I stay perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, in the hope it will retreat. After a few moments, it does, with the click of nails on rock. I still don’t hear the telltale scrape of a wyvern’s front claws, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s retreating. That’s all I need to know.
Jacko and I set out again as quietly as we can. The jackalope keeps looking back, and I watch him for signs he hears or sees anything. He doesn’t, and soon we are coming up on the end of the tunnel and see, fifty feet ahead of us, the sun rising through a cave opening.
I pause a moment to marvel at the dawn.
When the tunnel broadens, I peer around. Jacko does the same. We’ve reached another cavern. Water burbles nearby, as if from a stream. I can’t see the whole thing at a glance, but the water seems to come from around a corner. Otherwise, it’s silent, and I don’t see signs of a nest or den. No bones or debris anywhere. It’s as clean as if the cavern has been swept.
As I ease out, nails click on rock and I freeze. Silence. I strain to hear while trying to judge where the noise came from.
I detect a very soft noise, like distant movement in the same direction as the burbling water. Around the corner, out of sight. So I just need to make it to that exit without being heard.
I creep forward, thankful I’m barefoot. My steps make no sound. Neither do Jacko’s. As we move, I keep glancing toward that water noise. At any moment, I could go from being “hidden around a corner” to fully visible.
Two more steps, and I see a pool of rippling water. Off to one side are some oddly shaped rocks. Ink-black ovals, as smooth as glass. I’d love to take a closer look, but this really isn’t the time for geological curiosity.
I’m less than a dozen feet from the exit. Beyond it, there’s a huge ledge and the tops of trees. We’re maybe thirty feet off the ground. Certainly too high to jump, but I can climb down from this height. First, I just need to get out…quietly.
I creep three more steps, then four. A fifth step, and I stop short and squint toward the cavern with the water and odd rocks, not even sure what I’m seeing. A tail? That’s certainly what it looks like. It can’t be, though. It’s at least two feet thick. No creature has a tail that big.
Maybe it’s a wyvern’s back leg. I nod. That makes sense. It does seem to be reptilian. It must be part of a leg, held at a weird angle. Still, I do not want to meet whatever creature is attached to that big leg.
Another step and then another, and when I look back, I’m certain it’s a leg I’m seeing. It’s just the curve of it, the rest hidden behind the wall of rock. Well hidden, it seems. That’s a relief.
I keep going. Five steps left. Four. Three. Two—
Nails on rock. I turn, and on the other side of the cavern, away from the pool, something moves in the shadows. I can still see that partial leg, so it isn’t that creature. It’s definite movement, though.
Jacko presses against me. I want to scoop him up and run, but a sudden movement might alert these creatures. Also, Jacko can move just as fast as I can on his own. Better to keep my hands free and step backward.
I do, and sunlight hits me. The nails-on-rock sound continues, as a dark shape moves in the shadows twenty feet away.
Just keep backing up. Slowly retreat. Don’t run. With predators, you should never run.
The shape begins to take form, and I almost exhale in relief. It’s definitely a wyvern. While it might still be a semi-formless shadow, I can see the general shape of the head—the skull and snout—and the thick, reptilian rear legs. Most importantly, I see wings. I definitely see wings.
The wyvern has spotted me, and it’s advancing slowly. I sense caution and curiosity in that approach. It’s wondering why there is a human in its lair.
Don’t mind me! Just passing through. Be gone in a heartbeat!
A laugh burbles up inside me, a nervous, frightened laugh that I manage to swallow. I just need to keep backing away.
Still in shadow, it begins emerging into dim light. Something about the way it moves is strange. It’s not the wyvern’s awkward bat-on-land teetering shuffle, but a steady forward gait. I still don’t see any ears.
Enough with the ears! That is the absolute least of your concerns.
I can’t help it. As frightened as I am, part of my brain is still a monster scientist. Is this a different subtype of wyvern? One only found in the mountains?
Would you like to stop and examine it?
I stifle another nervous chuckle. No, thank you.
As soon as I think that, the beast shifts, and I see ears. They’re just farther back than I expected. There, see? Wyvern.
I’m on the ledge now, the full dawn sun beating against my back. I glance left and right, looking for the best way down. Neither. From here, it looks like an actual ledge, without a path to the ground.
That’s all right. I can scramble down the hillside. I edge left, which seems the more promising route. Jacko is still by my feet, close enough for his fur to brush my skin. He’s staring at that emerging shape. His body starts to shake, nose silently twitching. I can’t see his eyes, but I know they’re wide. Wide with fear, which is understandable—a wyvern can carry off a fully grown jackalope.
One more step sideways, with Jacko almost on my feet, and then the beast’s head emerges from the shadows and—
It is not a wyvern.
I…I don’t know what it is. The head is reptilian and jet-black. What I’d thought were ears are short horns. The neck is
