I ran for a good while attempting to find a corpse to bring back. The forest was vast, but the patterns of the wyverns were simple. They dropped their prey on clear patches to make finding them later easier. They are big and clunky creatures, incapable of scavenging corpses from tree tops.

  Alas, however much knowledge I held, it was meaningless in the face of the limited visibility offered to me by the dense forest. Admittedly, I had grown tired and considered giving up many times. Yet for some reason, I continued running. My speed was far slower than what I had begun with, but still up to pace. My breath was heavy, and my lungs were on the brink of giving up. The smell of torched trees and burning Wyvern flesh surrounding me. Occasional sounds of the caravaneers were still audible at a distance. It was then that I spotted a bright glowing red amidst the lush greenery.

  I made haste, approaching the glimmering red colour. As I got closer, I realised it was a dress worn by a young lady. Her face was pale, and she remained motionless on the ground. I believed her to be a corpse. There was blood all around, and she was as still as a corpse would have been.

  I knelt next to her to check her purse. As I was about to pick up her hand, she made a quick movement, swiftly rising up towards me. Her face closed in on mine when she abruptly went behind me. Before I could even see her pulling out a knife, she had already placed it to my throat. I hadn't even thought to do anything when the whole thing was over. There I remained. Scared for my life, my heart rate rapidly increasing.

  "Who sent you?" She yelled. Her voice was harsh like a lioness's roar.

  "No one," I replied with a timid, shaky voice.

  She remained unconvinced. The sharp blade grew closer to my neck. I felt a small cut as she asked once more:

  "Where are you from?"

  "K?kaw?l", I replied.

  "Do you know what they do to liars in k?kaw?l?" She asked, in the same threatening tone as if her knife wasn't enough to kill me. The answer to her question was obvious. I wanted to speak, but the knife was too close to my neck. My trembling body was barely avoiding it, and I had no leeway to speak. She continued:

  "Do you not know the answer?"

  I was convinced that this would be my end. I found some shiny rock, deserted from battle, and this is how I die? At the hands of some madwoman in the woods? Well, it wouldn't be unexpected for someone like me. In fact, this eventful end is probably far better than what I would have gotten otherwise.

  My mind blanked out for a second, only to return with that feeling of abrupt epiphany you might find at a corner store fortune teller. It led me to think, "No, I wouldn't have it." "This was too bad a fate even for me."

  In a last-ditch effort, I decided to blurt out the answer to her question:

  "They cut their throats", I yelled. The knife at the edge of cutting into mine. I closed my eyes in anticipation of my certain death when I felt the pressure from the knife disappear. I opened my eyes to see the woman's face, now disturbingly close to my own.

  She appeared to be a noble; however, none of the nobles I had heard about were as ferocious as she had been. Her faintly green eyes resembled those of a predator more than the weak nobles who depended on others to protect them. Her arms were muscular, although she seemed fairly tall, yet she was skinny. A disproportionate body accompanied by a long, rectangular face. When we locked eyes for a second, she asked, looking straight into my eyes:

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "What is a northerner like you doing in the empire? Outside of a trade route at that."

  "I was on an escort mission when we got attacked by wyverns", I replied.

  She moved even closer, so close that our noses might have touched one another. She asked: "How come you are here and the rest of your comrades aren't then?"

  I hastily recalled my "profound" excuse:

  "I'm searching for the corpses of those snatched by the wyverns."

  I could faintly smell blood. Looking down, I realised it was my own. I tried scouting for a body of water to wash my wound so as not to get an infection.

  "Eh, fear not. My blade is clean. You won't get ill." She said. I almost said "thank you" out of habit, but prevented myself from doing so at the last second. With the breath now at the edge of my lips, I moulded it into a new question, one I would not have asked had I not started my motion of speaking:

  "Who are you?" I paused for a second and added, "If you don't mind me asking."

  "The earth is small, and the skies are vast. To a bird, the villages you call home are merely there to pass by, migrating for the winter." She replied, "A northern proverb, right?" She added after pausing for a few seconds.

  I nodded my head to mean "yes". Some part of me wanted to leave, yet some part had questions. I remained in place for a few minutes watching the woman try to start a fire. As expected of her noble nature, she wasn't doing the greatest job. The wood she had brought was still damp, and she was struggling.

  As the noises of the little piece of flint clashing with the stone intensified, I checked my pocket to confirm that I still had the stone. I was relieved to see that it remained in my pocket however, it remained to be seen what the rock would actually sell for. I had dreamed about it briefly. Perhaps it was some genie that would grant me a few wishes, or maybe it was some pretty rock with no further utility. Well, I suppose, that's where true art is found anyway. It may be useless, but it will be my little piece of art. And surely some greedy merchant would pay a hefty sum to make it theirs.

  I turned my face to the woman again. She was struggling with the fire. I did not want to help as there was something strangely charming about this beautiful woman struggling with the most basic skill of a traveller. Perhaps that's where her beauty lay as well...

  "A beauty that almost killed me." I thought to myself before my thinking was interrupted by the woman. She likely noticed that I caught a glimpse of her struggle and wanted to suppress it by telling a story.

  She said that long ago ancestors of wyverns roamed the earth. They were capable of magic and unlike the wyverns, their wings accompanied four limbs instead of two.

  Some dragons created mountains, others placed cities atop them, some gave birth to unwavering streams that carved out said mountains, and some diverted the water from those streams to grow beautiful trees, and then some set those trees aflame, destroying the villages with them. Such were the five species of dragons.

  She asked me:

  "Which species do you think was the ancestor to the wyverns?"

  "The ones who burnt down the villages", I replied. Certain of my answer. Surely those creatures of pure terror could not have been birthed by anyone else.

  She chuckled for a second. "You really are a northerner, huh." I heard her say under her breath. Then she continued:

  "The wyverns are descendants of the wood dragons. Those who grew the trees. Just like them, they want to reach higher; however, they are too heavy to roam the skies without magic. Constantly dreaming higher yet unable to reach their dreams. It is why they attack human mages. They are jealous that mana listens to their will but not theirs."

  "Great, at last I have empathised with a Wyvern." I thought to myself. Our situations were similar, but my temper appeared to be a bit less wild. Growing increasingly curious, I asked, albeit with a slightly sarcastic tone of voice:

  "And who might you be, granting me such precious knowledge?"

  "Only the greatest mage west of the river", she replied.

  I was about to ask which river she was referring to when a shadow passed by, along with someone screaming in terror. I looked up and saw a wyvern. Its skin was charred, and so was the man it was holding. As it circled above us, the woman closed her eyes, murmuring something to herself. As the wyvern dropped the man from a great height, the soil we were standing on turned into mud. I was quickly sinking into the ground as the man fell just in front of where my boots were a second ago. His face was mostly under the mud, touching my boots. A second of silence ensued before the woman lifted his head up.

  He had a white beard now colored brown, his face was wrinkly, and his hair was like two steep hills covered in snow. Needless to say, he appeared to be fairly old and the fact that he survived the fall was a miracle despite the magic involved.

  I realized at that time that this was more or less why I came here, but it hadn't exactly been as I anticipated.