.”
She gasped as he offered human speech, and Moss-fang pushed down a snap of annoyance. Yes, he had monstrous features, but the all-too-common human assumption that he was some sort of rampaging, murderous demon was insulting. When Tira hesitated, seemingly confused at his simple demand, Moss-fang smiled with glinting fangs, reaching out and cupping her hand in his own. Giving her an encouraging nod, he closed her fingers over the disc in her palm, guiding her like a child.
He didn’t think it was possible for the woman’s eyes to get any wider, but they certainly did at his touch. Her voice caught in her throat, barely a whisper, but she did as she was bidden, touching her wounded head gingerly with her free hand. “I-wish for…healing?”
If thefeelinghad been bliss from the simple tumble of the coin down his well, this - being in contact with the wisher, looking her in the eyes - this wasecstasy. A pleased groan rumbled through Moss-fang’s throat, his hand tightening over the woman’s own as his power rose to meet her desires. The wish was broad enough that he took liberties, the wound vanishing around hair made newly clean and soft, an old ache in her shoulder evaporating, along with a long, jagged scar along the side of her knee that he sensed pulled uncomfortably when she crouched.
