His leathery stomach ached as Zilmiel sprinted between the trees along the site perimeter. That damn gunshot REALLY stung despite his ice breath cushioning the blow, but the ingredients used to make an analgesic ointment sat sealed away inside the cupboards back home in La'marri. He would need to bear the pain for the time being...
"Hey! I think I've heard something over here!"
A shout came from the farm clearing: Five to eight pairs of footsteps converged towards the wood where Zilmiel hunched over a fallen log.
Damn!
Zilmiel picked up the pace as he turned away from the clearing, crushing a half-rotten log beneath his left foot that rang into the clearing no doubt. His folded wings took a slight beating too as they brushed past and broke smaller branches protruding from the nearby pine. Still, Zilmiel managed through his aches and took cover behind an older pine tree in the partial darkness, his wings concealed by the shade while he glimpsed around the tree towards where he'd hidden himself seconds ago...
"Damn it, Malkev, you're jumping at ghosts again! There's nothing- wait, what-"
The men's shouting reduced to whispers the dragon-alchemist barely heard over the wind. He took several steps backwards, watching where his clawed feet fell to avoid snapping another branch or otherwise alerting the nearby squad to his location.
"Malkev, get to the Sergeant, double-time. There's something in the woods that shouldn't be. Finding out who lives here can wait, but we need Aidyn the Tracker over here. Every one else, stay close: Do not wander into the brush."
"On it, sir."
Zilmiel crouched low to the ground behind another tree, his attention focused upon the brush concealing the men from himself just twenty meters away. Bandits were easy to dispatch; one man with a frozen head later, and they usually dispersed. But from what he'd heard about Connlaothian soldiers, it would take much more to terrify an entire platoon into retreat: He could not transform, but he could-
"One second... I need to take a leak-"
The man's turned head as he popped through the brush spurred an immediate response: One second later, multiple shouts broke the forest's silence as an ice spike encased their comrade's head, pinning the lifeless body against a tree. Followed by another ice spike and then the cries of Zilmiel's third target as razor-sharp claws tore through a pikeman's torso, revealing the half-ice dragon's form to the now-terrified soldier whose fingers fumbled over his crossbow before a final bolt of ice tore through his face. Zilmiel turned tail, lightheaded and nauseous as he dipped behind another line of trees to leave behind the opening carnage.
