“To be a dragon’s pet”

-Derogatory Yvah expression meaning “a mistaken alliance”.

The scout skirted through the canopy, several metres off the ground. They moved with the smooth assurance of someone who would not fall- no, someone who could not fall. Branch by branch, leap by leap, the draconic form flew behind them at a leisurely pace ready to swoop in.

The scout has a name, I’m sure. Lovingly given by their parents, or maybe as a part of some bonding ritual with a dragon that grew up alongside them. I honestly don’t care; they’re likely out here due to rumours of Yvah expansion this far east, putting them in direct opposition to myself.

This puts me in a tricky position. The Sworml scouts have a laughable amount of confidence in their dragon companions, but one glimpse of my presence will lead them to point a blur of claws and teeth right in my direction. To make an amateur mistake and be given that ignoble end is less than ideal.

Instead, tried and true practice is to use the scout’s confidence against them. I stabilise myself, ready my bow in their direction, and… let’s see… they’re heading slightly to my right at this pace, and my arrow will fly this fast and… there. That branch just ahead is the perfect target.

I fire the bow and the arrow hits the branch right as the scout grabs a hold of it to swing from. Their trajectory changes in a way they had not anticipated, leading them to spin faster and- oof. That landing did not look good for their spine.

Which brings us to the moment of truth. Either the scout recovers, laughs it off, maybe has their bonded companion fly them back to camp, or they slide off the branch exactly like they’re doing now, their ‘bonded companion’ senses weakness, and has a late lunch.

The dragon was slightly slow on the uptake, and only managed to bite through the scout’s head as they were falling and stunned. The rest of the scout’s body lands with a thump on the forest floor. 

Even across enemy lines we had heard the boast that ‘Sworml scouts never return injured’.