Chapter 17 - Cold-Blooded (Arthur)
347 Words
“I can’t believe he’s the last of his kind; father told me draulters went extinct long ago!” I called out to Jethro as we followed the red sphere ahead.
“How is he alive after all this time?” he asked in disbelief.
“Maybe they live a really long time? Beholders are like that.”
“Maybe so. It sounds like an awfully lonely life if you ask me…” Jethro replied, shaking his head.
The longer we followed the sphere, the smaller it became. What had initially been the size of a fist had shrunk down to the size of a honeybee.
“It looks like we’re just about here,” I exclaimed, looking all around before noticing a crude wooden cabin to the northwest of us.
Just as we began walking toward it, a gust of wind violently pushed us back about ten feet, knocking the air out of our lungs. Before we could adequately react to what had happened, a nine-foot-tall draulter somersaulted out of the entrance and put the edge of his scythe’s blade against our throats. He wore a muddy-brown robe and the only facial feature I could make out at that moment were his golden-yellow eyes. His pupils were thin slits, and he did not look amused.
“It’s been seventy years; can’t I have a break?!” he hissed angrily in our faces.
“What…?” Jethro and I both asked in confusion.
“Don’t play stupid with me! You came here to kill me and destroy my species,” he growled, pressing the blade closer to our throats.
“Aurielle sent us,” I choked out.
“Oh… Well, in that case, I’m sorry,” he said in a regretful tone, taking off his cowl. He had burgundy-red and snow-white feathers growing on the sides of his face and two curved horns behind his eyes.
“What happened to your people?” Jethro asked rudely.
“Come inside; I will explain everything. I will tell you of my people’s plight and how we lost everything.”
- Writer
