The Golden Dragon's Hoard

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"No dragon can resist the fascination of riddling talk and of wasting time trying to understand it."
― J.R.R. Tolkien

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Part One - Chapter Two
"The Trapped Little Dragon"

Perched on top of a little ledge—the farthest corner inside of the shop—sits the little dragon, snout barely over the edge as he stares out into the darkness. His golden-white scales stand out against the shadows but he knows he won't be seen.

The shop's quiet and Stray's done this hundreds of times before.

Regardless, his heart still pounds heavy in his chest.

There's always a fear of getting caught, a fear that the witch and their two familiars are going to get him and not let him go. A fear of cages and chains and burning ropes, of cold and dark places that are far too empty. A fear of being used like so many of his ancestors have, like he has too.

But surviving is scary and he's lived through worse so he has to do what he must.

Besides, he knows that the witch isn't even here right now.

Even with the storm raging outside, Stray had seen them leave with both of their familiars following right at their heel. They're tall, a brunet with curly hair and a silver tongue. A weird one to the townsfolk; known for being kind for the sake of kindness and nothing more.

The little dragon doesn't understand it and he doesn't trust it.

He trusts the other's familiars even less.

One, at first glance, is a giant raven—older than the witch in appearance but shorter with blond hair cut to the chin and a laugh almost always ready on their lips—but at the second, after spotting the sparks at the edge of feathers and the flaming blue eyes, is a phoenix with a potent air around him.

Death and resurrection in a swirling mix; creation magic is a little less rare than dragons like him are.

The second, and by far the one who scares the hatchling the most, is a familiar taller than their own witch and built like a warrior. Strong, fast, with sharp crimson eyes and a frown always marring their face. Long red hair, almost always braided, and covered in jewels.

The little dragon doesn't know what type of familiar they are, but whatever type they are, it's a powerful one.

While the phoenix has creation magic and the witch they serve seems to have a strong connection to nature and light, this familiar has thick and clingy magic—protection and healing and, oddly enough, smelling of iron.

Stray doesn't know what to make of it, what kind of magic they could have, but if there's one thing that makes him hesitate to steal, it's this creature. Unknown but lethal.

After the hesitation, though, there's the desperation and that pushes him forward.

The witch and their familiars are out, Stray thinks he heard them talking about finding someone right before he crawled through the unlocked window (which is right next to his little corner), and it provides the perfect opportunity to steal some food.

With his white scales, he blended in perfectly with the raging storm and snow-dotted land that surrounded the shop. It makes it easy to sneak into.

Easy to sneak past them as they were heading out, too.

Past the erratic sound of his heartbeat, all that can be heard is the rain pelting against the roof and the wispy roaring of water from the floors above him—where he believes the tiny coven actually lives—creaking with every gust of wind.