"So. Â What do you think?"
Keep an eye on the sky here. Â It's cold and wide and empty of anything except the azure beyond. Â A blue void with nothing but the sun pinning it in place.
"I think one day he's going to run out of hair for this trick."
Nothing except one small red dot drifting on a lonesome wind towards a voice that was sharp and bright.
"Admit it. You're secretly afraid you're going to wake up one night with him staring at you with a knife in one hand and your braid in the other."
Maybe that lone lantern dot can hear the voices. Â The one made of bright steel and the other made of smooth, sparking brass. Â
"No. Â I'm not worried about finding him at my bedside any more than you are. Â We both know if he had any intention of actually looking for us he wouldn't be sending up that old trick of his."
Maybe the winds just like blowing words back in the faces of the two fur-clad bodies perched on the hill. Â One has a brass spyglass pressed into a slit in the leather where an eye might be, tightly bound against the cold. Â The other was more sleekly swaddled in white furs that matched the pristine slopes and harsh climate. Â The need for mobility on that one's part was obvious once you noticed the long, wicked rifle set against their shoulder. Â The long-arm's barrel was following the far off dot as the bright steel voiced rifleman spoke.
"He's been sending a lot lately."
The leather and fur wrapped turtle with the warm brass voice laughed, though it's focus never shifted from that far, lonely lantern sliding through the sky.
"He has, hasn't he? Â Sure you're not worried?"
The rifle bearer shifted their stance, the barrel lowering. Â Maybe waiting until the dot drifted closer. Â Maybe acknowledging the truth of what had been said with a glint in that cold voice.Â
"No. Â You know the rules. Â Don't get involved."
The warm, telescope bearing one with the brass voice bobbed in their leathers and furs as an acknowledgement.
"Think this one's going to make it through? Â Would be nice to get a letter for once."
The sky split as something dove from the sun towards the red dot. Â The rifle followed. Â Followed the decent of the dragon, followed it snatching the lantern. Â Paused as the fragile red letter was shredded, torn, partially devoured.
The brassy one snapped the telescope shut and put heavy mittens over their ears. The steely one's weapon screamed fire and fury. Â In the distance the dragon turned from a thing of grace to a thinly spread mist of gore and ruined sinew. Â The rifleman spoke even as the echos of the shot peeled off the mountains around them.
"If he wants a letter through he can use the post like everyone else."
On the side of a mountain two fur swaddled figures began to move. Â Both of them silent. Â Both of them patient.
Far away, in a haze of blood and wind, fragments of paper scattered.
Finally free.