FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Under the stars and away from the crowds was always a good place to practice with a sword. That was why Maroc had led his new sparring partner to this spot, his favourite in town. Or just outside town, rather. His feet quietly crunched the damp leaf litter and his hand kept closing and opening, eager to take the hilt of his sword in hand.He glanced over his shoulder. His ear fins registered the change in direction and he became aware of the breeze on them. "You been keeping up with your practice lately, John?""Oh, yes," came the strangely gleeful answer, followed by a dry chuckle.Even though Maroc had only known John for three weeks he still wasn't sure what exactly to make of the black tiger. Overall the great cat seemed fine - in fact, he'd made a point of charming Maroc and two other dragons in the class, so well that they'd come to regard him more or less as a dragon without wings. But somehow the name 'John' just didn't seem to fit. His mannerisms called for something more dramatic. John was too... eccentric to have John for a name.Maybe one day Maroc would work out why. In the meantime, John made a perfectly good sparring partner and Maroc had invited him to his favourite spot of his for a match.The dark night-time vista opened up into a rough circle, well lit by the moon. The shingle underfoot was silvery in that light, fine and slightly tinged with a frosty blue. The edge was defined by dark green bushes and tall trees standing respectfully back. And above, not a single cloud threatened to take away their light. It would shine against their swords beautifully.Maroc felt himself smile: it was time to start. He took several confident steps forward, stretching his wings and tail as he did so to begin to get the blood pumping. Forests had never been good places for dragons. As he gave the underside of his tail a good stretch he turned on his heel so that it didn't drag against the pebbles. The tip struck several leaves and then wavered behind him above ground level. He drew his sword.John's eyes were almost luminous. The moon cast them in a yellowish light, which gave him an almost demonic appearance. "Are you ready to do battle?" he asked, although it was barely a question, so ready and happily malevolent did it sound.The eyes challenged Maroc across that duelling circle.A few seconds passed before Maroc realised he'd been staring, frozen into place. John's eyes were luminous yellow! Only slightly, but they produced a glow that they shouldn't have. Not in Maroc's experience. He risked (and something deep down inside him, something he half-managed to pooh-pooh as superstitious, insisted it was a risk) a look up at the moon. Was it particularly yellow tonight?No. It was as silver as usual.Maroc shivered and looked back at his sparring partner.A quick gleam of metallic shine and John moved first, his fine black whiskers tight against his muzzle

and his muscles unsprung. His ears, round and small, but acute all the same.Maroc gasped and startled back, his wings instinctively unfurling. He raised his own sword to parry and heard the ringing rasp of metal against metal as they met. As a dragon he was stronger than John and they'd wordlessly agreed right from the beginning that their battles would be based on skill, not raw power. So instead of blundering in with all his strength Maroc looked for an opening. Again he caught a disconcerting glance at those eyes - predatory, despite John's ultimately weaker position - and deflected John to the side.John attacked, making Maroc back up in a wide circle, countering blow after skilful blow and keeping half a mind on where his tail and wings were, feeling carefully for the moments when his wing-arms touched foliage so that he could turn and not be backed up against the edge. It took all of his concentration. The tiger was so experienced!"You'll have - to tell me - where I can get - training like yours," called the blue dragon between strikes. Anything to deflect the intensity in John's eyes, which bored into him even as he battled the blade.Suddenly, with no warning, John stopped his attack.Maroc stopped too, his muscles jarring into a frozen pose so that he didn't end up hurting John. His breath billowed in the night air, his upper arms slightly constricted his chest so that they rose and fell as he breathed. The dark tiger stepped backwards, and back again, and spread his arms in an invitation. "Come, dragon! Have at me!"Maroc blinked; he'd gone into a trance again! This time the influence seemed stronger and he didn't quite feel able just to forget about it.Something was happening. He felt drawn-in. Attracted like a magnet, or like the children to the Pied Piper. It was those yellow eyes. There was something in them that he could hardly help but walk towards. His muscles twitched with impatience.In fact, to walk towards them made perfect sense. He put a trembling foot forward and felt his weight on it, his clawed toes spreading and displacing shingle.Then he stopped. This was madness! He shook his head, looked at John again and lowered his sword. "I'm not sure why, but I don't feel right," he admitted. In all honesty he felt like fleeing but damned if he was going to run from a mere tiger. What would everyfur at the class think if they heard about that?The sound of pebbles being scrunched underfoot caught his attention again and he looked up, fighting his way out of another trance. Magnetic power... John stalked around him, circling like a predator, tail tip twitching back, and forth, back, and forth. Expert placement of feet and the powerful roll of black stripes over muscle.Maroc felt almost overwhelmed with the desire to ask John who he really was. Between them, he and the other dragons had never quite managed to pin John down about his background. There

was a background to the tiger, Maroc was sure of it now, and he was struck with the sudden apprehension that he should have known who this fur was before allowing himself to be alone with him.He was just trying to work out how to get this information without sounding vulnerable when everything went dark.Maroc blinked and stretched his muscles, expecting for a moment that he'd blacked out and woken up. But, he slowly realised, he hadn't blacked out. Everything. Had. Literally. Turned.Black.Dark stripes rippling through the blackness. Twin yellow glows. John was still there.Where am I? Maroc looked down and tensed his wings, suddenly afraid that he was suspended in mid-air. He could feel the familiar pattern of pressure and tension in his feet and legs and reluctantly relaxed again. The ground had no texture any more. He was able to stand perfect well, but whatever was under his feet simply didn't feel like anything.Is this what it feels like to be small? he wondered frantically and gave in to the urge to half-crouch protectively down and cover his head with his wings. He couldn't bear, just for the moment, to look at John. He had to get a grip! Fighting his fear he looked right and left and tried to work out where he was. Maybe it was just as mundane as the forest clearing had gone dark. If he spread his right wing as far as it could go, he knew he should be able to touch a tree trunk. The back of his brain suggested he look up at the moon, because even if clouds had gone in front of it he'd still see them, but the rest of his senses told it to shut up. He began to reach out for the trunk.Claustrophobia gripped him then and he snatched his wing back. He looked at John, desperate for answers. "Who are you?!" he gasped. The claustrophobia seemed to have sucked all the air out of his lungs and he couldn't pull enough in. He was going to suffocate..."Call me Drake," came a voice that sounded far more at home than he felt.I knew it, wailed the dragon's mind."So what am I going to call my new creation?" The question could easily have been accompanied by a paternal pat on Maroc's head. Maroc shuddered. "What creation? What do you mean?" He tried to feel for the tree trunk again. No joy: every time he tried to stretch his wings the darkness seemed to close around him. It took all his will not to crouch down into a ball.The tiger seemed no longer to have a body, but Maroc was certain he was prowling to and fro in front of him. "The physical world is so full of possibilities, dragon." The eyes, or some approximation of them, floated in his vision. They seemed somehow more than they had been, as if it wasn't just eyes Maroc was looking at any more. The phrase, 'windows of the soul' floated into his mind but it only instilled more dread. He tried to shake the whole idea away."What poss-" He couldn't bear to ask.John

towered over him, a towering exaggerated by the understanding that this was, well, a demon or some kind of monster.Demon? That struck something. "You're a demon," Maroc stated."Excellent guess, dragon.""You're a demon!" blurted Maroc and tried to take several self-protective steps backwards. But he couldn't seem to move. If anything he felt drawn......forwards.He took a step forwards. And then he locked his knees as if he was a hatchling on the edge of a cliff. "No! No! What do you want with me?!"John was so close Maroc would've been able to feel the tiger's breath on his muzzle - if they'd been in their bodies any more. "Your flesh..." It was said so gleefully, so lecherously that Maroc wanted to scream, to cover his body to protect it from this evil presence and scream. This was a nightmare.He fell over backwards with a shout and put his hands to the gravel to sit up. Gravel! Maroc looked down with a shock of relief. Shingle had never felt so reassuring. He scraped a pile of it together gratefully as he got his bearings.He looked around. Where was John? Or the crazy evil Drake? "John?" he called and felt instantly relieved that he sounded confident again. The tree trunk was there again too; so was the moon.John wasn't here."Drake?" he risked, forcing authority into his voice.Nothing.Maroc stood up, helping himself to his feet with his wings and tail, and found his sword. He sheathed it and was just about to walk off when he experienced a dizzy spell.From somewhere inside, Drake laughed. Suddenly the environment around Maroc, close as it was, looked very far away. Maroc was drifting. "Welcome to the world, my son. What shall I call you?"The dizzy spell ended and Maroc tried to get his bearings. He just wanted out of here as quickly as possible, back to civilisation.He didn't feel like himself. He felt... angry. Not at the demon (why had he ever called him John? What foolishness!) but at everything. At the rest of his classmates and his family. At the population he could see in the gap in the trees in town, the night-lights twinkling away.He had a sword. Maroc the dragon had brought a sword. He unsheathed it and opened his wings.He paused. What's happened? He let his coiled legs relax for a moment and inspected his wings. They'd turned from his familiar blue to a dark red, almost black. Changes were happening inside his brain, he could feel them. Re-wiring. He furrowed his brow in confusion and felt weight and pull where they'd never been before. He touched his face: thorns along his jaw. A high - very high - crest of spines on top of his head, starting between his eyes. His claws were longer and sharper.This doesn't make sense! I'm blue! cried a voice inside his head. But it was distant, watery. And it felt like a frightened, caged animal. He decided to ignore it.Your name, my

son?A name came to him. His name.Call me Drakeson, he told the demon nestled in his brain and took to the air.

 THE END