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The Vixen and the Dragon part 4

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I was surprised when I arrived at Konrad's to not see Foxy. From what I had heard, he was always punctual, never late and usually had a little time to spare. If it were possible to sympathise with such a character, I would have felt slightly worried about him.
"Hey, Konrad, where's Foxy?" I asked, voice a shade too anxious for Konrad to take me seriously.
"Don't tell me you're actually worried about the bastard?"
"No, I just sent him off with a note for my father. Don't jump to such conclusions."
Konrad seemed rather disappointed by my reply.
"It's a shame, nobody's there for the poor guy."
"Why?"
"Well, he's only ever had one friend, and when she went, she was gone. Can't help but hope he'll find someone else."
As I was about to answer, Foxy stormed in again, ensuring that a cold gust of wind had stirred the languid atmosphere.
"You people get off your backsides and clean this mess up," he snarled. A small trickle of blood dripped from his right arm. He dusted off his boots and neatened his tunic, then sat himself down in front of the hearth.
"What happened?"
He frowned, and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a long gash across his upper arm. It was still fresh, and had stained the clean white of his shirt too much for it to be salvaged.
"When people become powerful, Fräulein, others disagree with their ways. And when the power subsides, so does the support from all the people."
Konrad wrung out a wet cloth and splashed some alcohol onto the soldier's arm. Foxy's constant writhing made the job rather clumsy, but in the end he succeeded in binding his arm.
"You get into fights all the time," Konrad sighed. "What was the cause of this one?"
"Are you a recidivist or something?" I laughed, winning a cold glare from Foxy.
"Ignoring last comment, I can truly say that I didn't start this fight."
"What?" Konrad spluttered, spilling milk onto the flagged floor.
"Oh, don't act so surprised. Some delinquent in the street saw my face and came at me with a switch knife. How inconsiderate can you belligerent provincials be? Also, where's Wolfgang? He's the only sane person in this city."
I realised that there was no sign of the officer, save for the dust-flecked beer he had left on the table.
"Konrad, didn't he go out to buy pastries?" I asked, voice wavering a little. The wolf glanced at the door, waiting for the officer to burst in and start complaining about the price of essentials these days.
"He should be coming back now. He's probably stuck in a line, you know how crowded cities get."
Foxy shrugged, refusing the sweetmeats that Konrad had offered him.
"The pretty little wrappings don't fool me, those are the most revolting things in this backwards little city. I'm better off eating soap. Have your candies not improved at all since the War?"
"No, the city's too caught up in other affairs. Blitz's makes the best candies, if you want fancy ones, waste your money there."
Foxy groaned, leaning back in his chair. I was surprised it hadn't broken, woodworm had scarred the surface of the pine, which was of poor quality to begin with.
"Well, where did these delightful little morsels come from then?"
"The blessing known as Siegfried's. At the marketplace, that's where his stall is."
"And the cost?" I asked, resting my head on my palm.
"5 coppers for a batch. Look, they're for display. I don't expect anyone to eat them."
"Thank gods you don't have a Southerner here, do you know how offensive these things are?" Foxy said, examining the shimmery paper wrappings. "Erstenplatz got their recipe from the South. It's all they make."

There was a loud thump at the door, leaving everyone stiff as startled rabbits. My heart pounded as a figure stumbled in, fur-lined coat draped over his shoulders.
"Ah, Wolfgang. What sweets are your favourite?"
The policeman raised an eyebrow whilst kicking the ice off his boots.
"Also, where've you been? You made me think that I'd be stuck in this hellhole with these idiots."
He neatened his fur in the large mirror atop the mantelpiece, dusting off the snow which was strewn across his eyelashes.
"I was stuck in a line, first of all," he explained, carelessly dumping the pastries on the table. "Then I was called up to the street, they were having trouble with keeping everyone in order. Not as many people this year, I'd say they've all gone to Erstenplatz. Anyway, here are your pastries."

Heat embraced the stagnant air. Flames licked the bundle of fresh cedar in the hearth, which was spitting red-hot cinders onto the rug. The room was silent, save the crackle of the fire and the flaky crunch of pastries. A smell tingled in my nose, of pine and honey, spices and boiling milk. The toll of the bells sounded, echoing throughout the streets, and the deep-throated bark of a dog rung throughout the alleys. Daylight crept into the room through the small fogged window, etched with ice, but other than that the only light was from the warm glow of the fire.

The rest of the sunlit hours were spent reading, from the Vulpasian propaganda fit for fire kindling to great bestiaries alive with fanciful illustrations. I highly doubted that I'd ever have a chance to see those creatures - even a glimpse of one, a flash of one's tail, perhaps. Foxy stuffed his pipe with tobacco once again, drawing my attention from the book and to earlier that day when I'd given him my note.
"Foxy?"
"Yes, Fräulein?"
"I was wondering whether you'd given my father that note."
He looked up from the saga he was reading, and his eyes glimmered like a child's when they've done their chores.
"Of course! Yes! Here's the note he sent back."
He handed me a slip of parchment, unarguably neater than the one that I had given Father.

"Dear Yseult,
I'm glad you're well, this man you're with seems nice. I hope you have a good time in Königżamek. Mama and I have heard that the college for the dragoons is there, I can only assume that's where you've been planning to go to. Take care when travelling there, I've heard the wolves are more bloodthirsty than ours. We're planning on going to Königżamek when you're back, so I hope you can show us around.
Love, Papa."

I grimaced. Foxy had never told me about the dragoons.
"Foxy..."
"Yes?" His face was turned towards the frozen blue of the window, and his voice was hardly louder than a murmur.
"Will you come to Lódschloss with me?"
He answered me with a quick nod, then returned his gaze to the window. I hadn't noticed how large the wound was, and had no idea of how much it hurt him.
"As long as you let me find someone, of course. Why do you want to go to the place anyway? It's not interesting in the least."
"I was looking for a dragon. I've wanted to see one my entire life, and now I've heard that there's a sighting around Lódschloss."
His ears pricked up and his eyes flashed. He stood up, a smirk playing on his lips, face glowing with interest and excitement.
"A dragon, you say?"
"Yes," I stuttered, clenching my fists. I could see that he had noticed the slight quaver in my voice, so strode back to his seat and assumed a slightly less intimidating pose.
"Then I have to come with you. We'll be going tomorrow, before Wolfgang goes on shift and just after the bell tolls."
"We need to ask Konrad for our papers, don't forget."
"KONRAD. Wake up."
The wolf scrambled to his feet, stretching away the post-nap languidness.
"Yes, sirrah?"
"I need my papers, and her money. Have you got them?"
He rummaged around the table, scattering parchment and ink bottles left and right. He held a fine sheet of vellum up to the light, penned with extraordinary skill, and handed it to Foxy.
"There, it now says that since you fought in the War, you are able to enter Erstenplatz. It also says that you own a cake shop."
"Why?"
"Generic profession."
"I see. Will Lódschloss let me in?"
"As long as you're with her. They're becoming a little more lenient now."

The bells chimed nine times, and the distant murmur of guards' voices could be heard through the door. Snow was banked against the walls and windows, and a cold wind seeped through the cracks in the wooden frames. The fire was but a smoulder now, smothered by ashes. I stoked it, feeding more cedar to the hungry flames, watching as they spat at the mossy logs and brazenly roared along their sides. The heat made my eyes water, and brought a tingling to my frigid fingertips.
"Off to bed, we're leaving early," Foxy announced.
So with a stein of warm spiced milk, I crawled under the covers yet again, drawing them up close so as to protect myself from the rodents.
"Gute Nacht," mumbled Foxy.
"Gute Nacht."

It was cold the next morning. Ice paved the streets and snow caked the roof, and I could hear the crunch of jackboots in the snow. I awoke to heavy darkness and cold toes, as the fire was but a smoulder. There was the early morning chirrup of birds, flocking around the glow of fire-bright windows. Padding into the other room, I was greeted by Foxy, sipping warm milk from a tankard, reading post-war propaganda.
"Hallo, Fräulein. Had a little lie-in, did you?"
He smirked, and helped himself to some candies from a small leather pouch. I drew up a chair, and seated myself opposite.
"I suppose you would think so, if you're up this early every day."
"Ha ha. Well, if you're hungry, take one of those sweets, they're safe to eat. From Blitz's. We'll be going once I've finished reading this hilarious pulp."

The carriage was much too expensive. We weren't going to stay in Lódschloss for long, just long enough to see the dragon, so we had no need for funds there. The wheels slid and the sure-footed horses tripped on the ice. Fur blankets and woollens were draped across our laps, and the chassis of the wagon creaked under the weight of ten passengers. A winter mist shrouded the way ahead, and feathery snow masked the treacherous ravines and jagged rocks. Foxy propped his arm up on the length of the sideboard, gazing out to snowy hills and feeling his country's breeze on his fur.
"So, what do you do in the Highlands?"
Foxy shrugged, and slicked his fur back.
"You don't just fist fight and eat tortes all day, do you?"
He turned round to me, nearly laughing at the satire of his kingdom.
"Well, while those two enjoyable activities do take up a considerable amount of time, we have other matters to attend to."
"Like what?" I asked, as we neared our first stop.
"Like hunting boar and raiding neighbours. The sort of things civilised people do, nowadays."
"And I assume that they all dress like you?"
The Schwarzfelder glanced at his boots and neatly embroidered coat cuffs.
"No, not everyone can afford the leather trousers."

The carriage travelled to many stops, from unmemorable Reigenplatz to the stunningly unremarkable town of Úlfurswald. Such small towns weren't marked on my map, for they could hardly have had any resources of value. Rolling Northern hills had never appealed to Foxy, I soon came to realise. In fact, he seemed to despise these towns more than he did Żołdakhaus.
"I hope Lódschloss has more to offer," he began, as our ride departed from yet another rural village. "I wouldn't be surprised if these little rogues were completely illiterate."
"You're incredibly arrogant, you know," I replied, arms folded.
"As any Feltori should be."
The wagon began to slow, and a pair of Eastern cavalrymen flanked its sides. I strained my eyes to see the distant gates of Lódschloss, a country in its own right.
"So, these backwards renegades have founded their own nation, from only one city? I'm not sure whether they're brave or stupid."
I nodded, wondering the same thing. The wagon was nearly empty now, save for a couple of merchants and us, of course. The countryside was certainly wonderful, beautiful, some may say. Fog shimmered on the horizon and on the glassy river beside the track.
"So, why did you want to come to Lódschloss anyway? Didn't you want to go to Erstenplatz?"
"We all have our reasons, I suppose," he replied, brushing away my question with a flick of the wrist.
"Does it have anything to do with dragons?"
"No..."
"Then why were you so excited when I mentioned them? Surely you're just like Wolfgang."
He raised his eyebrow at me. Funny, I would've thought he'd be well informed.
"How?"
"Y'know, abiding by rules all the time, being scared of dragons..."
His eyes gleamed beneath his snow-strewn eyelashes. "Fräulein, as my devoted admirer, I would've thought you'd know that that is not the case."
I wriggled a little in my seat.
"You'll see why I'm excited once we get there. Now be quiet."

We were brought to a halt by uniformed officers before we reached the gates. A handful were mounted on horses, whilst a small platoon checked our papers. I handed mine over, and briefly exchanged glances with Foxy. I could feel my broadcloth coat growing much warmer. The soldier's stern blue eyes studied the pages, and his black-gloved hands held them up to the dim sunlight.
"Mademoiselle?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Where are you from?"
Foxy's eyes widened, shooting shifty glances left and right. The carriage had left our pockets half-empty and certainly had no intention of travelling the same road back.
"I was born in Eisengród," I choked. "Though my mother is from Lódschloss."
"And your mother's name is...?"
"Friedel Edelweg, sir."
He gave an approving nod, and flicked through the papers one last time. "Ah, so that makes you Yseult Vindreiter. You're free to go."
Foxy heaved a sigh and leant back. The officer knocked on the side of the wagon, and we trundled on, escort in close pursuit.

The gates of the city stood bold and brazen against the snow. They cast long, lavender shadows onto the ground, and dwarfed the wagon as the horses trotted past them. Guards dressed in scarlet tabards bowed their heads as we entered, halberds gleaming menacingly in the cold sunlight. A congregation filed out of the temple soon after our ride drew up, flooding the streets and hollering across to one another in their own dialect. Having been brought up with the standard speech, Foxy and I had almost no idea what they were hollering about.
"Ach... These people are so rowdy, I'm surprised that they've lasted this long," Foxy grumbled.
The people were tamed by a small police force. They carved a path through the crowd, kicking and stepping over those who fell in their way.
"Foxy, weren't you in the police?"
"Secret police, big difference."

We shoved our way past flustered civilians and snaked through the chaos, finding ourselves atop the grey stone steps of a tavern. Fur and velvet coat-hems brushed against our arms, and from our post we were able to see the whole of the street. The air was crisp and tingled in our noses, and the morning fog had faded to all but a whisper. The sleepy winter sun smeared our faces with ruddy light, and crept up past the mountains as the morning drew on further. The chatter of voices was shattered by the brazen toll of the bell, and the street was left abandoned once everyone had entered their workplaces.
"Ah, look at this," Foxy said, grinning wide. "They must've inherited it from their Highland kin. I'm so proud, what efficiency!"
The guards changed stations and the police melted into the darkness of the alleys. I dragged Foxy into the tavern, so as to prevent the horses being spooked by his shouting, and to avoid potential arrest from him doing so. We were greeted by a warm blaze and honey-sweet smells wafting over from the cast iron pot in the fire. At a table lit by flickering firelight, we discussed our plans for dragon-hunting.
"So," I began, downing a flagon of cider. "You said you'd tell me why you were excited."
The Feltori leant back in his chair, and a small smirk lit up his face.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? Well then, here we go.
You know very well that one can hardly travel this world without a weapon, yes?"
I nodded, wishing for no more questions.
"Good. A while ago, I travelled here from the Wastelands, planning on catching a ride to Schwarzfeld, since there are no villages capable of taking me there, where I was. I remember that day clearly now - grass which grew thick as a lion's mane, gentle rains and caressing breezes. A fine Earth Season day, the sun warming up the mountains and valleys, and in Schwarzfeld our summers are always mild. I wanted to see the cornflowers at their finest - bright blue against the green alpine fields.
My sword is most probably more famous than I. A dragon trapped in an adamant blade is sure to be the most sought-after companion, despite the quarrels. I would never give Thorrefrkil up for anything.
Of course, trust Feltori nature. After perhaps a little too much anthem-singing and drinking, I lost my sword in a brawl, against some half-wit who's bite just so happened to be worse than his bark. Can't remember his name, he wasn't a Feltori. Not that I care. My point is that my dragon is on the loose. And now you say there's a sighting near here, I need to find Thorrefrkil."
I could do nothing but raise an eyebrow. "So... the dragon is... your dragon?"
"Yes, I see that my information is of no use to you? It is unable to penetrate your thick skull?"
"There's no need to be so stuck up. Anyway, where do you suspect Thorrefrkil is?"
He shrugged, and stuffed his pipe with pungent tobacco.
"Probably around the walls, he's pretty lazy, if you ask me."
I glanced around the room, at mounted antlers and stretched hides adorning the walls.
"What does he eat? Venison?"
"Don't really know, he never told me. Venison should work, I suppose."
I leant back in my chair, cradling my tin flagon in my hands. "For now, we have our beer, so we'll rest for a little while. After all, it's still early."
"Early for you," he replied, wiping the bitter foam from his snout.

We set off to find Thorrrefrkil. We scaled the tall towers and gazed out to the frozen plains from the parapet, it had some sort of romantic air to it. A blue sheen glimmered on the snow. Gold-ruffed laburnum and wild roses crept up the walls, withering from the bite of the frost and harsh winter.
"See, each city has a flower, and each city keeps the flowers at their finest," Foxy said, looking at his boots. "But Schwarzfeld looks after them the best."

Foxy snapped out of reminiscing about cornflowers. At least, I assumed that, he seemed to miss his town so much. I couldn't muster up the courage to ask why he hadn't gone there as a child, why he was so attached yet never returned there until he had come of age.
"Still no sign of him," he sighed. "I may have to find another sword. After all, it's the skill of the wielder which wins the battle in the end."
"But with cheap iron, the wielder will be lost. We're finding him, no worries. I want to see a dragon and you want your dragon back. Nothing ever happens immediately."
A cold wind mounted, forcing us to seek refuge in one of the grey stone towers.
"Damn... now it's cold. We need new coats."
"We're only in this city for a little while."
A small torch flickered as the wind crept in through the doorway. Straw was strewn across the floor, and while there was a fire, it proved useless in keeping us warm. The deadened atmosphere was roused by a distant shriek, long and loud. We charged through the gales and set our gaze to a huge dragon, many miles away, wheeling round and round in the cloud-brindled sky.
"Is that Thorrefrkil?" I asked, awestruck.
Foxy ran his fingers through his fur. A smirk played on his lips. "Yes. Yes it is."
"Thorrefrkil!" He hollered. "Thorrefrkil! It's me! Foxy!"
The beast turned its head to us, and plummeted through the air, towards the outstretched arms of Foxy.
"Thorrefrkil! Where've you been?"
My eyes widened in surprise. Before me stood a perfectly small dragon, so small that one could dare to describe it as 'cute'. It was beautiful, not in the same way as the flowers, but still beautiful. Its ruddy scales shone with a pearly sheen, finer than any mosaic. Its eyes darted from me to Foxy, molten amber and rimmed with tiny scarlet scales. No stag or wolf could match it.
"With the most ghastly man. I often think Feltori are horrific, but this human was worse. I would've never expected such terrible hospitality from one of Orlanthi kind."
"Blame yourself, you have wings. You could have left anytime you wanted to."

I grew tired of their bickering. I returned to where I had overlooked the gentle slopes of the hills, and rested my sleepy head on my gloved hands. The cold and morning grogginess had made my eyes bleary, and the long walk around the walls had taken its toll on my feet. I couldn't believe that I had met my first dragon. Of course, I was a little disappointed. In my father's stories the dragons always seemed to have treasure, and they'd be vast creatures, wings spread out in a thousand colours.

"Ah, Fräulein. Please excuse us, he is as unpleasant - perhaps even more so - as a Provincial. He's alright, once you know him well enough."
He rested his elbows on the wall. He too looked out to the hills, where shafts of golden sunlight had streaked the white and lilac of the snow.
"You know, I think I may come back here sometime. It's quite a pleasant place."
I nodded, knowing nothing but of how cold it was.
"You will come back with me to Żołdakhaus, yes? Wolfgang would like to see you again. He hopes to see you every year."
"Of course I'll come back with you, you still need to tell me about the hussars," I replied, smiling. I hardly took my eyes off the sun. It looked different here, the red sun in Eisengród was more violent.
My comment had seemed to conjure a faint smile to his face. "Of course. Then I'll tell you about the temple, and the cakes. I've lived there long enough to know."
Thorrefrkil had perched himself atop the tower roof, scouring the city for pigeons.
"What's wrong, Fräulein? Are you cold?"
"No, no, I'm fine. It's just that I'm a little disappointed. My father always said that the dragons had treasure, that they were huge, menacing. Thorrefrkil... has no treasure."
Foxy smiled again. "Ah, Schatz. Just because you've seen one dragon doesn't mean you've seen them all. Cheer up. I'm sure you'll see another one someday. I've heard the police search for them. And perhaps, you've already met your dragon."
"What exactly does that mean?"
"Ah, I'm sure you'll understand soon." Foxy stood up. I caught a whiff of cologne from his cloak.
"Yes, I expect so."
The bell tolled again, eight times. It rung throughout the streets, throughout the alleys, across the hills.
"And I suspect I'll join the police."
. . .

My father has always told me of dragons. They have hordes of secrets, troves of stories. There are, of course, good dragons and bad dragons.
Some are neither. In fact, most of them are neither, but there are still opportunistic dragons, resourceful dragons. There are dragons that are courteous, and from my experience, most are. There are dragons in long black coats and clinking medals, and they fly so high that they mistake the clear dome of their caged world for the blue of the sky...
And then they fall, and their medals are worthless.
I hope you like it!
...finally finished...
comments and faves are welcome, I'd like to know what you think!

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prussiapencildoujin's avatar
That's bittersweet ending kaomoji set 2 47/67 

Hope you'll be writing again soon ^^