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Malcolm was walking along the outside of the palisade looking for damage in the wooden wall from the recent storm when the shouts and cries went up. Alarmed, but unable to hear what they were yelling, the slim fox spun away from the wall to look towards the woods. He stared hard into the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, but he couldn’t see anything beneath the trees that lay more than a hundred feet from the wall.

The fox started running back along the wall, making for the entrance that way. He cursed as he ran, bright orange tail rippling behind him, its white tip trailing. He was almost halfway between the two closest entrances.

Still he saw no one in the trees, but the shouting had not ceased inside Cearall, their little village. Whatever was causing the commotion had to be on the other side. At last, he thought to look up into the skies. He’d heard the reports. A great emerald green dragon which had been hunting hunters, foragers, and other villagers - and sometimes whole villages - for the past six months. His wife and two daughters had been some of those foragers they had lost. The king and his nobles hadn’t spared them a speck of flour from the storehouses, forcing them into the woods to survive.

Malcolm had heard the dragon had attacked the village of Halstead four times. Over twenty people had been reported eaten, out of almost eighty killed in total. The fox knew people from that village, just like he’d known his own family before they were eaten. They had tried to flee after the first attack, and soldiers and knights of the king - acting under the authority of the local count - had forced them back into the fields or else to face execution.

The village had been abandoned after the count had been one of those snapped up on the dragon’s last visit. The idiot had ridden out there to prove there was no danger, to try and quell a growing riot. Good riddance.

Except now Cearall was the furthest village in this direction. His own missing family was proof enough of what was happening. The dragon was hungry, and closing in. The villager’s attempts to flee had been turned back by soldiers on all the major roads. Cearall had been left for the beast.

But when Malcolm looked up, he didn’t see anything in the sky except a few clouds. The sun was on the other side of the village, so he ran in the shadow of the palisade. Ahead, he rounded a section of the wall that jutted out and saw the entrance, with its rudimentary walkway atop it.

Two people were up there shouting and gesturing. It was difficult to tell, but it looked like Gerald and Alivia. At least, the profile looked like Alivia, with its bushy squirrel tail. Malcolm ran towards them, waving and shouting, but neither noticed. They had all their attention focused west, towards the setting sun. The fox couldn’t see over the rest of the town wall but - wait, what was that? A sudden glint of light, like a reflection off a piece of metal.

The shouts from atop the walkway turned to screams, and Malcolm saw one of them turn and leap off the walkway outside of town. The other turned to follow, but even as they leapt, the glittering reflection behind them resolved into the shape of an enormous green dragon.

The dragon caught Alivia in its claws as she started to fall towards the ground. Felix stumbled to a stop as the dragon soared towards him, clutching the screaming squirrel. With a sudden thump the dragon’s wings beat, sweeping air downwards hard enough to make Malcolm’s ears pop and send him to the ground, half in fear, half knocked over by the wind.

Alivia’s shrieks quickly grew distant as the dragon gained height and continued away from the village. Horrified, Malcolm turned his head from the ground. The dragon had soared up and into a banking turn. The fox could still see a struggling form in it’s claws. Then the dragon released her, or she wriggled free, her form suddenly separating from the dragon’s and starting to fall, just an uncertain blur at this distance. Malcolm’s heart leaped into his throat. No one without wings could survive that fall.

That didn’t matter. The dragon tucked its wings in and dove headfirst, towards the spinning, flailing form. The two shapes met. The dragon pulled out of its dive, and Alivia was nowhere to be seen. The great shadow began to sweep towards Cearall again, becoming clearer by the moment.

Malcolm was stunned out of his reverie when he heard a weak cry for help. He rolled back over and saw a limp form on the ground. He gasped, clambering to his paws and sprinting towards the mouse. The dragon had turned in it’s flight when it consumed Alivia, and was now coming over the eastern side of town, away from them.

The fox reached Gerald, and winced at the sight. The mouse had clearly broken his right leg in the fall, his shin turning at a sharp angle. His upper left arm lay twisted beneath him, and blood seeped out from a cut around the white fur at the side of the mouse’s head.

Malcolm hesitated. He was no doctor, but he thought it might be dangerous to move the mouse like this. A scream spun him around to look through the entrance to the village.

A raccoon he didn’t know was sprinting across the main street. He’d almost made it to the eaves of the general store when a great blur leapt from the right, crossing the distance in a flash. The dragon pinned the raccoon to the ground easily. The whole scene was less than two hundred feet away, and Malcolm felt his breath frozen in his throat. Even Gerald didn’t make a sound.

The fox thought he made out pleas for mercy from the raccoon, but the dragon didn’t hesitate to dip its huge jaws down, clamping them over the raccoon’s head. Malcolm watched, unable to tear his eyes away as the dragon tossed his head back, and the striped bottle tail vanished into that mouth. The fox’s eyes could barely trace the wriggling bulge slipping down the dragon’s neck before it turned away, away from him.

The dragon vanished around the general store, and Malcolm let out a breath. He quickly knelt down, ripping off sections of the mouse’s shirt and holding it to the bleeding cut. Thankfully, it had appeared worse than it was. The mouse wept in pain and relief that someone else was there, whispering thanks while his right arm trembled holding the bandage against his cut.

Malcolm was a carpenter, not a doctor, but he’d helped make splints for the local herbalist who handled such things before. He felt gingerly at the mouse’s breaks, trying to decide if he could move him, and then shrugged. If he left Gerald out here, he would be perfectly fine until he slid down the dragon’s throat.

He slipped Gerald’s good arm around his shoulder, and heaved the mouse up. Gerald tried to be quiet, but he still let out a small scream of pain as he moved, and the fox thought the poor rodent blacked out for a few seconds before he came too again. Certainly he went limp on Malcolm’s shoulders, but the fox had braced himself for this.

Malcolm looked around wildly. The village was where the dragon was, but trying to make it across the hundred or so feet to the dubious shelter of the woods with Gerald was out of the question. For a moment, Malcolm considered leaving the mouse behind. Gerald tensed, gripping him tightly like he had read the fox’s mind. But no, if he could just get the mouse into a house, he’d have a much better chance.

They took one step towards Cearall when they heard a piercing shriek. Above the wall a figure suddenly appeared, a feathered anthro streaking into the sky above the village. It must have been Hector, the eagle. He was the only person in town who could fly. Malcolm watched as the eagle gained height, until there was a small shake in the ground beneath him and Gerald as the dragon launched itself into the air. The tremendous force of those beating wings pounded at the fox’s ears.

Hector immediately turned and made a flat out sprint through the air away from town, but the dragon quickly started gaining on him. Malcolm turned his head away. There was only one fate left for the feathered anthro with a hungry dragon on his tail. Instead he started walking, laboriously supporting the mouse on his shoulders. Gerald tried to hop on his one good leg, but it wasn’t enough to get them moving faster than a slow walk.

The smell of smoke hit the vulpine’s sensitive nostrils as he entered the village itself. He stared in dismay at the smoke rising on either side of them, perilously close to the nearest houses. Then, a voice called from further down the road. The general store’s door was open, and several wolves had poked their heads out, the family who owned the general store. They swiveled in all directions, looking for the dragon, but they gestured urgently to Malcolm.

The fox tried to move faster, desperate to get past these burning houses to the relative safety of the stone built general store. It wouldn’t catch fire as easily. Gerald was whimpering on his shoulder, but the mouse never complained at the speed, trying to move faster.

They were halfway there when Malcolm saw the eyes of the villagers go wide at something behind him. A blast of wind preceded a crashing noise and what felt like an earthquake as the dragon smashed through the gate to land just inside the village. Malcolm and Gerald were thrown to the ground, the mouse screaming in pain as his broken leg twisted further. The fox rolled over, frantic, and caught a glimpse of the emerald serpent stepping towards them, unhurried. The fox saw with detached clarity that a single white eagle feather clung to the dragon’s lower lip, the only remnant of a proud anthro now stewing in the reptile’s gut.

Malcolm finished rolling to his feet. The dragon was halfway to them. The fox looked at Gerald beside him. The mouse couldn’t even lift himself off the ground with one bad arm and one bad leg. The fox didn’t let himself think any longer. He turned and ran for the general store.

Behind him, Gerald screamed for help, screamed for mercy. Malcolm ran on. He didn’t look back, even when the mouse’s screams reached a new pitch and then cut off suddenly. The fox didn’t need to see to imagine the poor lookout being snapped up by the hungry dragon, turned in an instant to a wriggling lump in the reptile’s gullet. All he could have done by staying was make another bulge in the monster’s already stuffed belly.

The door was closed and the people gone when Malcolm reached it. He yanked on the door, pounding when he found it locked. Locked! As though the massive dragon behind him cared at all for locks on doors smaller than it’s head. The fox screamed at those inside, begging them to open the door. He knew exactly how Gerald had felt now.

A shuddering thump traveled through the ground, and the fox turned, heart pounding out of his chest but already defeated, to see the great dragon looking down at him. The reptile could reach out a claw, or even it’s head, and snatch him up. Malcolm found he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. His own family had been eaten by this beast. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to join them.

The dragon reared up on its hind legs and its weight came down. The fox closed his eyes.

The smashing of stone still made him flinch, and he flinched again when bits of slate roofing and bricks hit his face. The fox opened his eyes again to see the dragon’s left foreleg resting on the brickwork wall above him. Its upper body was curled over the roof, and Malcolm watched as another section of slate roofing was torn off and tossed into the village square.

Horrified screams and shouts came from inside the general store as the dragon revealed their hiding place. The fox did feel faint surprise through the fog on his mind when the dragon spoke. “Ahh, wolves. Just what I’ve been looking for. I had a lovely chat with what were probably your sons a little while ago.” Malcolm heard a muffled little scream from inside at that. “They were hunting on my lands, so I followed them halfway here to find your village, and then I ate them.” Silence this time, but the fox thought he heard weeping through the door and from the roof. “If you taste half as good as your children, I’m in for a real treat. Lets find out.”

The emerald body shifted, and the screams started again as the dragon feasted on the villagers trapped within. Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to move. He looked up at the dragon’s belly, sitting mere feet above him, and watched as bulge after wriggling bulge slipped down into this reptile’s stomach from above. He watched them join the thrashing mass that rippled beneath those emerald scales. He felt pounding on the door he was slumped against, felt the latch click, somebody shoving against the door.

Malcolm didn’t move. He heard a screaming voice from inside yelling that the door was blocked. Another thud as they threw themselves against the wood. The fox slid forward along the porch beneath him. An arm slipped through, grey fur and claws flailing about. Malcolm watched, feeling detached from his body, as the arm was suddenly yanked back inside and the voice cut off. The dragon’s hunger could not be sated.

Where had the idiot been going? This door was an express route to the dragon’s stomach, Malcolm had a good view of that. The beast could outfly an eagle, burn down the whole village, rip the roofs off any building it chose. They couldn’t run or hide.

Just food. That was all he and his people were. People until the reptile decided they were food.

No more voices came from inside the building. Above the fox, the monster pushed off the stone wall it had rested on while it gorged and stepped back. Malcolm met those bright green eyes as the dragon ran a tongue over its lips. The thing now had a drooping belly, wriggling and rolling with the desperate struggles of its meals.

Malcolm was shocked out of his endless reverie when the dragon spoke. “Your village should be proud. You’ve produced some very tasty morsels for me.” The beast’s eyes never left Malcolm, but its voice was deep and sonorous. The whole village - there must be dozens left alive, hiding in their homes, could hear it.

It continued “Your friends and family I’ve eaten should keep me sated for a few days while I digest them. When I’m hungry again, I’ll return for another sampling of the local cuisine. If you wish to join your loved ones, I’ll gladly reunite you.” Malcolm found himself trembling. With fury, this time, not fear. This thing had devoured his family and it complimented their taste?!

The dragon pinned the fox against that half open door with its stare. “You could try to slay me, of course, but my stomach has beaten more trained knights than your village has seen in its existence.” The emerald serpent paused for a moment before continuing. “Or you could flee. But if you run, I wouldn’t stop at the next village if I were you. I’ll still be hungry, remember. Maybe your king will protect you from the big bad dragon.”

The fox held that stare for a long moment before the dragon turned away. But instead of flying away, the thing walked into the village square. And before Malcolm’s eyes, it started to curl up and lay down on the well trodden grass. The thing was going to sleep! In the center of the village, with their friends and family digesting inches away from the air.

Slowly, Malcolm rose to his feet. His vision was constricted, tinged with red as he took a step forward. He felt a fire inside of him to rival any dragon’s breath, a rage at the one who had treated his family like this, who had killed them, and sat there, safely and unconcerned. Who had driven his daughters into the wood just to survive, who sheltered behind walls of thick stone, and…

The fox hesitated in his next step. This dragon had done terrible, awful things, but it was a dragon, almost a force of nature. Malcolm’s great-grandmother and everyone since had known these lands were the hunting grounds of a terrible beast, and none had come here. Until the king claimed their homes and their villages and drove them out here to work. Until the bastard had refused aid and sent soldiers to Halstead to force them back to work, and to the surrounding villages of Cearall to make sure they didn’t flee.

Malcolm hated that dragon, but he couldn’t hurt it. The thing’s scales were probably hard as steel. All he could do was die. But there was another person he could hurt. Another tyrant who should’ve known better than to treat other people like this. Who could’ve had soldiers and knights here, where the dragon would attack, or helped evacuate the villages. The fox turned away from the dragon. There were many people here in Cearall now who shared his motivation. Maybe the fox could direct them towards someone they could hurt.

As Malcolm walked away, his steps purposeful, he never noticed the cracked eyelid from which the dragon watched him. And he missed the gleam of satisfaction in the reptile’s stare as it watched another one of its plans set in motion.