WHO NOMINATED ME ON TUMBLR AS BEST WRITER FOR LGBT-RWBY-PRIDE-AWARDS? WHOEVER YOU ARE, ADFSDGDFHDFHGF!
Here, this chapter is dedicated to you, Unknown-But-Dear-And-Lovely-Reader. Thank you so much!
Enjoy!
Not ten seconds later, the Beowolves' behaviors changed. Something in the air seemed to shift, too – something...silent. The light of the sun winked out briefly, as if eclipsed, and the Alpha let out a low growl while the others hesitated in their assault. There was a muted whoosh, and then one of them yelped as its grip on Yang disappeared altogether. She heard it give its last, dying cry as it crashed further off.
This seemed to send the Beowolves into chaos. Barking while razor claws tore into Yang's skin as they scrambled off, the focus of their aggressiveness became this other unknown target.
Yang dared to lift her wing away from her face, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. She saw the remaining Grimm howling and yapping savagely as they fought back against whatever force was attacking...but they were failing. A dark blur zipped through them (or was that several dark blurs?), leaving smoking corpses in its wake, and Yang watched, fascinated, when mere moments later, only the Alpha remained standing.
It was so tempting to strike at it with her tail again – it was just in her reach to do so, after all – but instead she found herself following its gaze skywards, where they saw this black beast descend as if from shadows, a midnight comet in the light of day hurtling straight for its mark. The Alpha centered itself, prepared, feet digging into the earth beneath, but the newcomer had too much momentum. It barreled into the Grimm, and they rolled over each other several times, both monsters about equal in size, raising a storm of dust as they hissed and screeched. Limbs flailed in search of gaining advantage over the other – Yang saw feathered wings flapping erratically and gleaming talons – and there was a blood-curdling roar that sounded very much like an infuriated, large, wild cat.
And then there was a loud, resounding crack, followed by a strangled whimper, and then…nothing.
Yang did her best to get a clear view of the situation, but the struggle had happened at the periphery of her vision and she couldn't adjust herself enough to see more. The cloud of dust was still settling, and there was still a distinct lack of movement. The presence of Grimm always silenced the calm chatter of nature, and the quiet that existed now was almost eerie.
Yang huffed, a puff of smoke leaving her nostrils. Had the two creatures mutually killed each other? She rested her head on the ground again, closing her eyes in exhaustion. Whatever the case, she was grateful for the intervention, however unexpected. A lot. Her circumstances might not have really improved, but at least she wasn't going to die too prematurely.
Why had that black thing attacked the Grimm, anyway? Shouldn't it have been scared? Regular animals always feared the Grimm, no exceptions. But that begged another question – what even was that beast?
It probably didn't matter much now. If it was dead, that was just another unfortunate event to have happened recently.
Bothered, Yang opened her eyes, and her gaze immediately caught the dark thing up on the boulder crushing her arm. She hissed, startled, and would've jumped had she not been stuck. Pain shot through her limbs.
How had it been so noiseless?
As her heartbeat slowed, Yang fixed her regard on the creature and observed it. It watched her in turn with blazing golden irises, vertical slits of bottomless black slicing through the middles. For a moment, Yang could see nothing else except that incredibly intense, intelligent stare. It was as if…as if, when it looked at her, it saw something looking back – recognition.
But then the creature blinked, slow, and Yang was able to start taking in the rest of it, spell broken. It had the face of a large cat, but not any large cat Yang knew – sort of a mix between a cheetah and a tiger, with angular, sharp features but fluffiness around the sides. Its fur was shiny and a strange, deep, dark mauve – but that got even weirder because said fur turned into jet black feathers around the ears that continued down its chest and back. The front legs were a downy of feathers and fur, ending in paws that were both feline and avian at once. Those talons were wicked.
Most noticeably, unlike any cat Yang possibly knew, this one had wings. They were currently folded neatly against its back, but they were big and full of sharp angles, designed for speed and accuracy, giving the creature an elegant, imposing edge. Its tail idly flipped behind it as it sat back on its hunches, and Yang saw that it, too, was covered in feathers along the sides. Only the predator's rear end and back feet and paws were completely feline.
This is one weird griffin.
She had never seen anything like it – not even in fiction. It could have been a griffin of sorts, but if that were the case, then it shouldn't exist.
At this thought, Yang rolled her eyes at herself. She had been turned into a dragon by magic – what was so bizarre about the appearance of this creature now? It had saved her life, and it wasn't attacking her, so, if anything, Yang should just roll with what fate was throwing at her these days and give thanks. It wasn't like there was much to be grateful for to begin with, and this was kind of a miracle.
She met its disturbingly smart stare again. What was it doing, just sitting there? Yang narrowed her eyes. Can you understand me?
Naturally, there was no response. Yang was clearly going crazy at this point, thinking she could talk to some random beast like that. Her wounds were bleeding – maybe none of this was even real and Yang was hallucinating.
The winged cat tilted its head to the side a bit, paused, and then jumped down to the ground with ease and grace and silence. It must have been light on its feet – it had to be. But it was as if it were made of shadow, with the way it glided and moved. Only the smoldering, hypnotic glow of its eyes seemed truly tangible.
Yang watched it, wary, as it circled her, its gaze flickering across her body as if trying to figure something out. Maybe it had killed those Grimm because it wanted to eat her for lunch instead. Maybe the thought of 'dragon' on the menu had been so appealing to it that it gone through the extra effort to get what it wanted.
Maybe Yang should have been a lot more afraid. It wasn't that much smaller than she was – only her wings still dwarfed it – and if it had taken out a pack of Grimm that easily, then it could probably handle a wounded dragon no problem.
The creature suddenly hopped onto Yang's body. She tensed and made an attempt at batting at it with her free clawed hand, but it dodged and gave her this look of such disapproval that Yang was once again struck into wondering if its mind was like hers.
Okay, chill. I just don't want you to eat me.
This time, it stared at her, staying very still. Its ears flicked backwards. And then it…shook its head? Yang didn't know if dragons could experience headaches, but she seemed to be developing one right now. The list of things wrong with her just kept growing, it seemed.
Could the cat actually understand her, or could it not?
Instead of providing a clear answer, though, it lowered its head to a laceration on her shoulder and calmly started licking it.
Yang twitched and almost swiped her claws at it again. What the heck was it doing?! Was it going to eat her, after all, and was just tasting its meal beforehand? A growl formed in Yang's throat, but something about how undisturbed the cat was made her hesitate. It wasn't greedily lapping up all the blood it could find. No, it was being careful and deliberate. And, more than that, there was a strange, cool tingling happening where her wound was as the cat continued to lick. Yang tried to get a better look. Was that tongue…glowing faintly purple?
Aura?
The cat moved on to another wound, and Yang realized the cut on her shoulder was now mostly healed. She stared at the predator in shock. That was definitely a sign of aura. And if this beast had aura, then that meant it had a soul, and if it had a soul, then it had conscious thoughts and feelings – just like Yang. It was aware of itself and knew what it was doing, just like Yang, and for all intents and purposes, it probably recognized that Yang was like it, too.
And maybe that was why it was helping.
It was just incredibly hard to tell if they could actually communicate. She hoped to God they could – Yang needed to socialize, needed the companionship, needed validation that she hadn't just lost her mind. She hated being alone like this.
And, more importantly, this also meant she might not die, after all. That was an obvious bonus.
The cat continued to lick Yang's wounds one at a time, healing them, and the golden girl watched searching for ideas. She squinted. I'm Yang.
The cat paused. Its ears flickered. It went back to tending to a cut on her good wing.
My name is Yang, she persisted, sensing that something must have been getting through to it. Thank you for saving me.
Maybe it was because Yang had been focusing especially hard on communicating with it, but this time the predator stopped and looked at her – like, really looked at her. Those pools of molten gold bored into her and smoldered with emotions Yang couldn't quite place, maybe as if searching for information deep within her own soul. And, suddenly, there was an inkling at the edges of Yang's mind, a trickle of a constantly morphing image – from a birds-eye view, she saw herself in her dragon form in crisp, clear detail, stuck on the ground as she attempted to fight off the Grimm charging at her. With this strange and distant vision came a feeling, a question, a wandering wondering that had no words to specify it.
Yang stared back. She blinked, uncertain that she understood what was happening. She pointed in the dark and gave it a shot anyway. Yes. That's me. I'm Yang.
It was unsettling, how the creature observed her with such silent intensity – and it was just standing on top of her as if that were perfectly normal.
Who are you? Yang tried.
There was another question. It was slow to take shape, hesitant, as if the cat didn't know what it was doing, either. In her mind, Yang saw that feline face reflected off a pool of water, a pond somewhere in the forest. With it came a mix of frustration and confusion.
Was this how the beast communicated? Images and feelings?
Yes, that's you. Who are you?
But something about Yang's question suddenly made the cat growl and retract, ears flattening against its skull. Nothing else murmured into Yang's head – it was deafening silence again, a cold, hard wall, and those once calm golden irises she had taken a certain liking to were now furious and wild. For the first time, Yang did experience fear – because there no longer seemed to be a soul to recognize inhabiting this monster. There was just a feral beast, a predatory carnivore, and it could very well kill her, after all.
Yang's heart rate accelerated, eyes widening, while the cat shook its head and hissed. Its talons dug into her scales slightly, and then it took off into the sky with one powerful leap and beat of its wings. The blonde watched it anxiously as it circled her, then chased off the vultures, and before Yang could truly process it, the cat was gone.
And Yang was once again left alone, heart pounding, wondering what the heck that had been all about and horribly disappointed that the one thing she had finally felt a real connection to after three weeks of being on her own had left her – in an inexplicable fit of rage, no less.
Yang was right back to square one.
Just throwing some angst in there - because I'm me and I can't help myself from hurting the characters I love. ChArActEr dEvElOpmEntttttt. Oops.
It's really not gonna reach Forlorn and Contrecoeur levels, though. Rest assured. See ya in the next chapter!