Silver Insanity

"Bleck!" says Ametrine, with the first sip. "Well, thanks for the information about lemonade, anyway!"

Taking the pitcher of ale, and some eggs and bread for Mr. Willoughby and himself, Ametrine flies back to their room. "I got us some breakfast, Mr. Willoughby! Didja know lemonade was made with lemons? I wonder what 'ades' are? I hope you like eggs and bread and... ale."

At that last word, Ametrine shudders as the taste returns unbidden to his mouth. Of course, through the duration of their meal, he will take several more sips of the drink, grimacing and reminding himself not to do it again every time.

Willoughby serves himself some eggs, cutting them up with habitual precision. He does not touch the ale.

"Hmm. Were you trying to create lemonade after all, Amertine? Chicken broth is a moderately unorthodox base to work from, as it turns out. " Willoughby stares into space, briefly. "Perhaps I shall teach you the secret of lemonade later today?"

After a brief pause, he continues:

"It seems to me, Amertine, that if we are to intercept Twill and Lauren, we should head towards the south and east perimeter of the Arkwood. Twill was last seen somewhere near Bor and Phee, and Lauren was working near the capital, so the two most likely met somewhere between these places. Lauren is quite skilled at finding trouble— it seems to be a heritable trait— so it likely best for us to move quickly, and to cover as much distance as we can."

"Yay! Lemonade! Thanks, Mr. Willoughby! You mean you'll tell me after we find Twill, right? Then let's get going!" Ametrine finishes eating the eggs, drinks all of the horrible ale by himself, and is ready to start travelling once again.

"I'm still a little confused. Do you think Twill is the kidnapper, or the kidnappee?"

"I have yet to discern the nature of Twill's involvement in this escapade. From the stories of him I've heard, I doubt that he's a kidnapper, and if he is indeed a superb swordsman, then he would make an unlikely kidnappee. I am, however, quite certain Twill is involved in this in some manner."

"Alright, Amertine. Let's continue traveling."

Noting that Amertine is packed, Willoughby descends the stairs, returns the plates to the kitchen, pays the innkeeper, and leaves the inn.

Ah, travel. A most uneventful pastime - excluding, of course, the normal bandit activity, marauding dragons (though you've got your own personal mini edition of that), inclement weather, and, of course, roving bands of... zombie hyenas?

Indeed, arrayed before you across the expanse of the road, is a motley collection of mottled and decaying hides, hung on remnants of canine bones. There is no sign of intelligence in their eyes (those that still have eyes, anyway) - merely an insatiable hunger.

Someone, somewhere, still holds some shred of control over the pack, for they do not leap to attack you, but merely strain in place as if waiting for a starter's gun.

Ametrine exchanges a glance with Mr. Willoughby, perplexed at first, then gleeful. "Cool! Zombie dogs! I should keep one as a pet! But where to keep it..."

"I know! I'll keep it in the barrel when I'm not making lemonade!" Stating thus, Ametrine empties out the strange mixture of tavern ingredients from the black barrel in his bag onto the ground, and begins to fly toward the pack.

"Don't worry, Mr. Willoughby!" says Ametrine as he attempts to stuff a zombie hyena into the barrel.

"It wasn't very good lemonade anyway!"

Willoughy sighs, and does something with his hands that is very quick and involves a wooden box. The horse he's riding on disappears. Shortly thereafter, Willoughby himself vanishes.

There is a pause, and then one of the hyenas is bowled over and pounded by an unseen force.

The instant Ametrine approaches within striking distance of a hyena, whatever force held them leashed ceases to do so. Four of the mangy beasts leap upon the diminutive dragon - not counting the hapless zombie being stuffed into a barrel.

The other nine sprint towards Mr. Willoughby, showing most un-zombie-like co-ordination and speed. However, even this startling turn of speed is insufficient to reach the elven butler before both he and his horse have vanished from sight. Frustrated, the hyenas mill around for a moment before one of them is trampled, suspiciously horseshoe shaped marks appearing in its hide.
The remaining eight close ranks and snarl viciously, looking around for some sign of their intended prey.

Ametrine, meanwhile, is having no particular difficulty in barrelifying a zombie hyena; it is single-mindedly attacking, and doesn't seem to care if it's being stuffed in a barrel as long as it gets to gnaw on something moving. Getting it to let go once it's in the barrel may prove slightly trickier...
Fortunately, even the combined might of five decaying canids is insufficient to do more than slightly inconvenience even so slight a dragon as Ametrine. Teeth slide harmlessly across fine yellow scales (when they even connect at all), and in one instance an entire putrid forelimb shatters against Ametrine's hide from the force of a zombie's futile blows.

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* It has been pointed out to me that hyenas are not canines, belonging instead to the family hyaenidae. Alas, having only one word to refer to a type of creature does not help the prose flow well. I could declare them to be aardwolves, I suppose, but those hyena variants don't have the heavy bone-crushing jaws of your base model hyena, and simply wouldn't make as good a zombie.

** Were anyone watching this fight who had a solid understanding of draconic physiology, they would be amazed at the degree to which Ametrine is simply ignoring the efforts of the zombie hyenas. Or at the amount of strength required for a five pound dragon to casually manhandle (dragonhandle?) a zombie that weighs at least twenty times as much. However, as there are no such spectators, furthur musings on this topic must be put off to some later date.

Having put the zombie hyena into the barrel, Ametrine attempts to close the lid by smacking the hyena with it and returning it to the bag. If this is not successful, oh well... there are always more zombie hyenas.

However, more concerning is the sudden disappearance of Mr. Willoughby and his horse! "Mr. Willoughby! Where are you? Did you run away? Are you all right?" Frantically searching the pack for any gatherings of hyenas or shreds of butler, Ametrine starts flying higher up to look for any signs of his new friend.