Take it.

It would be so simple, to reach out and pluck the creature from its home. It wouldn’t even burn, to gingerly close his teeth around the nape of its neck, tucking it into saddlebags that would be soft, comfortable prison – until the end of its life. Smudge shouldn’t have felt sympathy for the dumb thing that blinked up at him with large, wet eyes.

What are you doing, take it.

He can’t force himself to step forward and complete the task.

No matter how much he visualizes it.

Step forward, pick it up, put it away. Sell it. Kill it.

He shouldn’t relate to it.

The noise that escapes the salamander is almost a whistle, steam escaping from a teapot and Smudge takes a step back.

“That’s weird.” He informs it, as if that will make it stop.

It does not.

He finds his limbs folding beneath him, in the heat of the dungeon’s second floor, it is almost a comfortable meeting amongst friends.

“Are you scared of death?”

The salamander whistles.

“I didn’t think I would be.” It feels strange to admit. It’s not something he would have dared to tell even Prosper, as they lay waiting back where they had set up camp for the night. Smudge had gone off to relieve himself, and instead he had only found the burden of this cross-roads.

“It’s not what I thought.” He admits again, the salamander blinking at him as it moves to take a singular step, its forelimb frozen in air as its skin cools completely. “I thought it would be invigorating,” Smudge continues, nearly forlorn, “To be bold and brash, and follow my Destiny. He blew up at his forelock that had become a tangled mess somewhere between the first and second floor, “My father said you found yourself in the dungeon. You know what I’ve found? That I’m exactly the same as everybody else.”

It was only the second floor, wasn’t he supposed to want to delve deeper? The call haunted him all the same, he could hear its siren song even now. “I thought I was special, but I’m just… I’m just tired.”

The salamander’s whistle has gone silent, it’s cooled entirely now. It would be so easy to just take it, as he is supposed to do, and use the money to continue their dive.

“Is it even worth it.”

He balks at the words as he says them, it goes against everything he has ever wanted.

 “You know what. No, this isn’t who I am. I get to decide.”

Smudge unfolds himself, standing firm on ground that feels so unsteady in the sweltering heat.

He picks the thing up as he had visualized, but instead of tucking it away, he trots to the closest pool, resolute. Instead of dropping it delicately, Smudge flings the thing as he himself has been flung, and as if by magic the salamander begins to wiggle as the steam hits it.

It does not disappear beneath the surface immediately. Its gold-flecked eyes blink at him, as beautiful as any jewel, refracting orange and red light.

“I’ll keep going if you do,” he calls stomping one hoof on the ground in determination, the salamander burbles in reply before sinking back into its molten home.  

Maybe there is another way, then all he has ever been told he wanted.

Maybe he will find it in the dungeon after all.