Somnia Proles

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  Wyatt's quiet footsteps were muffled by the sand, but Lemma had always known better than to listen for a telling jingle in pocket or a song on his lips. "I don't suppose you've saved even coin enough for bread this time, have you?"
  
  "Do you take me for a fool?" Wyatt shouldered Lemma over so they could share the driftwood bench, and put his hands close to the fire. Lemma's naked shoulder was ice against his. She'd been out in the wind long enough she was numb to the cold, but Wyatt had carried the warmth of the Tether with him, and soon she found herself snuggling closer to him despite his financial uselessness. She watched him dig through his cavernous pockets for two buns with meat baked into the center. The gravy had soaked into the bread, making it soggy on one side, but the smell was enough to make her mouth water. "I bought these before I even stepped foot in the arena."
  
  "Not such a fool then," she purred, twisting her arm around his, and leaning forward to take the bun from his hand with her mouth. She knew she would be returning to the Tether herself, soon enough, a place where she could scrub the sand from her ears, bathe in warmth and attention from the patrons, and eat her fill of food fresh from the ovens, but none of it would be so good as that lukewarm bun, the warmth of his side, or the stirring of his 'attention' below as she leaned into his lap and fed.
  
  "Mm, you're a good girl, Lemma. My Lemma, my Luck... hey, what's that?" He stood suddenly, almost spilling Lemma from his lap. Deftly, she caught the remainder of the bun and stuffed it into her mouth, standing with him and squinting towards the shoreline.
  
  It was almost too dark to see anything. The moon and stars were lost behind a heavy blanket of cloud, and her eyes were dumbed to the night from having stared into the fire for so long, yet eventually she was able to make out an obscure blackness against the sea foam.
  
  "Quick, before the tide sucks it back," Wyatt said as he hastened his steps. Soon Lemma was battling the surf as she chased after Wyatt, the icy pins and needles of the waves tugging at her calves. As they drew close, she could identify the shape as a crate, and a heavy one, for it hardly moved with the water at all, but Wyatt was right to think it would be lost to the sea; the waves were picking up again.
  
  They were waist deep by the time they reached the crate, and the surf was whispering an insidious claim over the top. Without words, Lemma and Wyatt grabbed a corner and pushed. It was all they could do to keep the crate, and themselves, from being pulled back by the ocean when the waves receded, but little by little they made progress, rolling the crate end over end to beat the hold of the sand. Splinters bit into Lemma's palms, but she hardly cared. If the crate yielded anything of value, it would be ages before she'd have to feed Wyatt and herself with her revenues.
  
  Finally, they made it beyond the surf, panting and shivering and caked with sand. Lemma hugged herself and bit her lip as Wyatt surveyed their find. The dilapidated boards had been nailed together over another box inside that was black and smooth and chinked like porcelain when he hit it. The box walls were seamless to Lemma's eyes, but Wyatt found some screws in the end, and carefully began to unscrew them with the tip of his eating knife.
  
  Once unscrewed, the lid of the box slid away easily, revealing a plush velvet bag that was completely dry, either by mechanism or enchantment, it was impossible to say. At this point, Lemma's heart started to race. The cold and filth forgotten, she grabbed Wyatt's arm and tried to tug him away. "Let's just go. We can report it to the Tether and they can award us any valuables accordingly if the box be unclaimed, but let's just leave it for now."
  
  Wyatt paused long enough to look at her, to let her see his pupils dilated the way they did when he gambled. "It's fine. You look cold. Go tend the fire."
  
  She didn't listen, of course. Instead, she hovered closer as she watched him search the velvet with his hands, looking for an end to it. Finding nothing, he gathered the fabric in his arms and tried to heave it out of the box, but it was pinned down by something inside, so he took his eating knife again and started ripping. Once he had a large enough tear, he threw his knife down and started digging through the folds of cloth. A splash of colored light touched his brow like a sapphire kiss, then was cut off by the shifting fabric.
  
  Lemma rushed to snatch the cloth from his hands, trying to wrestle it out of his grip. "Stop," she cried, and too frightened to repeat herself, she yanked. Wyatt yanked back, and the cloth ripped between them, both falling away from the box as light shot up, and up, painting the bellies of the clouds an aurora.
  
  Wyatt scrambled back up to bend over the box. Lemma opened her mouth to scream, but forgot how as she watched in horror as the light played over his features. The light blurred, and focused, colors passing over his eyes like insects on a corps. He was frozen. The wind was picking up, lifting the strands of his hair and maneuvering them like snakes. Hours may have passed, or minutes, Lemma couldn't tell, but after a time that felt like eternity had passed, the light stopped. Everything went dark except for two white points left where Wyatt's eyes should have been. Two white points that moved, first moving up towards the clouds, then back down, down towards Lemma.
  
  Lemma felt a chill, and was finally able to make out Wyatt's features in the dark, that horrible, doltish mouth of his hanging open.
  
  "It's too much," he said. He stooped, his fingers groping for his knife, his eyes always on her. "It's too much." His fingers closed over the hilt, and he rose, pinning Lemma to the sand with the white points of his eyes. Then, he turned, sprinting to the blackness of the sea.
  
  ...
  
  Hours later, still dripping from her search, the clouds bleeding at the first touch of sun, Lemma came back to the box. No longer afraid, she looked. At first, she thought it was a dragon, nestled in velvet, and dead. On closer inspection, it was only a dragon statue, an impossible masterpiece, each scale carved of stone and laced... laced, like armor, on an anthropomorphic form. Consumed with hatred, Lemma clawed at the structure, digging until her fingers bled, but there was no way to get the pieces open. In the end, she decided on a more basic revenge, dragging the box back to the place of hedonism and warmth, the Tether which she hated.
  
  She accepted the money the merchant gave her without counting it, hoping at least one thing would be destroyed by the other. As a kindness, Lemma told the merchant the creature was magic, and would need to be bound with the Tether's bracers to block it's power.
  
  "And how do we get it out of the armor? What does it eat? How much does it sleep? Will it ever wake up?"
  
  "I don't know," Lemma said, and she left for the docks to board the first ship that would let her. She was never coming back, and the Tether could be damned with it's curiosity for interesting creatures. They were all damned.