What A Wyvern Wants

I read this Penny Arcade comic and laughed so hard I cried. Then I had to write something, because sometimes I can’t stop the flow of unforgivable trash that my brain puts out. Read that comic first.

It had been just before dawn when Geralt had first heard the cries – sharp, keening wails, entirely unlike the snarls of any of the beasts he was expecting to encounter. The strangeness of the sound piqued his curiosity, and he had found himself following it, ever the hunter.

When he’d finally spotted them, just after sunrise, the scene had almost taken his breath away. He’d seen wyverns before, of course. Killed wyverns. But this display was something different. Something… primal.

There were two of them perched on a cliff, much closer than the Witcher was entirely comfortable with. The larger was spattered in gore; from what, or whom, Geralt couldn’t say. The smaller beast was – yes, it was definitely licking the blood from the larger one, its forked tongue slipping between scales to get every drop. The larger beast let out another one of those strange, high noises, and blood rushed to Geralt’s cheeks as he realized what the sound was.

He though, briefly, of going to them. Sliding his swords from their sheaths and doing that familiar dance, ending with hot breath roaring in his face as he drove one of his blades through a wyvern’s heart. But something in the way the two monsters were… familiar… made him decide against it. He would come back later, perhaps, and end them before their acts could bear fruit. But he was no monster. He would let them have their moment.

As he turned away, a quick flurry of movement caused him to grab blindly at the hilt of his silver sword. But the wyverns didn’t seem to have spotted him. Instead, they had taken flight, so close to one another that it seemed their wings would tangle. They struggled to stay aloft, their long necks undulating, the larger beast flipping over and… flying backwards? And then–

Geralt flushed again and averted his eyes, dropping the hand that had still gripped his sword. Yes, he would leave them to their enjoyment of one another.

He made a mental note to tell Dandelion he might have to modify his literary take on wyverns.

Real wyverns, it turns out, want to fuck midair in a haunted caldera.