Wings of Fire: Chameleon Shifting

Chapter 12

Chameleon sharpened his claws on a jagged stone lodged in the ground. He hoped he would catch a good thing or two today.

Like a sloth.

But of course, he couldn't catch one, let alone eat one, because all RainWings (or most of them, at least, the normal ones) had a sloth, or two sloths, or ten sloths, or several hundred ridiculous sloths that they owned and cared for, for absolutely no reason. They groomed them every day, fed them fruit, sang them silly songs, then tucked them into their own handmade hammocks.

It was honestly quite infuriating, since it was an absolute waste of food.

Even worse, it seemed as if the RainWings seemed to care about their own sloths more than they cared about Chameleon.

He remembered the first time he caught a sloth in the RainWing village.

Chameleon had already throttled it and bit off one arm, and when the owner finally found him, she was spitting mad.

"Where did you find that sloth?" she demanded. Her scales had billowing red clouds in them.

"On the tree over there," Chameleon replied casually. "The big one, with lots of branches."

The RainWing flared her ruff. "That was my sloth! And you ate it! NOOOOOOO!! WHAT DID YOU DO TO FUZZY? Fuzzy? FUZZY?!!"

"Excuse me," snapped Chameleon. "Don't you have better insults to use than calling me 'fuzzy?'"

The RainWing ripped off a branch from the nearest tree and started snapping it into pieces. "FUZZY WAS MY SLOTH."

"Oh," said Chameleon. He bit his tongue, trying not to laugh.

"DO YOU THINK SOMETHING IS FUNNY?" demanded the RainWing, which only made it harder not to laugh. "FUZZY IS A GREAT NAME."

"Oh, um, yes, absolutely," Chameleon said, but he finally broke down into laughter.

"HOW DARE YOU MAKE FUN OF FUZZY! GIVE HER BACK!" and with that, the RainWing snatched the bundle of fur from Chameleon's talons and flew away, fury radiating from her scales like dust in a sandstorm.

Chameleon smiled at the memory. Although that experience hadn't been great for the RainWing, it was funny enough for Chameleon.

Anyways. Stop thinking about the past. Focus on the present.

Alright. Let's think. A macaw would be nice for a change.

Hmm. Maybe tamarins?

Chameleon finished sharpening his claws and lifted into the trees.

He scanned his surroundings. No flash of gold yellow or dark red feathers. No blurs of fur, either.

Well. It doesn't have to be a macaw or a tamarin. It could be any animal.

He landed on the forest floor again. Something roared a few feet away from him.

Chameleon nearly leaped out of his scales, but he managed to calm himself.

That's the call of prey, not a dragon, he realized. He flapped his wings harder.

Chameleon finally emerged into a clearing, pushing away fern fronds, where he spotted a jaguar perched on an outcropping of rock.

He leaped into the air. The jaguar spotted him and bounded away, but not fast enough.

Chameleon dug his claws into the writhing mass of spotted fur below him. The jaguar let out another roar.

Then he realized what animal he was killing.

A jaguar, his mind whispered. Is it an omen? Is something going to happen because of this?

No, don't be stupid. An animal is one thing. A dragon is another.

He sank his teeth into the jaguar's neck. The animal below him stopped thrashing.

But Chameleon couldn't stop the feeling of dread creeping over him. Maybe he shouldn't have killed the jaguar after all.

He stared down at the limp bundle of fur below him.

Maybe some dark path in the future had become a bit more real.