FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A group of dragons made their way up the mountain side, shaded in the boughs of gangly, gnarled trees. Snow capped the peaks ahead of them, while below streams ran down the firm rock into a central valley. It was a picturesque setting, one whose natural beauty brought many tourists to the oriental region, domestic and foreign alike. Yet the rural isolation provided more than just solitude and contemplative quiet, it provided a place for dark deeds to be done away from the eyes of the law.

This was what drew the four dragons to the remote place. Their destination was a little village halfway up the mountain, a collection of huts and buildings that, on the surface, appeared rustic and utterly backwards. It was a long climb, tough going with their gear on their back. Sleeping rolls, rations and camping gear was slung over their shoulders between their wings - largely ornamental, a tradeoff for walking about bideally. Only one lumped along on all fours - Dystagon his name, a dragon of verdant green scales like jade colouring his whole body. The others mocked him for it, in their usual friendly way, but the joke was on them. The sure footing of going about on all fours meant his method was easier and his weight more evenly loaded.

It was not all his friends teased him about. They had been vague about the whole trip since its inception. He had gone along, eager for an adventure, without knowing the purpose and machinations of his fellow friends. Through the wilderness they had trekked for half a week, guided by their sat nav, time spent joking and laughing and sharing stories, but so far the other three had kept their mouths neatly shut about what it was at the end of their journey.

"Just wait and see," one had told him, the eldest of the bunch and arguably the leader of their little gang. He was of pure black scales all over, with bright red eyes and lashes of fiery colour on his tail and thick legs. Boxigar was his name, though his friends called him Boxy for short, something that made his sharp, muscular features soften under the jovial epithet.

And so Dysta went on with them, enjoying the company and the cool clean air of the countryside. He suspected that it was something to do with the upcoming lunar new year. It was moving from the year of the dragon to the year of the ram. Dysta didn't believe in all that astrological stuff, but nonetheless enjoyed the revelry and pride that his species indulged in for the year. Where better to celebrate the turning of the year than here, surrounded by the native culture?

The village was small and quaint, settled on a ledge under the shadow of the mountain. Wind and rain had lashed the surrounding rock to a smooth sort of wall, under which the buildings sheltered from the harsh elements. No more than a few hundred yards square in area, the town consisted of a handful of peasants' homes and a central inn which was the focus of the town and the reason for its many visitors each year. Indeed, as the four dragons approached they would see the stable outside was full of mountainous pack beasts - mules and donkeys, as well as a handful of all terrain vehicles parked beside them. It was going to be a busy night.

The four approached, moving down the single street of the town as it curved around the broad mountain. From where they stood, if they looked between the few buildings, they could see the vast valley stretching for miles, green and still, a landscape of outstanding beauty and humbling scale. But their attention was not on the environment, it was on the inn. They had arrived on the eve of the new year, just in time. The sun was still high in the sky: it would not be nightfall for hours yet, giving the four travellers time to settle in and accustomise themselves to the town's way of life.

They went inside, finding a small central room with a big fire in the centre around which many cushions and stools were placed. Already a few patrons were sat around, warming themselves, for outside the temperature was cold indeed. Frost was light on the ground, chilling bones and scales and fingers, meaning a roaring fire attracted interest from all about. They, like the four that entered, were dragons. Indeed the whole village was of dragons, more like Dysta's bipedal, anthro friends than himself in his curious mix of two and four-legged locomotion.

"Well, here at last," Boxy said proudly, pulling at the straps of his back pack. "Introduce us, will you Lam?"

The black dragon turned to his peach-coloured companion, a soft and more slender dragon who was the group's chief translator. He alone spoke the local language fluently and clearly enough to understand the subtleties and avoid and clumsy errors that might leave them in hot water. So, taking the lead, Lamthar politely made his way to what appeared to be a bar at the far end of the room, behind which sat an elderly looking dragon.

From their position just inside the doorway the three remaining dragons tried to eavesdrop, their hearing occulted by the crackling fireplace. "What's he saying?" Dysta asked.

"Don't know," the third replied. He was called Zomros, by far the bulkiest of the four, chubby and almost fat, but also the smartest and keenest in wit. Clad in thick blue scales mingled with white stripes, he had a royal sort of look about him, proud almost. The walk over the past few days had at least shed some of the pounds from his girthy frame.

"Boxy not let you in on this too?" Dysta asked, narrowing an eye.

"Nah, I know why we're here. I just don't know what he's saying to the innkeeper, asking for our room I guess."

"Pretty much," Boxy confirmed. "We've got a place to ourselves to enjoy the night."

"When are you going to tell me what's happening?" Dysta whined like a child. "I don't like being in the dark!"

Lam returned, smiling. "Okay, everything's been set up for us, apart from the food and the entertainment. The owner says we can make ourselves at home and relax out back. He'll start the festivities at sundown."

"Sounds good," Boxy said authoritatively. "Let's go."

As if knowing the layout of the place already, Boxy led his three friends around the blazing fire and to a small door at the rear of the room. Dysta couldn't help but wonder what hovel they would be calling their home for the night - if the common room was anything to go by it would be spartan at best. Though the fire was warm and welcoming, the wooden walls and the lack of any modern conveniences put him off. Dysta was a sophisticated dragon, used to the comforts of a Western lifestyle. Trekking through the woods had been bad enough - he didn't want to be sleeping on straw or drinking nettle soup for his new year.

Thus, Dysta was pleasantly surprised at what he found. They marched down across a small courtyard nestled behind the inn and down into a cavern carved from the rock by the passage of water. A blast of warmth hit them as they entered, for the cavern harbored a natural hot spring. But that was not all. The rounded pool of steamy, calm water was surrounded by what seemed to be a wealthy metropolitan apartment. Comfortable sofas, sleek lighting, flatscreen monitors, electrical sockets - it was a jarring thing to find in a remote village.

Boxy gave the stunned green dragon a jab with his elbow. "What, were you expecting us to stay in the stables?"

"No," Dysta said, shaking his head. "It's just from the look of things outside I would've thought it would be more... primitive."

"Be glad it isn't then," Boxy said, downing his gear before throwing himself onto one of the broad sofas, the cushioned surface squeaking and crunching a little as his bodyweight came to rest upon it.

"How much did this cost you, Boxy?" Lam asked, inspecting the walls. Smooth solid rock, polished to look like black marble - the place had a feel of intimate luxury.

"Not as much as you might think," the head dragon replied. "Yeah it's swanky but it's out the way. Still, it's my treat to you guys for being such good friends."

It was well known to the other three that their black scaled friend was wealthy. His family owned several valuable companies, giving him the disposable cash to fly his friends around on lavish vacations. Dysta had expected nothing quite like this though. When he'd been told they'd be spending the lunar new year in the wilderness, in a remote village, he thought of cold nights in sleeping rolls with nothing but his friends for entertainment and the stars overhead. A fully furnished, warm mountainside penthouse - equipped with naturally powered hot tub - was certainly outside his expectations.

"Take a load off guys," the black dragon said welcomingly as if he owned the place. "Take a bath, have a nap - in a few hours we'll be enjoying ourselves like kings."

"Sure will," Zomros said eagerly, throwing off his gear and hiking clothes, quite at ease being naked around his close friends.

Dysta watched the blue dragon wade into the still and steaming pool. "You're really going to make me wait, aren't you?"

"If we told you now you'd make a fuss for hours," Boxy said gravely, rolling his hand in the air dismissively. "You'll enjoy it, don't worry."

"I'll enjoy it but I'll make a fuss? What?" The green dragon was confused, but Boxy seemed unwilling to speak about it any further. He rolled himself off the sofa and joined his friend in the hot tub. Lam joined soon after leaving just Dysta outside, brooding. After some goading, the others convinced him in, and so the dragons enjoyed a soothing, relaxing bath together to kick off their new year celebrations.

---

The afternoon was spent just as it might have been at home: the four dragons lounged about, happy to enjoy a slow paced and lazy few hours after the days of slogging across the open country. To Dysta's surprise they had very good internet - no doubt a satellite link somewhere. After their joint bath - which had been greatly needed with their bodies being dirty and sore - the four napped and slumped about, toying with their phones to check their favourite sites after a few days of being cut off from such things. There was little talking; they all instead enjoyed being laid back and easy, that was until Zomros' stomach rumbled loudly, gurgling to cut through the quiet of the hot spring bubbling away.

"When do we eat?" The blue dragon asked, giving words to his rumbling abdomen.

Boxy checked his phone, pulling it across the table opposite the sofa on which he had again thrown himself. "Soon," he said. "In fact, Lam, why don't you go over to the kitchen and see if we can't get some appetisers before the main meal."

"Sure," Lam said, getting to his feet, throwing on a pair of shorts before heading out the door.

"What is the main course?" Dysta asked innocently.

"Goat," came the reply, though something on Boxy's face suggested he was hiding something.

"Never had goat before," Dysta replied thoughtfully. "I heard it's like lamb, but kinda' gamey."

"I've had it a few times," Zomros said, sitting with his feet claws submerged in the hot water, his wide flank resting on the smooth stone lip of the pool. "Love it when they squirm down."

"You get that with any prey," Boxy shot back. "Goat or not."

"I meant proper food," Dysta said emphatically. "Not... predation."

"I'd argue that eating folks whole and alive is the proper way to do it," Zomros countered.

"And maybe that's why you've got such a fat ass!" Dysta jabbed jovially, showing his fighting spirit.

"Yeah?" The blue dragon stepped out the water, his eyes narrowed, glaring at Dysta. "You ought to try it sometime and get some meat on your bones!"

"Nah," Dysta said, shaking his head. "I don't think its for me."

"You've never tried, right?" Boxy said from his reclining perch.

"Err," Dysta hesitated to answer. "Kind of. Getting them halfway doesn't count right?"

"Sure as hell doesn't," Zomros said, moving over to where Dysta was sat, parking himself beside his green friend. Dysta was curled up on the couch opposite Boxy in the same way a dog might lay upon a cushion. While he could sit upright he generally preferred to remain like this, natural in his four legged ways. It meant that when Zomros parked his wide, naked rump beside him Dysta almost had his head caught underneath it. He turned himself away, narrowly avoiding such a position.

"Couldn't get 'em down?" Boxy inquired with all the machismo a proud predator could summon, all to make his smaller friend seem the weaker and lesser because of it.

Dysta blushed. "It wasn't just that!" He said defensively. "They gave me someone too big," he said, avoiding the details. "I don't understand how you can swallow something that large and still manage to breath. I'll take my food in pieces, thank you."

"Yeah but then it doesn't wriggle and fight inside of you!" Zomros said eagerly.

"You could always rip off a few limbs first, Zomros," Boxy said cruelly. "Put those teeth to good use. Prey doesn't need all their arms and legs to pleasure your stomach. Makes them easier to swallow too."

"Cuts into their digestion time though," Zomros countered. "I like keeping them alive for hours."

"You're both cruel," Dysta said disdainfully.

"We're dragons," Boxy defended himself, "and so are you. Whoever heard of a dragon that doesn't enjoy live prey?"

"I have," Dysta countered. "Me."

"Well, we'll see about that," Boxy said with a knowing grin, hearing Lam approach the door to their cavernous retreat. The peach dragon entered with a wide smile.

"Food's on its way lads," he said merrily. "They're bringing in the chef. He's going to cook it in here for us."

"Where?" Dysta said looking around. Nothing in the place looked anything like a kitchen.

It was Boxy who answered that. "This place is full of neat little tricks," the black dragon said, standing and approaching was seemed to be a bare wall, against which a row of seemingly delicate potted plants were sat. He placed his claw against the stone and flipped a concealed switch. With a rumble the whole section of the wall rumbled down along with the plants, sliding into the floor to reveal a small but modern kitchenette of chrome and steel, gleaming and glittering against the grey stone it was carved into.

"You've been here before," Dysta said, understanding where Boxy's impeccable knowledge came from.

"Indeed I have," the black dragon said with a smirk. "In fact this whole place was built with our money. A quiet little place to have a nice holiday, far from the stress and rules of home."

"Hah!" Zomros bellowed. "I knew you weren't telling us everything."

"I've told you most of everything," Boxy said throwing his hands up. "Save for Dysta of course. He's the one who I really want to surprise."

"Man, I wish you'd be less of a dick to me sometimes!" The green dragon protested.

"Yeah, I'm such a dick dragging you on a free holiday to a luxury getaway," he said sarcastically. "Lighten up, you'll enjoy it."

"Enjoy what?"

The black dragon pointed to the entrance where, beside Lam, two of the resident dragons were entering. Between them was a large metal frame on wheels, quietly rolling along as one pushed and the other pulled. A single sturdy bar stretched from front to back, held up by a twined pair of V-shape supports connected to the base. Hanging from the central bar by his hands and hooves was an anthro goat, naked and gagged with rope around his short muzzle. He swayed a little as he was wheeled in, his eyes wide, scanning the room in terror.

"That," was Boxy's reply.

"A... a goat? What? I thought you said we were..." Then it hit him. Dysta realised that the tied up goat was their food. A whole, fresh, live anthro goat.

"Damn he looks tasty!" Zomros said, rubbing his hands together as the pair of natives guided the little cart into the kitchenette. There they would prepare it, cook it alive for the four dragons.

"Well, this one is to share," Boxy said. "After this there'll be one for us each to eat however we want."

Both Lam and Zomros had known this all along, but Dysta hadn't. This was the surprise, the secret that had been guarded so fiercely. His friends had dragged him all this way just to corner him and make him take part in some predatory pursuit. As the other three discussed their plans, their voices seemed to stretch away from Dysta. His attention was locked on the frightened looking goat. The poor thing was being handled and manipulated like common livestock, with one of the chef's attention on the kitchen while the other prepared the meat. Given how little it struggled, Dysta guessed it had either been drugged or simply raised as food - though it had a certain intelligence in its wide, heavy eyes.

The two chefs seemed well accustomed to this kind of grim and gruesome work. They moved with expertise around each other like a pair of martial artists, or a duo of ballet dancers without ever crossing one another's paths. One assembled the extra ingredients - herbs, spices, vegetables - while the other altered the goat's bindings. Rather than hang from the central bar, the creature was drawn up with his legs and arms stretched along it. The sturdy pole was now pressed to its belly, groin and chest, its head pushed to one side and its legs entwined around it. Heaps of sturdy, heat resistant rope were secured around it, making sure the goat wouldn't be able to move an inch.

Now the two chefs combined their efforts, pulling aside a panel from the flood. It made Dysta wonder how many trap doors and secrets the room had in all. The walls were likely loaded with them. By this point his friends were gathering around the kitchen, looking in at the action, forcing Dysta to do the same. As much as he didn't want to take part in the barbarism, a certain morbid curiosity drew him in.

Nestled to the side, Dysta poked his way in, leaning against the wall with Lam to his right. He stood upright, rearing up on his legs to get a clearer view. He could see that the panel in the floor gave way to a sort of barbecue pit, already lined with plenty of coals. Above, in the ceiling, was a shaft to carry away the smoke. It was over this pit that the goat was suspended, the two ends of the pole secured into place. One end slotted into a square box, a turning mechanism, while the other rested on an oiled crux of metal, a little Y-shaped holder in which the spit could rotate.

Boxy and Zomros were already calling parts of the goat, dissecting the helpless creature with their eyes. "Tell him I want the rump steak," Zomros told Lam, for neither of the chefs spoke English.

"You'll get what you're given," Lam replied, having overheard the quiet chatter of the two chefs who were just about ready to start cooking.

The lead chef spoke to the small crowd, uttering something in his strange language. He made a shooing motion with his claws.

"He wants us to stand back," Lam said. "They're going to light the fire."

"About time," Zomros said impatiently. "I'm fucking starving!"

Now the goat made his first noise - one of terror - as the coals underneath him were set aflame. The dark material had already been doused in lighter fluid, with a little kindling to help the fire take hold. At once the pit went up with a roar, the smell of burning gasoline flashing up to their noses, as dense smoke rose up being sucked into the ventilation shaft.

The four dragons had moved back a foot or two, but that blast of intense heat had them shielding their faces. The goat, tied to the spit over the now brightly flaming pit, howled in his gag as the waves of searing heat rolled around him, scorching his fur.

"Hah! There he goes! Listen to that!" Boxy was enthralled by the sound and sight of the prey starting to cook. For the black dragon there was nothing more exciting than the peril and danger that prey endured for their predatory superiors.

"Can feel the heat from here," Lam muttered. "Must be hell for the poor guy."

"It's going to get worse for him, I bet," Zomros added. "Look at what they've got ready for him! Glazes and spices to work into his skin. He's going to be delicious."

The rotating mechanism was set in gear, humming to life. Now, very slowly, the squirming, crying goat starting to turn about, his seared belly starting to shift so it faced the four dragons as his back and rump turned to withstand the flames. When the creature's front was pointing upwards, Dysta could clearly see how the tips of its fur coat had caught, turning black. A bitter smell, one of singing fur, was starting to come from the goat as it continued to turn, flexing and fighting as best it could as it was assaulted by the terrible heat.

"Enjoying the show?" Boxy said with his usual cruel grin, looking over to Dysta's expression of muted, morbid interest.

"Its... how long will he live?" Dysta asked, having seen the goat go through two agonising rotations now, and still the prey was screaming into its gag.

"I dunno'", Boxy shrugged. "Last time I was here they cooked them in the main kitchen. Lam, how about you ask?"

Lam did so, speaking up over the crackle of the flames which, now that they had burned off the lighter fluid, were dying down over the reddening coals to provide a more steady, even heat, one that would last for a long time. The peach dragon got a reply, the senior of the two chefs speaking back in his native tongue.

"He says they can live on the spit for about ten minutes before the heat kills them," came the answer.

"How long until we can eat though?" Zomros asked.

Again, Lam translated, and again he got an answer. "They can butcher his body on the spit. The first bits will be about half an hour. If you want a steak you'll have to wait a fair bit longer."

As the dragons discussed their choices, the goat continued to spin, its fur burning away to reveal red, sore, blistering skin. Taut and peeling, the flesh looked painfully damaged, so that every time the dying creature pulled at its bonds the skin would peel a little. It was time therefore for the chefs to start basting. With a bowl of black sauce in one hand and a thick brush in another, the head chef stepped up to the pit and started to liberally slather the goat in the cooling, shiny liquid. The goat shuddered, moaning in a mix of relief and humiliation - for while the cold touch of the glaze was heavenly on its burning, hot skin, its purpose was all to clear. It was not intended to soothe the prey's pain, but to enhance his flavour.

Around it went, and every time the flesh was brushed over from hooves to the tips of its ears, leaving not an inch spare. After three rotations the red, blistering skin had turned to a glossy, shining dark brown. The sweet, bitter sauce was cooking into the flesh, making it look ready for consumption when in truth less than half an inch of the meat was anywhere near cooked. Spices and seasoning was sprinkled over the rotating goat who, by this point, had ceased struggling. Only pathetic, tired whimpers came from it. Its body was exhausted, its life draining as its flesh was turned into delicious, tender meat.

Dysta could not tell when the goat died exactly. He only realised after the fact, for the face was slack and the eyes glassy. The creature moved no more, save for its unbroken rotation around and around. Still the chef layered glaze on, keeping the meat moist and juicy as the flames did their work. Soon he passed this job to his subordinate, taking for himself a meat fork and a carving knife.

"Does this mean we can eat now?" Zomros asked. He and Dysta had remained at the cooking pit while the other two had gone back to lounging. Once the goat had died much of the fun had been taken out of it for Boxy, and Lam would rather toy with his smartphone than watch meat cook.

"Looks like it," Dysta said quietly, watching as the head chef sunk those sharp metal tines into the meat before slicing off a crisp, salty layer of cooked goat skin, along with some tender flesh underneath from the shin. Having turned the rotation off, he worked up the leg, peeling and carving off the red meat and plating it on a large dish. Once he'd done the whole leg all around - cutting about and inch off radially - he moved to the other and did the same. Soon there was a whole platter of steaming, rare, cooked goat meat piled up, with the rest of the legs being basted anew as the deeper muscle and tissue went back to cooking.

"Food's up lads!" Zomros said, taking the plate from the counter when the chef offered it, delivering it to the centre of the room where the collection of sofas was.

"Smells delicious," Boxy said, sniffing the air as the blue dragon set the platter down on the table at the centre.

"Well, tuck in!" Zomros said, taking one of the long, tender strips in his claw before dropping it into his jaws, chewing slowly on the meat. He closed his eyes and growled in pleasure, swallowing only after drawing out all the juices and flavour. "So fresh. You can taste it."

Boxy and Lam jumped right in, taking handfuls of their own, getting their fingers sticky with sauce and slick with fat. "You're right," Lam said, licking his digits clean. "Way better than what we get at home."

"What we get at home isn't killed over the fire," Boxy said with a refined air, reaching for another slice of leg meat. The sous chef brought over another tray, this time pieces of arm cut in the same manner.

"Come on Dysta," Zomros said, having demolished half the plate himself. "Eat up!"

Though the green dragon had no qualms with eating meat, he could not quite shake the image of the goat's frightened, pain stricken eyes from his mind. He hesitated, his ethical mind telling him something was wrong with it, but the smell and sight of all that fresh, hot, tender meat was too much to resist. He stepped forward and took a piece, placing it in his long jaws before biting down.

The explosion of flavour in his mouth was divine. Juices rolled over his tongue as his teeth sunk into the tender flesh. Never had he eaten something so delicious. He couldn't reconcile the two extremes in his head - how such terror and helplessness and cruelty had produced such sublime results. His hungry stomach didn't care for such philosophical wranglings. It wanted more, and the dragon obliged by reaching for another piece.

"See? Told you you'd enjoy it," Boxy said, helping himself to the arm meat,

"Well, it's already dead right?" Dysta said in his defense, watching as the sous chef brought over another plate, this time slabs of thin steak from the belly and chest. "Eating live prey is what I don't like so much, but this is delicious!"

Over the next two hours the goat was stripped clean, the pair of chefs doing well to get all they could off the carcass. What was left by the end were just the entrails and a skeleton with the connective tissue. All the steaks and prime cuts had been removed and served, though the four dragon lads had not eaten everything presented to them. There were still a few trays of food left that they picked through, eating casually while chatting and relaxing.

The chefs extinguished the coal fire and carefully untied the remains of the goat. It was utterly unidentifiable now, save for the scorched, twisted face with its horns and distinctive muzzle shape. The rest of the meat, entrails and bones would be used for stews and stocks, food not worthy of the high paying guests enjoying the local hospitality. Silently, the two chefs left the four dragons to enjoy their evening.

Not long after their departure, Boxy stood up and realised they had gone. He scratched his chin, thinking to himself. "I guess it's time for the main event boys," he said.

"You mean there's more?" Dysta had grown quite content over the hours, eating such good food and reveling in the friendly company of his compatriots. The visceral sight of the goat roasting alive had long since left the dragon's mind, replaced by a happy, simple relaxation. Four days of hiking had left Dysta - and the others - disposed to a little hedonistic luxury.

"Sure is," Boxy replied. "It's the lunar new year! That requires some celebrating, doesn't it?"

"I guess," Dysta said. "Are we staying here?"

"Of course," the black dragon nodded. "The entertainment will be coming to us."

"Want me to go check?" Lam said.

"Yeah, have it sent over. I'm feeling... playful."

That usually meant more than just wanting a game of cards. Dysta was keenly aware of Boxy's sadistic tendencies, a part of being a dragon but also a part of being filthy rich. Boxy had never wanted for anything. If money could buy it, he'd have it, and often that meant the lives of others being turned into toys for his pleasure, or meat for his stomach.

The peach dragon left, heading across the courtyard and into the main building while the other three remained in the comfort and warmth of the cavern. Dysta wanted to ask what was in store, but knew he would get no reply. Boxy and Zomros had kept everything quiet and zipped up until now - why would they be open when the reveal was so close? So he waited, sensing the excitement of the other two who knew full well what was in store.

The door opened, letting the cold air swirl in. Lam stood in the doorway, his body against the darkness swarming around him outside. "Okay lads!" He said energetically. "Look what I have!"

As he entered, he brought in with him a chain of bound, naked anthro goats, just like the one that had been cooked a few hours before. They were manacled like a chain gang, their ankles shackled and connected with heavy iron, keeping them all together. They were all alike in build - muscular, lithe but not terribly tall - perhaps five foot from hoof to ear. Their coats were healthy but muted in colour - greys and tans, even and unmarked. The only identifying features on them were the colours of their collars. Two were a deep crimson red, one was blue and the final one white.

"More goats?!" Dysta exclaimed, having never seen such flagrant slavery.

"It is the year of the goat, after all - or will be," Boxy said. "What better way to celebrate the passing of the year from dragon to that of the goat than by a celebratory feast?"

"But where are the chefs?" Dysta asked. "Surely they can't cook four at once!"

"They won't," Boxy answered. "These ones are to eat raw. Alive."

Dysta fell silent. Lam passed the leading chain to Boxy, the peach dragon moving back to close the door. "Their colours represent their willingness," Lam explained as he returned. "The two red ones are easy going. The blue one less so. The white one is least willing. That's what the markings mean." He pointed to the characters printed on the collars.

"I think it's obvious what one I want," Boxy said with a toothy grin, flashing his teeth at the one in white. "I'll enjoy breaking him."

"Best give Dysta one of the willing ones," Lam said. "I don't mind taking the blue one if you want an easy meal, Zom."

"What makes you think I want an easy one? What if I want to feisty one?"

"I'm having the feisty one," Boxy snarled, putting an end to that particular debate.

"Fine, I have the other red one," Zomros said finally.

"I... I don't think I'm hungry," Dysta said weakly, having heard the bickering, as if his friends were a pack of hyenas fighting over a corpse left laying on the savannah.

Boxy clicked his slender fingers, pointing at Lam. The peach dragon understood, passing the keys for the various shackles and cuffs to him. As the black dragon went about unlocking the first of the prey, he spoke sweetly and forcefully to Dysta, making his position clear. "See, I expected you'd be a little unsure Dysta, but think of it as a chance to try predation out again. I know you didn't have fun with it when you tried years ago, but then tastes change, don't they?" He unlocked the manacles of the first goat - a red collar - before pushing the now partially freed prey over to Zomros who grasped it firmly, pressing the much smaller male to his scaled front.

Boxy continued, moving to the next red collared goat, the one destined for Dysta. "You enjoyed eating the cooked stuff, right? Thought it was delicious?"

"I did," Dysta admitted, "but this is different."

"How?"

"Well, I didn't have to feel it die inside me for one!"

"You might like it," Boxy suggested, a devilish twinkle in his red eyes. "Have you ever felt it before?"

"No..." Dysta answered, feeling childish in his waning defense.

"What have you got to lose? You've got a willing prey here, quite a handsome and tasty one at that." The black dragon pressed his snout to the prey, sniffing and nipping at the smooth belly fur before unlocking the last of the ankle bindings. "If you like him, eat him. If not, it's not like he's getting out of here alive. I'm sure we can find a home between us."

The black dragon have the now unshackled goat a shove, pushing it over to where Dysta was curled up on the sofa. Rather than run or flee or fight, the red collared goat stumbled forward before getting to its knees before his assigned predator. Head bowed, the native goat offered himself in body and soul to his draconic master. It hadn't understood a word of what had been said, but could sense the general tone of the conversation. It could see Dysta's apprehension, and being a well trained, well raised piece of meat, it saw its duty in convincing his predator to eat him.

"Tell him I don't want to eat him," Dysta said lamely, turning to Lam who was taking ownership of his own piece of goat meat, the one in the blue collar.

The peach dragon sighed, nodding his head before uttering something to the goat. It turned around and listened, answering back meekly. Lam gave a final and rather forceful word. The goat turned around, its eyes wider than before, bowing back in place with its filed down horns at the base of the sofa.

"Well?" Dysta asked, not seeing much change in his meal-to-be.

"He said he is destined to be your meat," Lam said, though the truth of this was impossible to determine. "He wants you to eat him, Dysta. You're doing him a favour."

"I don't see how that's possible," the green dragon groaned, looking down at the goat confusedly. How was he supposed to start? For the others, eating prey whole and alive was a matter of course, something they were all too familiar with. But Dysta only had that one difficult experience. All he could remember was choking with teary eyes, struggling to gulp down the wriggling meal before finally letting it free. It was both painful and humiliating. He had no desire to go through all that again.

So he stalled. Instead he watched the others, trying to learn their technique. Zomros was already underway with his meal, wasting no time. The blue dragon was always eager to fill his stomach, whether it was with beer or normal food or live prey. He didn't seem to care one way or another. The beefy, bulky dragon had picked up the much smaller goat in his hands, cradling the prey's underarms as if holding a rather large new born baby. Despite Zomros' girth and pudge, he was likely the strongest among the four dragons, and so could lift the goat without struggle or strain.

The two were face to face. The willing prey in his red collar did not flinch or pull away when Zomros' jaws opened, releasing a wave of hot, stale, humid breath. Nor did the goat whine or whimper as the slimy tongue slapped against its face, tasting him while layering the coarse fur in a hearty layer of viscous, heavy drool. If anything, from what Dysta could see, the goat was rather enjoying it, nuzzling into the broad muscle as it poked around his face, slathering him in saliva. He was helping his predator taste him, aiding in the process of getting the food slick and ready for swallowing. When it was pressed into the mouth proper it rubbed its hands along Zomros' jaws, stroking them gently and with reverence, worshipping the mouth that was already consuming him.

Now the important part - the swallow. Dysta paid close attention to every detail. It was a combination of three things, or so he believed as the goat's torso was lifted into the slimy jaws and the head thrust into the tight, scale clad gullet. First, Zomros had given his prey a helpful shove with his hands, forcing the creature up mechanically. Second, the dragon's whole head and neck flicked back a little, rising upwards to make a steeper incline through which the food would travel while also aligning the mouth and the gullet. Dysta wondered if he would need to do that, for his neck was longer than the others, as well as more flexible. Finally, Zomros made good use of his digestive tract - an echoing gulp from the gullet, a press of the tongue and a little suction from below. All together, it had almost a third of the faintly kicking goat submerged, leaving just the belly and below free from Zomros' drooling jaws, the rest being packed under the blue and white scales.

Zomros wasn't the only one feasting now either. Both Lam and Boxy had turned their attention from convincing Dysta to eating their own meals. Dysta was glad for it, for it bought him more time to summon the courage to eat his own goat, who from time to time looked up at his master imploringly, that scrawny face asking to be eaten. A stab of guilt entered the green dragon - was this goat really that stupid? What lies had he been told to make him want to be eaten? Didn't he know how foul it was in a stomach, how painful it was to digest alive? Perhaps Dysta would spare him that and belch out all the air. Suffocation and asphyxiation was a far better death than melting away in acid.

Still, he put it off. He turned away from Zomros, facing across the table where Boxy was starting to enjoy his treat. He had left the goat bound, with the ankles shackled together and the arms tied by the wrists behind the goat's back. He'd laid the creature out on his lap, propping the poor thing up against his body as if in a lover's caress, but there was a dark intent to it. It allowed the sharp toothed dragon to lean down with his long jaws and sniff at the terrified, defiant goat, who even now was fighting and struggling to get away. Boxy's grip held the prey firm, and the fight only brought the dragon pleasure.

"See how a real prey greets their predator?" Boxy asked, flicking an eye up to Dysta. "You've got it easy with the trained one. This one was probably pulled from his home in the night, ripped away from his former, peasant life, all to feed and entertain me." Boxy opened his lips a little, parting his jaws before sliding them around the creature's shoulder. Then, slowly, with his eyelids narrowed in sadistic joy, he bit down.

The goat howled out, cursing in his native language, an exclamation that turned the attention of the other two goats still uneaten. Boxy's sharp, white teeth pierced through the fur and skin and flesh like knives, sinking in with ease. Blood oozed up from the grey fur, dribbling down the prey's front while spilling over Boxy's lips. Like a vampire, the black dragon drank from the wound - he always enjoyed the taste of hot, coppery blood. He pulled back, releasing the goat from the bite to reveal a crude semicircle of wounds, crimson red.

"So delicious," Boxy growled. "You know Dysta, if you don't like eating them whole, I can teach you a thing or two about taking them down in more manageable pieces..."

"No, it's alright thanks," Dysta replied. He wasn't squeamish - the sight of blood didn't alarm or disgust him as it might others - but the thought of tearing into a creature bite by bite while they screamed and cried seemed far too heartless and sadistic. Perfect for a dragon of Boxy's tastes, but Dysta was a tamer sort.

"Fine," Boxy said with a growl, reaching down to lick the oozing blood from the shoulder wound. "I think I'll chew mine up nice and slow."

The black dragon would make good on his promise. He reached down and with a flick of his sharp claws severed the rope binding the arms. Before the goat could pull any tricks, Boxy grabbed one of the arms and wrestled it towards his blood stained jaws. As if the goat already knew what this meant, the prey fought with as much vigour he could summon - but it wasn't enough. The outstretched hand was guided into the wet, fleshy jaws, secured in place with a firm bite halfway up the bicep. Boxy held the arm by the shoulder while pinning the goat to his powerful scaled body - only then did he start to chew.

The sound of flesh being torn from the bone was gruesome, but the chilling, animalistic yelps of agony that came from the pinned goat echoed deep into Dysta's psyche. With a grimace, the green dragon watched as Boxy gnawed on the arm like a dog chews on a bone - slurping and gnashing at it, yanking the flesh and skin and fur off with each bite, grinding his teeth along the bone to clean it of its tasty meat. Strong though his jaws were, Boxy couldn't bite through the bone, so instead he just masticated the fresh meat around it, swallowing it down in little lumps until there was nothing left but sinew.

The goat was allowed to pull out his now almost skeletal arm. He clutched it with his intact hand, wide eyed with tears streaming down his face. Blood gushed from the wound above the elbow, spilling down across both the goat and Boxy's lap. The white bone was still smeared with saliva, blood and trappings of veins, tendons and hunks of flesh that Boxy had not swallowed down. Why would the dragon fuss over the scraps when there was so much meat to enjoy elsewhere.

He grabbed the goat's second arm and gave it the same treatment, the screaming and shouting all the louder. Dysta turned away. He could watch no more. He turned down to his goat and spoke to him, softly and empathetically so that his tone would convey his message, even his if language could not. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll be kinder than him. I'll try to make it easy on you."

The goat looked up at him, smiling and nodding as if it understood, rising from its knees a little to press its nose against Dysta's. The trembling hands rose too, clutching onto the green dragon's jaws, holding them firmly before trying to pry them apart. Dysta couldn't resist. He knew he would have to consume this willing prey eventually or Boxy would get his bloody claws on it. So he opened his jaws, conscious that his breath was heavy with the smell of sweet sauce and goat meat. He breathed through his nose, letting the hornless goat prod inside, laying his chin along Dysta's tongue and nuzzling into it, kissing the slimy muscle as saliva rained down from the teeth and roof.

The green dragon tried his best to keep his sharp teeth out of the way. He didn't want to cause undue pain to his meal. That meant getting the creature very slick and slippery. Plenty of saliva would be needed to lubricate it if it was to fit whole and alive down the dragon's long, unstretched neck. He found the taste to be rather unpleasant; the fur was clean but dry, certainly not as juicy or flavoursome as the tender, well cooked meat they had enjoyed beforehand. Still, he tried his best to enjoy it. This was a life he was ultimately ending, and to do so without pleasure would be a sleight on the goat.

He prepared to swallow. He took a deep breath and relaxed his gullet. Some predators would spent a lot of time practising this, how to stop their gag reflex - it was not something that Dysta had done. He knew that once he started he would need to be quick. If he slowed down he would choke and splutter, just like when he first tried long ago. But there was a balance to strike - too fast and the dry furred goat wouldn't be slick enough. Too slow and he'd gag. So, blotting out the sounds of feasting and fighting around him, Dysta took a deep gulp and gave the goat a shove with his foreclaws.

The goat's smooth and streamlined face slipped into Dysta's gullet neatly, sheathed in slime to make it easy to swallow. Perhaps it was because this prey wasn't squirming or because it was small, but he found himself able to hold the goat there without retching. He stretched his jaws around the shoulders and chest, a simple task for a dragon of Dysta's size. His teeth pinched down, enough to hold the prey as his tongue slurped over the flesh and fur again, matting it down, getting it nice and lubricated. He could feel the pulse quickening in his prey, the chest rising and falling with panicked breath. Eager though it was, the goat was nonetheless faced with a grim, dark, frightening proposition: being eaten alive was a fear that every creature harbored instinctually.

A pleasing warmth bloomed in Dysta's plated neck as the goat slipped deeper, its body heat radiating into the tight flesh that encased it. Dysta, to his suprise, found himself able to swallow far more easily than expected. He gulped, and his long, powerful neck did all the work for him. With his jaws open and his saliva layering itself on the meal, the goat's belly and hips were soon brought over Dysta's lips and teeth, resting on the tongue to bring a softer texture and fuller taste. Dysta was actually enjoying himself.

But now, with over half of the goat now entering his long, slender neck, the urge to spit it out was growing. It was that or gulp it down, and Dysta knew his friends would give him hell if he let the goat loose. So he gulped again, taking no time to really savour or suckle on the flavoursome groin where the muskiness and saltiness of the meal was most intense. He cared only for getting the meal over with. If it felt this strangely pleasing to have the living meat in his throat, then he could only wonder how pleasing it might be in his stomach.

Now the primal urge took hold of Dysta. He put aside his thoughts and rational mind, instead relying on instinct. His throat started to roll and squeeze with waves of peristaltic motion, tugging down the meat with a will of its own. The green dragon just relaxed and swallowed, keeping his tongue down and his jaws wide, sucking down every last little bit of the goat until the hard hooves were sliding over his lips. With great relief and a hint of pride, he gulped those down with a loud, wet squelch, huffing deeply as the entirety of the prey resided under his glossy scales.

Dysta craned his head around to watch his stomach. Along his gullet the long, streamlined bulge of prey was moving down, being caressed and guided through the throat with rings of squelching, kneading muscle. Gurgles and splatters sounded out as the bulge roamed towards Dysta's stocky body still perched on the sofa. He could feel the warm, squirming meat slide into his belly, his midsection starting to bloat and fill. It was a wonderful, even magical sensation. There was a wonderfully warming tingle sweeping up his spine as his guts shifted around the new mass. His taut, shiny scales grew and stretched, burning slightly like the kiss of sun after hours outside. Every little kick and wiggle of his willing prey was amplified one hundredfold, letting the dragon feel everything.

And then there was the power. Even Dysta, a dragon who had never eaten someone in his life, was hit with a rush of adrenaline. Inside him, there under his smooth, rounded scales, another life was contained. Like some perversion of pregnancy, he was instead snuffing out a life, transferring the vitality of one to another. He had the power to release that goat, to spit him up and gift the preything a new lease on life - but Dysta wouldn't. Even if his friends were not around him, pressuring him into this act, he would have acquiesced to the blissful fullness that resided between his legs.

Zomros padded over, his own stomach bloated and full, sagging down a little from his bipedal form. His gut, like Dysta's, was churning and gurgling loudly as the meat inside was compressed and kneaded, smothered in hot, viscous acids that were already busy stripping fur from flesh.

"You did it Dysta!" The blue dragon said eagerly, giving his friend a much appreciated rub of the scales. They were so much more sensitive now that they were bloated and stretched. Everything about being fed with live, whole prey was just so satisfying - it was addictive!

"Yeah," Dysta said with a newfound confidence. "It feels good, surprisingly good."

"Well, just you wait," Zomros said eagerly. "Digesting them is even better. Right now they're just sitting in your gut, tight and hot and slimy but otherwise unharmed. Give it a few minutes and they'll start to burn. That's when they'll really start to struggle. Kicking and fighting in the acids, but it's a real nice massage inside. Nothing beats it."

Dysta nodded, looking back to his swollen gut, wondering just how foul and unpleasant it was for that eager to die goat. "I was planning on getting rid of the air in there," the green dragon admitted. "Before I ate him, I thought it would be cruel to digest him alive. But now I'm kinda' curious. I mean, swallowing it was fun, so maybe digesting it will be too."

"I knew we would bring him around," Boxy said from across the room. There was nothing left of his goat now. The poor thing had died long before it reached the stomach. The black dragon, after chewing all the meat of the arms, went for the kill. He'd shoved the weakened, lightheaded preything into his jaws head first and bit down around the chest. The dragon's powerful bite had crunched down, puncturing the skin and lungs. Another bite, and another, and another, and soon the head and torso of the goat had been reduced to bloody ruin. From there, once the struggling stopped, the prey made an uneventful journey down to the black dragon's gut, compacted inside, saved from the gruesome horror of digesting alive.

"Well, it certainly wasn't as bad as I expected," Dysta said, rubbing over his stomach. It was mesmerising. He couldn't stop touching it. His sense of touch was so greatly enhanced by his living meal inside that every press and swipe of his fingers was electrifying. "I suppose I should thank you for introducing it to me."

"You're welcome," the black dragon said with a bloody smile. His front was a mess of crimson gore, even soaking into the sofa under him. It would need to be cleaned, but that wasn't the dragon's concern. "But the fun isn't over yet. As Zom said, you've got the pleasure of feeling that young, healthy ram die inside you, and that's the best bit."

"I can agree to that," Lam said, stepping over. He too was boasted a full stomach, hanging a little from his frame. Being the lightest of the four, the swollen paunch looked larger, more obscene. It was clear when the goat inside thrashed and squirmed, the futile, clumsy punches showing through the armored flesh, making it slosh from side to side. "This one is already putting up a fight."

Being the only one not nursing a stomach of live meat, Boxy stood and grabbed four chilled bottles of homeland beer from a fridge in the wall, imported specifically for their usual tastes - the local stuff being particularly foul and pungent. They were passed around, the caps popped off, and the four dragons raised them in cheers.

"To the year of the ram!" Boxy said, grinning.

"To the year of the ram," the other three echoed, taking the first gulps of sweet, cold beer to wet their well worked throats, and to douse the goats sitting in their stomachs in a layer of chilled, foaming alcohol.

A crash and a boom thundered outside. Through the small windows in the rock face flashes of red and green light poured in. "That'll be the fireworks," Zomros said. "How about we take this outside?"

The four made their way out into the cool night, Zomros and Dysta having to work to pull their bodies from the sofa. Dysta in particular was struggling. The extra weight was not trivial to bear. Were the goat on his shoulders or on his back then it might be easy, but slung under his frame between his legs? That was a difficult load to carry, one that tugged and pulled at his scales with every step. It sloshed and groaned, the goat being washed in tides of acid, beer and slime, not having a moment of stillness or rest inside the cramped, deadly chamber.

But Dysta said nothing. He padded along, glad to be on all fours, wondering if being upright made it easier on his fellow predators. A shudder ran down his spine as he thought that word - predator. He'd entered the echelons of respectability, a true dragon that took his meat as rare as it came. He swelled with pride. He'd finally overcome that old sense of dread and shame.

Outside, once they had travelled through the inn - nodding and smiling at the locals as they looked to the four swollen, sagging stomachs - they came to the wide street running through the town. There a true festival spirit had taken the place. Hours ago, in daylight, it had been easy to overlook the bunting, lanterns and kites that had been tucked away. Now they were out on full display, the dragon populace enjoying the atmosphere in the street. Fireworks soared upwards, screaming and whistling before erupting into bright flame. Freshly cooked meals were being served - bowls of steaming, spicy soup and skewers of sticky sweet meats. Song and music played out, with dancers taking to the road in a flurry of silk and satin, gold and pearl.

But Dysta's attention wasn't on the fascinating displays of craftsmanship or artistry. No - the dragon was focused solely on the action in his stomach. It had been fifteen minutes or so since the goat and slid inside his stomach, and now the creature - previously willing and amiable - was kicking up a storm. The poor goat was now furless, its eyes and mucous membranes burning in the terrible chemical heat. Any eagerness it once had was now gone, replaced by fear, pain and loathing. It wanted to escape, and initially it struggled with such intensity that it made the inexperienced predator feel ill. Mixing up all the bubbling beer resulted in a few belches, but every one of those little burps robbed the struggling goat of more air. Dysta held it down, enjoying the little bit of contest, while also reveling in the warmth and strange inner massage he was receiving from his new year's meal.

Slowly though, over the course of half an hour, the vigorous fighting died down. The goat's body was melting away, being broken down in the heat and pressure of the dragon's dangerous belly. More than that, the air that had been swallowed down with it was now all but gone. Only useless waste carbon dioxide remained, choking the creature, making it sluggish and tired. Its bloody limbs were growing heavy, and despite the agony that prickled at its senses it could not stage another offensive. Defeated, the goat slumped down quietly, accepting its death, knowing that nothing would save it now.

Dysta was relieved to find his prey slowing in its defiance. The struggling turned into a pleasant weight, a dead stillness that was just like any other large, satisfying meal. Dysta had done it - he had killed another creature with his stomach, and rather than guilt he felt pride. There was no sadness, but joy. His friends saw him in an equal light now. No longer was he that coward that shied away from eating prey. He was a true dragon.

On the turn of midnight, a final salvo of rockets shot up and painted the sky in dazzling colour. The four dragons, having retired back to their little rock hewn suit, relaxed and lounged in the hot tub, beers in claw, digesting away their delicious and entertaining dinners. The year of the dragon was done, the year of the ram had only just began, and Dysta wondered how many tasty rams he'd have the pleasure of consuming in the coming months.