Fear. The delicious smell of panic, the sweat and heat radiating from the body, the wide-eyed face, that initial cry of shock. Then the running, almost always the running came next, yes. The feeling of power that filled the hunter as its prey darted wildly through overgrown grass and over rocky crags, desperate in its attempt to be rid of its pursuer. No distractions would cross its mind, its primal urges screaming nothing but survival. Just the presence of the hunter was enough to spur the prey into a frenzy.<br/><br/>The mountain goat flitted around rocky boulders and down short cliffs, trying every slight overhang on its course in an attempt to find cover. But its hunter was quick and cunning, his muscles strong and his reflexes sharp, his yellow eyes scanning and tracking as it bounded over stones and around trees, fast on the tail of his target. His serpentine tail whipped viciously behind him, at times streaming around corners and others poised skyward, maintaining precise balance so as not to let the creature lose its swift and hurried footing in the rocky terrain.<br/><br/>The panicked goat made a sudden right turn, and the beast at its rear veered sharply to match. The corner revealed a large grassy plateau, peppered with small boulders and a sheer drop on one side and a towering mountain cliff face on the other. Ahead, a tight path continued onward, one that the starving dragon was determined not to let the boulder-hopper reach. The goat, however, had seen the same passage, and made a wild sprint for it.<br/><br/>The dragon reared up momentarily on its hind legs and lunged forward again, expelling a gout of burning flames from its maw, aimed directly in the course of his prey. The wild grass carpeting the entrance to the pass ignited brilliantly, but the goat was too near and going to fast to adjust course and with expert timing sprung over the wall of fire and scrambled into the tight opening. Undaunted, the wyrm chased after it, crawling over the boulders lining the winding way and following the goat as in pranced beneath him. The beast's mighty jaws snapped down at his prey every chance he got, but the goat was using its smaller size to its advantage, forcing the hunter to remain above until it emerged.<br/><br/>Suddenly, the opening of a small tunnel opened adjacent, and two small flashes of white fur joined the goat, sprinting and bouncing alongside the animal. The dragon slowed his pursuit, and then paused, just as the boulders entered another clearing. The wyvern hesitated for a long moment as he watched the goat and its young dash away, and the growling in his stomach reminded him what a fool he was being.<br/><br/>Resigning himself to the abandoned chase, the dragon lowered himself into the small landing that he had come upon. He took stock: an empty stomach that hadn't seen food in three days; a fire bladder than had just been released in futility; and a clipped left wing, the leathery skin hanging in tatters that would keep him grounded for a few weeks. Food was hard enough to find near the dragon nests as it was-- most animals were smart enough to keep away from predators. Those that remained were snatched up by dragons who could take to the skies, and hunt better than he could.<br/><br/>So why had he let the goats escape? Surely with his luck, the dragon had every reason to pounce on that opportunity. A hundred meters or so, and he could have had the goat for sure, with a couple more he could have saved for leftovers, if he was quick enough. If that was so, why did he let them go? The beast knew why, and he already hated himself for it. He was too soft, too compassionate. It was an old trait among dragons, back when times were easy and food wasn't hard to come by, back when they were threatened by no one, and had no reason not to trust.<br/><br/>But nowadays times were tough, ever since the humans decided that dragons were more valuable dead than alive. For years now they had been sending agents and parties into the mountains to slay his kind, uncaring of the peaceful history between the two great inhabitants of the land. Dozens of dragons had been murdered, left to rot in the hills, and it was not just once that he had stumbled upon the corpse of one of his kin, its teeth wrenched from its jaw.<br/><br/>Those teeth.<br/><br/>The dragon puffed smoke in disgust. It was obvious that it was the blighted humans' discovery of the healing powers of dragon teeth that ignited this wave of violence. One of his kind had been gracious enough to heal a human of his wounds, thus saving his life, and in return all that the dragons received were to be tracked down and killed so they could harvest these valuable fangs from the bodies of his kin. How ironic it was that humans were bringing death so they could obtain that which brought healing and life.<br/><br/>Such was the fate of the dragon's broodmother. Dragons were largely independent creatures, and seldom convened with each other except when the need arose or for mating. They preferred to hunt in their own territories, unchallenged by their brethren. Still, it was not hard to notice when one's neighbor disappeared from the skies of his land, and in recent months and years the skies had grown quite still and empty. Neighbors were the closest thing to families dragons had, and he could not bring himself to dismantle the family of the goat as the humans had done his.<br/><br/>Even then, the threatening sensation of impending doom loomed heavily in the dragon's mind, further cemented by the fact that other dragons had begun hunting in his lands ever since he injured his wing. Did they already count him among the dead?<br/><br/>As the dragon pondered this, he sauntered along absently on the path the goat had tread through the tall grass.<br/><br/>In a different clearing, where hung a knight by his ankle, the foliage rustled ever more furiously as whatever was concealed within drew closer. As the warrior struggled for his blade, the thrashing vegetation led straight for him, until at last the bushes exploded outwards three goats, sprinting as fast as they could. They quickly closed on where the knight hung-- and passed him without a glance. Of course the rock-hoppers were herbivores, and meant the human no harm. In fact, it was quite apparent they were trying to escape some form of harm themselves.<br/><br/>As the knight swayed gently and helplessly by his foot, the stony mountain woods held an air of silent tension. No birds sung, the insects rattled or chirped, and the only real sound was the crisp creaking of the wire the held the unfortunate man.<br/><br/>Then off in the distance, the rustling of the foliage began again. This time it was slower, more calm and controlled, but bigger. Definitely bigger. It seemed as if the entire hillside was descending on the knight's position, and stems and stalks groaned and snapped under the weight of the oncoming visitor. Several long moments hosted an increasing racket, the swishing of branches and leaves nearing the small landing where the knight hung.<br/><br/>A horned, serpentine head broke free of the greenery, and immediately locked its yellow eyes on the dangling human. It continued out of the bush and circled the warrior, its head and eyes still aimed at the trapped victim. The dragon's 30-foot long body swirled around the scene, displaying powerful legs and greenish-brown scales. Small spines jutted like a ridge on each of the wyrm's vertebrae, and terminated in the tip of the tail which was tipped like a bony spear. His wings were mounted with powerful muscles to his back, and thin spiny bone crept down the length of the wings, giving stability and structure to the large expanse of leathery black skin that would catch the wind in flight. The dragon's left wing, however, seemed torn in some sort of injury, which might explain why such a magnificent creature was skulking through the grass. It was clear from his size that the dragon was still a juvenile, or perhaps a young adult, though it was just as clear that this creature was quite dangerous, and would be more than capable of snatching up a few humans and flame-roasting them for a meal.<br/><br/>After a few laps around the knight's predicament, the wyvern paused in front of him, so that he could consider the situation he was in. The dragon was quite pleased with his luck. Hunger still ached his belly, and he could not produce any more of his fire until he had eaten enough to replenish his strength. The sensible thing would be to devour him immediately. Though, the sight of seeing a human in a trap no doubt set by another human tickled him greatly. The human's wiles had backfired on them quite deliciously!<br/><br/>Unable to contain himself, the dragon let loose a low, rumbling chuckle.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Well, human, quite a mess you've walked into, hmm?"</span>the dragon teased with a bellowing voice. It was then the dragon took notice of the man's attire: a fine suit of armor and a sword lying nearby. A warrior, no doubt sent to slay more of his kind in cold blood. Anger bubbled inside the dragon's throat. If it was not for his depleted fire bladder, this would have been enough to send smoke streaming from his nostrils. With eyes gleaming, the dragon uttered his challenge.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"What is your purpose for venturing into my mountains, warrior....?"</span>