His darkest suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the man called out and two more of his pernicious kind appeared, axes slung over their shoulders.
'How's it coming?' the first man called.
'Slowly,' replied one of his companions. 'Reckon it'll take at least a tenday to widen the path enough to let the wagons through.'
'Naw,' snorted the third man. 'Four days, maybe. Once Ivor and the rest get here, it'll go faster.'
The first man grunted, casting a squinted look into the sky, and said, 'Better get on with it. Be dark soon.'
Taking up a hammer and stake, he scanned the ground with an appraising eye. Zyx realized with horror that the man was erecting a tent.
The little dragon tasted blood. It was only then that he realized he had been biting his tongue. The tip of his tail twitched anxiously, causing the branch beneath him to shudder in sympathy.
This would not do. It would not do at all.
Something had to be done.
Fortunately, it did not take long for a plan to blossom, for Zyx's brain was a uniquely fertile place for plots and schemes.
'Don't get comfortable,' he growled under his breath, his gaze burning into the interlopers. 'You won't be here for long.'
'Cirro.'
There was no response. 'Cirro!'
As anyone who has ever tried to wake a mist dragon will tell you, it is not an easy task. For such creatures sleep is a sacred rite, an inviolable space, taking its place alongside meditation, rumination, and other places of deep thought. He who wakes a mist dragon does so at his own risk, for who knows what wondrous subconscious revelations he might be interrupting?
Fortunately, Zyx was not troubled with such worries. As far as he was concerned, Cirrothamalan had already experienced rather more epiphanies than was generally advisable for a non-deity.
'Cirro,' he said, 'I've come to tell you that I'm leaving the forest.'
A luminous slit of yellow appeared, and a vertical pupil dilated eagerly. Zyx checked a sigh. He had feared his ploy would work. Though it pained him to admit it, he had the inescapable impression that Cirrothamalan was not always grateful for his company.
'Leaving?' rumbled the mist dragon. He raised his ponderous head. 'How tragic. I am sorry to see you go.'
'That's very kind of you,' Zyx replied, immune to sarcasm. 'But perhaps I've exaggerated a little. What I meant to say is that I'm leaving this part of the forest-temporarily-because I have urgent business elsewhere.'
Cirro's eyelids dropped to half mast. 'That's fascinating,' he said, his tone suggesting something less than complete fascination. 'I am truly grateful you disturbed my sleep to advise me.'
'Think nothing of it-we're friends, after all. But actually, I need your help.' The little dragon adopted a very serious expression and added, 'That is to say, the forest needs your help.'
Cirro yawned in a manner not entirely befitting one who has received a call to service, and said, 'Go away, Zyx.'
'You haven't even heard what I'm going to say,' the faerie dragon noted. 'Aren't you curious?'
'Have I ever been curious, Zyx? Was I curious when you came to me complaining of rogue butterflies? Was I enthralled by your description of political infighting among the howler monkeys? I have more important things to think about. There are great puzzles in this world that need solving, one of which is why faerie dragons cannot leave anyone in peace.'
That said, Cirro lowered his head and curled around himself, signaling the conversation was over.
But Zyx was not one to pick up on subtle cues.
'You'll be interested this time, Cirro,' he said. 'Humans have moved into the forest.'
He should have liked this pronouncement to be followed by a clap of thunder from the heavens.
Had it been, perhaps Cirro would have taken it more seriously. As it was, the mist dragon merely stretched languidly and mumbled, 'It was only a matter of time.'
'Nonsense!' snapped Zyx. He began to pace nervously on his branch. 'They've already made camp, and I heard them talking about bringing wagons in! I'll bet they're here for the trees. I know all about the kinds of things they make out of hardwood. Ghastly,' be added with a shudder.
'Mmm,' said Cirro. His voice had taken on the thickness of near-sleep.
'And,' continued Zyx, pronouncing his next words deliberately, 'they're barely a league from your grotto.'
Cirro was on his feet so quickly that the breeze knocked Zyx from his perch. The little dragon had to flutter furiously to avoid falling into the river below.
'My grotto?' Cirro roared.
Like most of his kind, Cirrothamalan had a favorite spot for contemplation, a secluded retreat from which he could reflect on the wonderful mysteries of life. The turbid pool itself held little interest for the mist dragon, but the caves beyond were sacred to him. Veiled as they were by a thundering waterfall, the caverns were largely inaccessible to smaller beasts-such as faerie dragons, for example. The grotto was Cirro's sanctuary, jealously guarded. Few forest creatures dared venture near its hallowed banks.
'When the humans find it,' Zyx intoned, 'they'll claim it for their own. They'll draw water from it. They'll wash their clothes in it. They'll bathe in it.'
That last image produced equal shivers of disgust from both dragons. Cirro commenced to pace. His great claws sank deep into the clay of the riverbank, sending frogs and dragonflies scattering for their lives.
'All right, faerie dragon,' he boomed. 'What do you propose?'
'We've got to get rid of them,' Zyx said. 'Right away.'
'Agreed. I'll attack tonight, under cover of darkness. When the rest of them arrive, all they'll find is little pieces of-'
'Er… ugh… Cirro,' Zyx interrupted, grimacing. 'That's not quite what I had in mind.'
The mist dragon frowned. 'What's this?'
'There mustn't be any killing. It's out of the question.'
Cirro's scowl deepened. He muttered something unflattering about faerie dragons, but Zyx was unperturbed.
'We only need to scare them,' he insisted. The tip of his serpentine tail began to twitch with excitement. 'You know, make them think the rainforest is unsafe.'
'The rainforest is unsafe,' Cirro returned. 'Have you actually got a plan, faerie dragon, or are you simply talking to hear yourself speak?'
Zyx regarded him with an air of infringed dignity. 'Of course I have a plan,' he sniffed. 'And a good one, too. Watch this.'
An army of yuan-ti burst through the trees, scimitars raised and jaws slavering. There were hundreds of them, each one more fearsome-looking than the last. Their fiendish cackles reverberated through the gorge, causing the surrounding trees to erupt with terrified birds. Grinning eagerly, the snakemen advanced toward the dragons. Their leader's eyes fixed hungrily on Cirrothamalan, and it drew a claw across its throat in cruel mockery.
The mist dragon sighed and looked away from his impending doom.
'Yuan-ti don't cackle,' he pointed out.
Zyx tilted his head, considering the snakemen with a critical eye before he conceded, 'Hmm. Maybe not,'
'And unless I'm much mistaken, they're not usually pink.'
'They are not pink!' Zyx retorted, scandalized. Then he peered more closely. 'A bit rosy, perhaps, but certainly not pink.'
'Face it, faerie dragon,' Cirro chuckled as the yuan-ti faded from view, 'you're terrible at illusions. You won't fool anyone with that nonsense, not even humans.'
Zyx pouted. Yet he was forced to admit that the mist dragon was right-he had never been much good at conjuring.
