Day Three-Forty-Four: The Mullet Rebellion

I wonder if dragons can see the future. That… that might explain… why he was so… aw, hell, Barrel…

I got up this morning expecting most villagers to be prepping their blades. I'd ordered everyone to sharpen their slaughtering tools last night to ensure an absolute minimum of suffering in today's slaughter, and with Grylock's help (used to be a blacksmith, remember?) we got through most of the knives. I figured we would do the rest this morning, then the designated slaughterers would get to work on the forty-something animals slated for… uh… processing.

(I was not included among the slaughterers. THANK GODS FOR MY INABILITY TO HOLD A WEAPON. I wouldn't be able to kill animals. Not being able to use weapons didn't stop my dad from joining in, of course, but… he's a human weapon, regardless of his lack of arms… )

I did not tread out into the snow to find farmers holding their blades. I did not even see labourers setting up a temporary shelter where we could do the killing. All I saw, all anyone saw, was a massive group of animals surrounding the golden tree. Every animal, in fact, that used to live in Pubton's coups and sheds and shelters. (Save for the foxes. Bless those loyal critters.)

They were watching us. Staring at us. And, flapping quietly in front of them on tiny wings, was Barrel.

I yelled happily and rushed for my dragon pal, ignoring the bizarre sight of dozens of farmyard critters watching me. Barrel flapped over to meet me, some feet away from the first bundle of warthogs and sheep, but he didn't greet me. Didn't smile, didn't wave, didn't do much of anything other than glare at me. 

"Barrel?" I asked, nearly faceplanting into the snow as I stopped short. "Y… you okay, buddy? I mean, you look okay, but…"

"Ask him about the animals!" Somebody yelled in the background. I peered around and noticed that all of Pubton was watching.

I turned back, really noticing the giant pack of critters for the first time. "Uhhhhhh, hey, Barrel… y'know… what's up with this?"

Barrel's eyes narrowed. He grew almost three feet as he moved closer to me, his tail leaving a serpentine track in the snow.

I gulped. "H… hey, buddy! I, ah, I didn't wanna leave you… out there… but you kinda vanished… I'm glad you're okay… please stop…"

Barrel didn't stop. He advanced, getting bigger and bigger until his feet touched the snow, his bulk leered over me, his scales gleamed huge and scarred in the morning sunlight, his face sloped and grew and slid down from its lofty position in the air to accuse me with giant, angry eyes.

Now backed against a half-built home, I gulped and took a wild stab at the source of his irritation. "You, uh, not, uh, um, so keen on the slaughter?"

Barrel nodded. Something burned in his pupils that I did not like, the pure, fiery anger of an adult dragon driven to the extreme.

"But…" I spread my hands, hoping he wouldn't bite them off, so much warmth spreading outward from my loins that I feared I'd peed most of my internal organs into my breeches. That can happen, I heard about it once. "B… b… b… see… we neeeeeed… to… eat… 'n…"

Barrel snorted. I shrieked and ducked, my floppy hat propelled off my head and into the air. The head pulled away, and Barrel, still glaring at me, tromped back to the golden tree. He didn't stop there, either, his tracks carrying him away… away… towards the woods… and every animal in Pubton followed in his wake, the collective lot vanishing into the redwood trees.

Remember how I feared that my father might try to take Pubton away from me? How I'd thought of HIM as the primary source of rebellion? Turns out I was dead wrong.

Barrel. Buddy. Something's wrong with you, I just know it. But… is it really just this? Or is there something else?

Did I…

Did I really see a flash of colour in his eyes…?

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Fucked, 'cause now we have NO SOURCE OF MEAT AW SHIT