“That’s what’s left of a tent. I came on them in the night, and their horses bolted. Few managed to mount. Brave men—they fought instead of running.”
Something shot from beneath the fabric, running on its hind legs. It stumbled in the dark; its fearful panting echoed from cold stone.
“That’s a man, Auron. After it, let’s see you hunt,” Father said.
Auron jumped in pursuit, driven as much by its flight as by Father’s words. It smelled of blood and horses, but there was another dirtier scent to it, a little like a dead wolf Father had once brought to the cave.
The biped heard Auron coming. It tried to crawl into a crevice. Auron grabbed it by the leg and pulled. He scrabbled with all four claws. The man was larger, but he was stronger. He pulled it out into the open.
It lashed out with a foot and caught him in the eye. It kicked him again across the snout, hurting far worse than one of Mother’s smacks. He let go, tasting and smelling his own blood on his tongue now. But he was close enough to hunt by eye and ear.
The man crawled away, seeking refuge in the crevice. It had curious coloration. Auron noticed the varied hues, even as he gathered himself and jumped, of the second loose skin over its first.
He landed on the man. He aimed a bite at the neck, but got only a forearm in his jaws. The man shifted his weight, pivoting very differently from the way his sisters did in their halfhearted wrestling bouts. The man had much more strength in his forearms than Auron was used to.
He felt a sharp pain in the pit of his foreleg.
Father’s head loomed above. In a flash, Father had the man’s skull in his jaws and off its neck. Blood geysered into the air.
The body twitched as it exsanguinated, and Auron kept attacking the headless corpse, ripping at it with his teeth.
“Auron, stop,” Father growled.
Auron froze, teeth clamped on the man’s shoulder.
“Look in its hand, Auron. It had a knife.”
Auron drew himself off the blade and sniffed at the wound in his armpit. A steady flow of blood joined the man’s on the floor.
“Will I die, Father?”
“No, you were lucky. Lick the wound clean.”
Auron nursed himself, and Father continued.
“When you leap like that, let your back legs do the killing. You’re still fighting too much with your mouth. It’s all right for taking the neck of something that’s half-dead. But when you’ve got a hold of the prey, remember, he’s got a hold of you, too. Pin and dig with your saa. They put up less of a fight when they’re gutted.”
“Yes, Father. ’E hurt by nose, too.”
“Many a drake has gotten worse from his first kill of a hominid. You did well, my champion; I was months above ground before I took one, and it was just a half-starved blighter I ran to death. Sheep are easier.”
“Bay I eat ’im?”
“He’s your kill,” Father said, swallowing the head. “Well, mostly.”
Auron soothed his aching hunger, messily, appetite winning out over manners. Mother had taught him not to bolt his food lest it come back up, but Father seemed to understand hunger better.
“It was your mother’s idea. Her father taught his drakes to kill this way. I may have saved you from a nasty surprise later. Remember, with hominids, what they lack in strength they make up for in tools, and plans, and magic. Cowardly way to do it, letting a piece of metal do your killing, but there you are.”
They shared the corpse, Father crunching down the bones after Auron took most of the meat. The bleeding stopped in his nose and side. Father’s battle wounds already showed brownish scabs among his riven scales.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“What is under the big rock? I followed a slug, but couldn’t move it. Mother said you put it there.”
“I’m not surprised you couldn’t. Someone your size shouldn’t be able to.”