He was a handsome Pykiin, an adult just entering into the stage where he was in the prime of his life. He had rich, chocolate brown fur, with a creamy white belly and mask. His hair was a deep shade of maroon, and his eyes were a crystalline blue.
However, while he looked like an adult, and a ladies' man at that, Feudor was nothing like that. He was a prankster and a whiner, and enjoyed terrorizing younger and smaller female Pykiin. He had two friends, but they were really his henchmen: Habeelf, a skinny olive green Pykiin with a putrid breath, and Jeglih, a pudgy orange Pykiin with long, spiky hair.
The three were currently sitting around an elderly blue Pykiin, listening to his stories about his young days, back when he wasn't blind and partially deaf and one of his paws wasn't twisted and mangled. Just like when they were adolescents, they really weren't listening to what the old male was saying, but they were flicking pebbles back and forth at each other.
When, suddenly, they heard a word that made them snap to attention.
The word was "battle", and none of them could ignore a chance to hear about a fight. Sitting a little straighter, with their ears perked towards the Old One, they found them lost in the story.
Back when it rained every moon and the sun never scorched our backs to the point of burns, there lived a serpent who was called Cendehey-vaethros. Her name meant something very special in an ancient language, but that knowledge has been long lost to us. She was a somewhat peaceful creature: while she was carnivorous, she had never harmed a hair on a Pykiin's back. So the Council of Four, our leaders...The Old One paused, his eyes closing as he remembered back when there had been four rulers, not one. When a pale yellow Pykiin sniffed impatiently, he opened his sightless eyes again and went on.
...the Council of Four let our youngest sleep in the shadows of the serpent's cave, and romp around her as she slept. But one day, things changed.
When I and my siblings were barely four moons old, my brother fell from a rock to his death. Cendehey-vaethros was starving from a long, cold winter, where her natural prey had died. So she had done something horrible, yet inevitable, in her state: She had partaken of Pykiin flesh. Once she had tasted it, there was an insatiable hunger for Pykiin flesh. It was like an incurable disease; she could not rid herself of it. One day, this hunger got the better of her, and she cornered a young adolescent and ripped him apart.
No longer trusted, and with the Pykiin's valley so heavily guarded, she knew that there would no longer be an easy snack for her. So she disappeared into the wilderness, into the rocky crags that she had come from. She was thought to be dead. However, most now believe that she was only training for the day that she could start hunting and eating Pykiin freely.
While the guards were not removed, they were lessened and spread further apart. So it took almost a week for other guards and the main Pykiin den area to receive news that one of the outlying guard's bones had been found. Not a scrap of meat or muscle was left, and most of the bones had been cracked open.
Cendehey-vaethros's reign of death had started at midnight on Hallow's Eve.
For exactly one year, she roamed on the outskirts of Pykiin Valley. If she ever caught a Pykiin away from the others, he or she would not ever be seen again. Several bands of three or four strong, powerful males or females were sent out, only to never return, or for one to return with a mortal wound and die at the paws of his or her children or mate.
Then, on the next Hallow's Eve, a band of ten were sent out. They had orders to destroy the fanged monster or not come back. They searched for hours, and fifteen minutes before midnight, they found her staring up at a peculiarly blood-red moon.
Three of the Pykiin in the group foolishly attacked her, and they were flung away, all meeting their deaths in one way or another as they tumbled over the lip of the cliff and rolled across jagged rocks. The final seven faced off against her. Another three were brought down before anyone had gotten so much as a scratch on her. Then finally... Finally, one of the males, me, landed a blow.He paused, and with a paw he traced the line of the wound on his own head.
It started under her right eye and curved around to end directly behind her right ear. This cut made her go into a fit of rage, but before we could do anything, the blood-red moon seemed to twinkle, and suddenly, we were all frozen in place, including that monster, Cendehey-vaethros. Slowly, her body began to fade from sight. But when only her outline and a sparkling blue eye was left, her chilling, disembodied voice echoed from all around us.
"When the moon is blood-red
And I'm seventy-five years dead
The light will twinkle
And a year will be full of dread"
While now one would snicker at her dreadful poetry, you must try to understand our horror, and yet fascination, with her strange magic. When released from the magical paralysis, we raced home and spread the news. Most were pleased. Almost all of them would be dead in seventy-five years, and those who weren't would be able to pass on this knowledge.He paused with a sigh.
Life went on. Pykiin died and Pykiin were born. And this horror story slowly faded from the minds of those not directly affected by it. Soon, only three were left who remembered it: me, Galayza, and Defedert.Feudor flinched. His elderly grandparents, Galayza and Defedert, remembered? And they had not told him before they had together in a brush fire?
"Tomorrow, it will be exactly seventy-five years since she left," croaked the Old One, losing his 'story-teller voice' as he slumped down with his head on his paws.
He stared silently at a wall in the den for several minutes, until Habeelf began to shift restlessly.
"Go!" snapped the old Pykiin harshly.
Muttering apologies, the trio raced to get out of the den.
The rest of that day and the next day after that were spent preparing for the midnight celebration of Hallow's Eve. For once, Habeelf's breath did not smell like rotten eggs, and Jeglih's hair lay smooth on his back. And Feudor's ears were missing the mud that could usually be found behind them, and his fur had no knots in it. After all, this was the first time they were able to take part in the
adult's celebration, and they wanted to look nice... or, at the very least, presentable.
Dusk had finally fallen over the valley, and all of the adult Pykiin were gathered near the Dryad and the river. To an adolescent, this celebration was nothing amazing. A younger Pykiin's Hallow's Eve night was filled with spooky stories and delicious treats. But the adult's had their own way of celebrating. Long rocks were covered in strange and exotic fruits, vegetables, and insects. If you didn't want to drink water from the river, there was a bowl-shaped rock filled with berry juice.
And the Pykiin themselves were interesting, too. Females sat together, gossiping about others. Males were also in groups, mostly daring eachother to dunk a fellow Pykiin in the river, or walk up to a female and talk to her. And, finally, some males were surrounded by adoring females, or some females surrounded by loving males. Feudor was one of those males. He was surrounded by four females of varying colors, all who were attempting to woo him. Habeelf and Jeglih were behind a bush, trying to guess which female Feudor liked better.
As the moon steadily rose, it became more and more orange. Now, it hung midway in the sky and was an unnatural copper color. However, as it began to rise even higher, it became redder. So right as the old day ended and a new day started, it was redder than blood.
Feudor happened to glance up just at midnight, when the moon began to twinkle. Immediately, all in the valley, save for the Dryad, were seized by a magical, unstoppable paralysis. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of silver and blue in the middle of the ring of revelers. And then, they were released from their frozen states, only to be frozen in terror mere moments later.
Cendehey-vaethros had returned.
Her scales were bright white in color, with silver streaks along the lethally sharp edges of her scales. The frills on the back of her neck were icy blue in color, and her creamy spikes and teeth had dark red flecks on them. Her eyes were a fierce, gleaming yellow, and the frilly things on the back of her neck and head were dark blue in color. This serpent was terrifying sight to behold.
With a shriek that caused several Pykiin to howl in pain and stumble backwards in shock, Cendehey-vaethros leaped forward on spindly legs. Her intended prey? Feudor.
Right before her lethal claws ended his life, Feudor took off running. He ran straight to the Dryad and cowered in the shade of her leaves, while the Dryad swung her branches threateningly. The serpent ignored the branches and swooped down at the Pykiin, missing by the width of a hair. As the serpent readied herself for another swoop, Feudor looked up at a branch. If he could get up there, maybe he could jump onto her back as she swooped down.
Muttering an apology to the Dryad he leaped into the air, landing gracefully on the tree limb like a cat. Confused, the serpent just hovered there, beating flimsy wings. Then, it let an earsplitting roar. Involuntarily, Feudor took a step back... And found himself teetering on the edge.
Panicking, he gripped on tightly as he feel, and ended up dangling, with one hind-paw hanging in midair while his other three paws gripped tightly onto the branch. He was horrified by the long gouges his claws made, which oozed a red liquid that was the Dryad's blood and sap. But his attention was diverted when the great serpent's head burst out of the canopy of branches and leaves. With a snarl, it reached out and sliced into one of Feudor's forepaws.
"...Eeeeah!"
His fore-paw only dangled by a little bit of furry skin. The shock deadened the pain as he numbly stared at the limp paw. Then, suddenly, he was falling... falling... and hitting the ground, so hard that the breath was knocked out of him and he saw stars. Feudor was pressed back into the dirt, and he could smell the breath of Cendehey-vaethros. Strangely, it smelled like ice and salt water, rather than the disgusting stench he thought it would be. He knew that this was the end, when suddenly...
The weight was lifted off of him. He blinked his slightly glazed eyes to see the serpent rolling away from him, with something fiercely attacking. Then, he drifted off into a blissful blackness.
---|---|---
It was almost a week later. Feudor had only woken up four days ago, and since then, he had been putting together bits and pieces of what had happened once he had fainted. Another Pykiin had suddenly appeared from the sidelines and had barreled into the serpent's side, knocking it away from him and everyone else. They had grappled for a few minutes, until, finally, the serpent fell limp. A deadly blow to the neck had done its job. But, apparently, the attacker suffered, too. The injuries wee too much for his savior's frail body, and he succumbed to death, too. That was when they made a startling discovery.
Feudor's savior was the Old One.
The Old One! But he was old, and his eyes were clouded over in blindness. How could he have done this? He was almost unable to believe it. However, every onlooker insisted that, right before he died, the Old One had
vivid green eyes, and they were not misty-looking at all.
There was some
very strange magic going on around here. Aside from this gift of sight, given to someone who had lost it long ago, strange shrieks and flashes of pale blue light were heard and seen on the far side of the valley. When investigated, nothing out of the ordinary was found.
Currently, Feudor was sitting in the shade of the Dryad. Ignoring the throbbing, burning pain in the stump that had once been his right fore-paw, he had staggered out of his den to be alone with his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about the Old One's story. Feudor couldn't help hoping that the serpent was truly dead and would never return. But deep down, he realized that there was evil magic like there was good, and that Cendehey-vaethros, or another serpent, could easily come, since the old Pykiin had said that a serpent would be back, for one year, every... every...
"Stink bug!" he snarled, slamming his left fore-paw on the ground. He could not remember how long in between the serpent's comings and goings. A nearby adolescent looked up, startled, and crept away.
No matter what, I must pass on my story, and the Old One's, thought Feudor to himself fiercely, watching Habeelf and Jeglih with their new 'friends'. They had abandoned him as soon as they realized his tricking, or even playing, days were over.
I cannot allow the next generation to be unaware of the dangers of life.
