The surface of the crystal water became distorted, choppy ripples indicating more behind the disturbance than the whistling breeze. Diaval shifted, pulling his wings in snug to his sides and cocking his head side to side, his keen eyes raking the green life that swayed into the growing drag of wind surrounding him.

Sometime between his depressing thoughts and the sudden change in the weather the native pixies had ceased their play and scattered, leaving the unease in the air to the lone crow. While it bothered him, he didn't want to dwell much on the possible 'why's' of their departure. Out loud he gave a dismissive huff and a grumbled, "Good ridense."

Secretly, the not completely foul, not entirely full blooded man (not quite anything really) felt torn inside. Diaval knew his feeling that way was a little over dramatic, but lately his emotions were flowing rather liberally in the offended department.

They didn't run away because of something he'd done... right?

The bright sphere hanging lazily in the sky shone high and true, yet the place seemed bereft of its presence somehow. As if the golden rays had forgotten to bring the warmth of the sun with them from the heavens to the enchanted forest floor. An unbidden, unwanted, sense of lonely and irritation came out to mess with his already frattled mind.

His temporary getaway to enjoy the beauty and daily happenings of the moors was tarnished in an inexplicably frustrating way. He'd been cozy and content for a blissfully rare while before his mental stewing blackened the bottom of his happy-well. Why'd his unruly brain have to nitpick the uncertainties of his future just now?! It was unfair! The day was young, the forest teaming with friendlies (at least everywhere else other than Diaval's immediate radius) and wondrous sights never experienced by human eyes. The lack of a needy mistress and her all consuming burdens to take upon his sleek back as he attempted to lighten the immense load of twisted betrayal off the subtly pointed tips of her fairy horns was so surreal he was tempted to cry. And yet the forest unnerved him with it's acute stillness and suspicious quite. The eery quality of the atmosphere was enough for him to decide that his day of relaxation was calling it early quits and he hated this feeling that he was being...

It hit him like a goblin tossed mud ball right in the face.

A nonexistent third eye and ages honed sixth sense accompanied by a mounting fear all but shrieked that another shared the little cove with Diaval. The feathers along his back bristled, the underlying skin rising with nerve prickled bumps. Diaval shivered and his shallow breathing faltered.

'What in the hell?...' He asked no one in his head.

Someone- something -was watching him, directly behind his tree, lurking like an otherworldly shadow in the ivied brush.

The thing's aura emitted chilling waves of guess-how-big-and-nasty-I-am. With a total of zero desire in finding out, Diaval made to desert his no longer welcoming branch when the thing made a 'sound' at him.

He nearly fell.

'What- What is that-!? What in the hell kind of creature on God's cursed earth sounds like THAT!?'

He went rigid, frightened. Diaval's survival instincts evaluated his predicament and came to the ever obvious conclusion that to remain sitting duck was a fatal folly and to start high-tailing it. He didn't move. Couldn't move. He'd never wanted to be gone so badly as he needed to be right then. But in the tree he stayed, unable to control the bodily function that granted him flight.

Twigs and needles snapped, painfully loud to Diaval's ears.

'Not good!'

He flinched, wanting to scream like a little human girl. A low whoosh and rustling of plants announced that the thing knew he knew it was there, seeming to have figured the element of surprise was shattered and wanting to get his murder over with.

Didn't Maleficent once say that her great wings never failed her, not once? What had god done wrong when he'd made Diaval's? Used faulty material? Where did this line of thinking come from?! Whatever, he was calling foul play...

He could hear the earth's soil sink and crumble under dooming, heavy steps. The footage from the thicker vegetation to his tree was next to nonexistent and the thing had already covered over half.

'You've got to be kidding with me, this thing's huge! Oh, please!'

The poor bird wanted very badly to look back and take in the build and features of his will-be killer, ingrain it's image into his memory so he could remember which unlucky bastard to come back and haunt mercilessly, but, while one of God's more curious creatures (a fact of which he wasn't too pleased about at this point in time), the fear of it being his last sight in this beautiful world cemented his paralysis.

There was a low, bone reverberating hiss and Diaval's pulse took off.

'Shit, shit, shit!'

Diaval's heart felt swollen and restricted within it's small room. His life-pumper was beating with such ferocious determination you could see it through his chest, the fanatical force of it's rhythm painful. It hurt and he NEEDED it to stop, but hearts do what hearts do and it kept hurting him pulse after every constricting pulse. And he wasn't breathing! His current consciousness fueled only by a few meager fumes leftover from an insufficient inhalation of dense air past sixty seconds ago.

'Mistress help me! What is this!?'

'Panic,' his brain supplied, 'This is panic.'

He could feel it. It was right at his tail feathers. All Diaval had to do was lean back an atom and it would be touching him. Hot breath huffed against him, the heat slipping under and in between his feathers, shocking a sharp gasp from Diaval. Then the moist warmth was drawn back deeply with a dry rasp, leaving a dreadful chill as it inhaled him.

"Greetings, little winged one."

Diaval begged anyone that might reside within his cranium, 'MOVE DANG YOU! PLEASE!'

That bit of magic in his veins took to a boil and the curse was broken. He screamed.

Screamed?
...

Aquill was at a... fork in the crossroads of his life you might say. He had to choose which path to take, but...

Option 1: Snatch the smaller flyer out of the tree and make off with him.

Or...

Option 2: Snatch the smaller flyer out of the tree and make off with him.

...well something just felt kind of off about those options. Like they conflicted with the free will of his future mate or whatever...

Oh, who was he kidding? He was at least ten times the other's age, very rusty in the art of courting, and too impatient to endure the required (droll) time it would take to get to know this odd creature. It would be a shame to the name of his kind if he forced anything on the strange bird.

Besides that, he did want a willing mate, which would have been a given if said mate were a dragon, being a rather, not widely known, clingy race. Aquill had been pinning hard for the day he'd take another as his own to keep, protect, and cherish.

But then the fairies had come... with their magic and wrath and now there were no more of his lordly kin left to pair with. They were all dead. Except Aquill. He was to remain alone and he would have turned back after he'd discovered that the one who'd called to him wasn't exactly compatible. He would be turning back... if he wasn't so damn fed up with the absurdity of his loneliness. He'd made his decision. But now what little principles he'd managed to keep alive all these years were making getting what he wanted difficult.

Dragons aren't known for being considerate. They took what they wanted whenever it pleased them. Aquill knew this all too intimately, and he could barely hold back now. It's just- He wanted his chosen to 'like' him.

Yup, you heard right. He desired an actual consenting relationship with a being considered less than himself and at the same time he knew he'd take no for an answer. If his father could see Aquill now. He shuddered at that scary thought.

He just didn't know what to do. What would any sane master and terror of the skies, last of a once mighty race do?

He was about to stomp off and find some poor animal to consume maliciously slowly when his genius granted him miraculous recollection of the proper 'how to's' when first meeting your significant other.

He'd start by saying hello.

Decided, Aquill took a tentative step forward, crushing some scant brush underfoot. The alerting noise made him wince and glance up nervously. The object of his questionable affections had stilled and was breathing unhealthily heavy. The glossy black feathered crow obviously knew that Aquill was there. The tensed stance and fearful shaking of the bird upset the dragon and he cursed his sudden clumsiness in his childish excitement to get to his mate.

Calm, steady, and carefully Aquill approached. As he came closer he could visibly see a swirling light magic that covered the crow like a second skin. Pride swell in his armored chest, his mate was no ordinary bird! Of course he wasn't.

His thirsty eyes drank in the small sight of his little bird. His feathers and beak were well kept, his figure proportionately slim, his crooked feet all too cute, and his magic gave him a most individual glow. Aquill smiled, pretty bird indeed.

Then he was there and oh so close, he wouldn't have to move an inch to make first contact. He couldn't- didn't want to -help himself and indulged in a quick breath of his mate's distinct scent. Ooooh, that was simply divine.

Aquill had to have him after that.

Trying to keep hos voice soft and nonthreatening he whispered, "Greetings little winged one."

And everything went wrong. There was a hot flash of magic, a vortex of black and the crow was not a crow anymore. It startled Aquill so, that he hadn't thought to catch his changed mate as he fell from the broken branch and hit the ground at the reptilian's clawed feet.

For a moment the world was frozen as he stared into beautiful, wide black eyes. Burdened wells of hurt and responsibility that Aquill found he would drown in even if he looked away because he would remember the way they acknowledged him with disbelieving forgiveness. The human whimpered once then quit moving.

A wail of failure and distress caught in Aquill's throat.

That was just great! He'd killed him!