The Beast

With a flapping of leathery wings, the beast dropped to the ground in front of me, black and jagged. It reeked of burned flash and moldy bread. It turned a long, sinuous neck toward me, its eyes mere red slits in the nest of twisted horns and spikes that adorned its misshapen head. I didn't even notice the rider until he slumped from the thing's back to the ground at my feet. He was pale; aged and fleshless; clearly dead. From exposure? I couldn't say.

The beast knelt before me, offering the saddle to mount. Its eyes bored into mine.