Despite the star and moonlight, the plains were dark. Partly, the grass soaked up the light, dull green stalks filled with shadow and potential predators. Still, much of the night blindness was from staring into a raging campfire that sat within a trampled dirt circle. A few stones and a log sat in a circle around the fire, comfortable enough seating for the group still awake this late into the night.

Heads, arms, legs; the creatures had these, and even in the right number. What the glint on their skin and the faint shadows revealed were the creatures' scales, tails, and claws. The creatures sat hunched over, their heads barely taller than the shoulder-blades upon which they rested. They were not clothed against the night wind that gently washed over the plains, but the creatures sat closer to the fire than most would deem comfortable.

A few of the creatures sat backwards, adjusting their eyes to the dark and peering out in search of whatever dangers might threaten the group. Others were curled up on the earth near the fire, resting or sleeping though determining which would require a closer look.

From my vantage, the creatures were merely a small diorama set up against a dark night. Yes, vantage, for I was looking down on this group from above. Every so often, the branch I was perched upon would sway into vision in the wind. Though I tried to turn my vision, it seemed locked onto the campfire for what seemed like nearly an hour.

Not that watching a camp of lizard-looking people was the most boring thing that I remember recently, but getting a look elseware would have sure been nice. It was strange feeling so powerless here, unable to do anything but watch. I feel ready to do something instead of just watching. Watching and waiting had gone on long enough, so surely there was a reason beyond that for why I was here.

. . .

. . .

Finally, movement. After some of the lizard people switched places, some going to sleep, others waking up, my perspective shifted more than a few inches. I was falling, smoothly at first, then interrupted with sharp decreases as I neared the ground. My silver arms slowed me down so that I didn't break my silver legs. With a roll, I landed, completely silent. Probably. I hadn't heard any sound yet, even the wind or the fire. Still, there wasn't much dust, and the grass was nowhere near dry enough to snap and crackle from the roll.

My vision once more looked outward, but now it was filled with shadowy grass twice as tall as I was. No matter, the glow of firelight shone high enough to spot the right direction. Onwards, I. . .no, perhaps we. . .slowly pushed forward through the darkness. It wasn't me doing this. I was not in control here, just along for the ride, so right now instead of me, and it is walking forward. Still, for some reason, we feels like the right word here.

Now we peer through one last layer of grass, a thin finger stretched to push aside a thinner opening into the clearing. With a closer perspective, I can see the lizard-people have a second set of eyes, though these are much smaller and a bit farther down their snout. Other than that, everything seems the same as it was from above. Sleepy guards and a bright fire. Our eyes dart around the clearing, checking positions of the slow-waking sentries.

Barely a few seconds and we are moving again. Fast. Passing through the grass was an exercise in stealth and speed, but this is a flat-out sprint. We make it ten steps before a warning-hiss comes. Probably a hiss, since that's the sound a tongue popping out of a mouth makes in my memory. Our spotter isn't the guard in our path, but one to the side. The warning jerks heads toward our spotter.

Too late to catch us however. The guard in our way turns, and surprise hits right as we are hopping by, over the log that he sits on. Four seconds in and we are hopping through a hop-scotch of scaled bodies, eyes darting all over for. . .something.

Forms on the ground are moving, making this more difficult, but we weave in and out of the moving limbs, circling the fire. Small details, like the egg one lizard-person is curled around or the half-eaten remains of a spit of cooked meat take our attention for a half-second as our eyes scan the area.

We move in a circle around the fire, more movement as time goes on. Outside of the tangle of bodies, guards are moving inwards toward us. They tower above us, easily triple our height, maybe quadruple for some, and that makes me leery of what happens if they get a hold of us. Our eyes pay them cursory notice.

Then we see it, our eyes locked on something for a real amount of time. A stick, clutched in the hands of a hunched over lizard-person with his back rested up against a log. Blinking eyes and a searching head make him seem groggy, pulled back to reality by whatever noise I can't hear.

We dart toward him, grabbing at the stick. Fingers wrapped around the smooth wood, we pull. For a moment it seems easy, and then the lizard-person's grip tightens. His eyes widen, he attempts to stand, and he pulls the stick upwards and closer.

Also us, upwards and closer. Closer to his mid-section. Close enough for a silvery foot to dart out and smash into the area right between the naked creature's legs. There isn't any visible genitalia, but the look on his face, eyes widening further and mouth open in what might be a scream say that some things are universal.

We have the stick to ourselves now, so we jump over the log, past our victim. The firelight is casting long shadows and giving the sharp teeth and scaled faces of the guards on this side of the camp a terrifying glow. There are four of them, clustered up and waiting for us. They don't have any weapons, but their teeth and claws do enough intimidation.

We dodge to the right, running along the edge of the makeshift seating. A lizard-person reaches out from over a log and we roll underneath. A guard circles towards us, trying to box us in. We dodge away, left this time, and squeak through a small gap in our pursuers.

I can't tell how far back they are, not with sight alone, but I see the stick in our hand as our legs and arms pump furiously. Going through the grass this way makes a trail, but in the dark, passing away from the fire, it isn't noticeable. Still, we run.

Not even a minute into the grass, we stop and fall prone. A flash of shadow in our eyes as we allow gravity its course.

One second.

Two seconds.

We're up, glancing behind us a moment before sprinting away again, this time a bit faster, somehow. Behind us, a panther shape is hunched atop a lizard-person while the others are standing behind, teeth bared.

. . .

. . .

Finally, we slow, jogging onward for a while longer.

. . .

We stop at another tree, this one much shorter than our previous perch. Our stick gets set down carefully, and we pull a different stick off the tree. Not a full branch, but larger than a twig. The wood is dry, not much life in it as it twisted off the tree in one easy motion. We hold it up, examining the stick before retrieving our much more stolen stick.

One in each hand, we hold them together, meeting the tips in-front of us. For a while, nothing seems to happen. Maybe minutes, maybe a half-hour, but eventually something changes.

In the darkness, the faint glow is obvious. Orange, growing in intensity, it starts on the hard-won stick. The glow grows, brighter, whiter, and then the tip is not glowing anymore, it's alight with flame. Fire. The new stick catches, and then we hold two torches. Somehow, I can picture a silver face, eyeless, noseless, and sporting a shit-eating grin right now. Not by looking, but from some feel deep in my gut.

Then the magic stick goes out.

. . .

Looking at the arms, we make what might be a shrugging motion. The still lit torch is dropped, plunged into dirt with more kicked over it. It served its purpose, I guess. The magic stick is raised and set in our mouth before we climb up the edge of the tree. A glance around shows a mostly dark plains and a faint pinprick of light way off in the distance. Make that two points of light.

One is the camp we raided, the other is a glow that lights up the edge of the horizon. Dawn.