Elwood

Owned by Peyp

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E L W O O D _______________________________

It was early morning, and the trees were screaming. Elwood sighed and adjusted his scarves.

“SHUT UP!”

It earned him a few seconds of silence. But then the noise flooded back, bringing new sounds with it--the cries of exotic birds, the distant throaty shouts of monkey troupes. So he threw open the door to his little hut and roared. The silence was fleeting and, when the noise returned, he swore there was laughter in it.

“How could anyone live like this?”

“Eh, you get used to it.”

Elwood whipped around. The Wildclaw behind him splayed its claws in a showing of peace, then pointed a little jauntily at the parcels on its back. He relaxed as it slid them onto the table, opening each little satchel to display the contents. Inkwells, quills, parchment, reference tomes, instruments, all of the excellent make, most imported. They contrasted the Wildclaw’s loud markings and near-nudity brilliantly. Elwood chose a few items, bowed politely, and started to measure out some coins. But the Wildclaw waved them away with a little grin.

“It’s a gift, mate. We don’t see many scholars, we like to treat ‘em good. Related, and no offense, but how do you mean to fight the beasts?”

“Pardon?”

Elwood tried to hide his annoyance as the Wildclaw chuckled. “That’s a training hut, yeah? It comes with beasts. We leave kills on the step so they learn there’s easy food here. Not really...not really a scholarly thing, ya know? And oh man you didn’t know! Bet you just saw ‘Hut of the Giants’ and were thinking Oh, what a cute name for a little getaway, best reserve it quick! Come with me back to the outpost, we’ll get you a proper setup, yeah?”

Elwood protested this, and his ignorance, and his innocence (privately wondering which secretary was to blame). But the Wildclaw just kept chuckling and loading bags on its back. When it left, Elwood followed. And on his last glance back at the spartan little hut, he swore he saw faces in the window, small and sneering and framed with thorny quills. Beasts. He stayed close to the Wildclaw the whole walk back.

The outpost was little more than a log pile on the jungle floor. The walls were sealed with some daub-like mix of mud and resin, and it was reasonably dry, and the sloped roof guided the constant rainfall so there was something like running water. But it was dark and smoky and crammed with dragons, all of them laughing and all of them drinking. Everyone was Elwood's best friend, pressing themselves beside him on the bench and squinting down at his notes, eager to contribute. The earthen floor was constantly bursting into bloom, only to be trampled flat again, and the spilled nectar and drink coated the floor with a sticky film. He was trying to clean his rear claws for the fourth or fifth time when the Wildclaw found him.

“Safest place in the Wilds, this. Plague-arse herself couldn’t touch you here. How’s the research?”

It had to shout to be heard, and Elwood's unasked-for new friends answered with cheery hoots and hollers. The Wildclaw chattered with them, but its eyes kept sliding back to Elwood and his notes. Finally, it beckoned to him, jerking its head towards the exit. Once they were together in the humid understory, it spoke, its voice low and wary.

“Who’d you tick off, mate?” Elwood's response was a naked shock, and the Wildclaw waved it away. “Right, no, I figured, you didn’t know either. But I bopped back to the hut because it seemed suspicious-like, we normally warn people about the beasts and the training huts. And I found this!” it pulled out Elwood's reservation sheets, bound in dark leather. “These aren’t ours, someone else put ‘em in the hut and dipped ‘em in a mess of bonestalker pheromone before they did. Nasty little guys, would’ve been on you before the week was out. Also, I went through your stuff, don’t get all offended, and found this piece of bad news!” It held up Elwood's traveling satchel, a parting gift from some higher-ups. It was turned inside out, revealing dim red light spiderwebbed across the inner flap. “That’s Plaguework, that is. Give it a few weeks to get noticed and the whole jungle would be trying to kill you. Why would someone want that?”

But Elwood didn’t answer, at least not immediately. He looked at the Wildclaw, at the outpost, into the dark depths of the jungle. He missed his home and his archives. Could he honestly believe..? He considered himself an inoffensive drake, even if his research was a bit controversial. Was that it? Would his colleagues honestly turn on him over a few jungle ruins? But there was such an earnest honesty in the Wildclaw’s eyes that his doubts started to slip. He sighed.

“I’ve put you all in danger, and that’s poor thanks for the hospitality. You have my undying gratitude. I’ll pack my things and-”

But the Wildclaw gripped his arm, fixed him with a curious stare. “No, mate, you don’t understand. Someone tried to use our jungle as their weapon. I like you, I like your eyes, I like the fact that I can smell potential under that posh exterior of yours. You’re supposed to be here, alright? So we’re gonna find you a clan. You’re gonna do your research. And when you’re ready--no more screaming at the jungle to shut up--you’re gonna join us and we’re gonna go hunt. Alright?”

Elwood adjusted his scarves and did his best to hide his welling terror.

“Alright.”