From the Dragons and the Wilds

They weren't hunting for game that day....

The small isle had had its normally peaceful existence disrupted by the disappearance of some livestock, which wasn't terribly unusual, but the hounds should have been able to bring them home. They never returned home—they never returned anywhere. The trails were cold, ending right where the creatures should have been. Some suspected some ill magic, though none could figure who would spite them all. The more reasonable people eventually rationalized that it was some flying creature. The island didn't have many predators, and none that would be large enough to target those that had been stolen, but the idea remained; after all, wings could take one anywhere.

It was a while before they had their answer—long enough that many rational folks had turned to the magic theory. Well, neither were particularly wrong. A practiced castle hound was brought to the island for a show, and hope of a nice, quiet rest. It wasn't quiet for long when it discovered the scent of its most loathed foe—dragon. The others never would have known, their noses set to canines, people, and the more regular culprits in these cases. The residents couldn't figure where it had come from, and could less guess where it had went! Yet, they knew they couldn't wait any longer. They called in the nearest castle hounds; though these were young and inexperienced, the scent was encoded into their ancestral memory. The strange hounds swept the land as far as they could on four legs, nose to the ground, under, above, and between—if there was a dragon about, they would find it. There wasn't. They then spread out their search to the surrounding isles; hoping the dragon was not beneath the sea.

That search didn't last long. Once the hounds found trail, they were on the hunt so quick, there was no time to call in the whole pack. To a glen that was half water, the hounds sped. Not waiting for the tide to wane, they dove; the water turned red. Whatever it had been, it didn't stand a chance; it came up in pieces—and rather a shame, for people are curious folks and despite all, they'd have liked to know. In any case, being curious, they waited for the waters to recede and then began to search around for the dragon's lair. There was evidence of the missing livestock scattered about, along with the bones of unknown creatures and what some swore might've been other dragons. And then there was a cove. The entrance was lower than the waters at high tide, but beyond, the earth sloped upwards to a plain higher than the valley—accessible by air, but not normally by land. Cautiously, some of the party gathered the courage to wander in.

It took a while to find the fawn—the castle hounds still set to the scent of dragon, and so passed the small creature over again. The people couldn't figure what she was; perhaps a breed of unicorn, from what they could glean from the corpse it nuzzled anxiously. The master of the elder hound told them some dragons were simple, and others more clever; this one seemed clever enough to hold the dam so the fawn could grow, but perhaps grew impatient. At any rate, there was none to care for her now. So they acquired the fawn at a loss.

It didn't seem like a fair trade. They'd lost a good lot to that dragon and what they'd gotten from it could hardly be split. The fawn seemed to grow nicely… she was intelligent and spirited, but she was brash. The breed of her was eventually discovered and she'd quickly be put up for sale; not entirely because the folks wanted their fair share, but because she'd become a right pain. She was unbroken yet, and few had the patience or the bones to spare.

It seemed like pure laziness to the people at Enfields, until she'd been given the time to settle down. Once she'd been acquainted with the local residents, and a few local non-residents, her seemingly quiet demeanor changed. On the bright side, the most troublesome enfields fled to the outer reaches of the lands marked for Enfield Fields. On the down side, there was another sort of trouble to deal with. Astr did not enjoy being alone, she did not appreciate being ignored, and she would not stand being looked down upon—not even by the hounds; no, she seemed to loathe those most of all.

Eventually, she seemed to form a treaty with the dogs of Enfields, if reluctantly. Still… there was always something strange about her. Fawnlings were known for being intelligent, but to those which could see just a little bit beyond, she always seemed distinctly dragon.