#(i say as if the other protagonist of it isn’t under a cassandra-esque curse from an actual banshee)

[mordredsheart]

🌹

“Well,” the wyvern said, rolling over and raising its head with great difficulty. “Now I must have my dinner.”

“Aye,” Lorcán agreed, cheerfully. “Where shall I stand to be roasted?”

“There is fine,” the wyvern slurred, gesturing towards nowhere in particular.

It huffed and snorted and blew out a gust of ash and wind. Lorcán stood before it patiently and let it try again and once more. But its blood had been cooled and slowed by the drink, and the fire in its belly was extinguished.

At last the wyvern sank back down to the ground, blinking slowly. “I’ll not be roasting you for dinner, will I?”

“No,” Lorcán replied. “Nor any living thing ever again. But I hear there is a market for wyvern hides, so you may yet prove useful to someone, somewhere.”

The stupid, surprised expression on its face did not vanish even as he took up his sword and cut off its head.