Ebon Snapling

An Ebon Snapling sits on a damp branch, a compact silhouette of midnight lacquer with a gloss that seems to drink the light. Its scales, tight and glossy like obsidian plates, ripple with every breath, catching the moon and throwing it back in a thousand tiny fractures. A row of spines along its back glints with a muted iridescence, and its eyes—orange-gold, ember-bright—hold a patient, predatory patience. Its limbs are short but powerful, clawed feet gripping bark as if the world itself might tremble beneath its weight. When it moves, the air shifts with a whisper of fabric-quiet motion, as if it wears a veil of shadow that never quite settles. The texture of its skin feels both cool and alive, like the skin of oiled stone, and there’s a faint scent of rain and old pines that clings to it long after it’s passed. Lore threads through those midnight scales like a second skin. Elders say the Snapling is born from a shard of shadow dropped in a long-abandoned hunter’s camp, a creature drawn from the margins where dusk clings stubbornly to the world. Some speak of it as a guardian of nocturnal loci, a small, tireless watcher that knows the crest of every hill, the sigh between trees, the tremor of a cave mouth before a storm. It is said to drink fears as a cat drinks milk, turning a hunter’s nerves into something steadier, something that walks with you through ruin and rumor alike. In the wilds it is a hunter’s ally and a guide for those who tread softly, because the Snapling’s way of moving through shadows makes even the most treacherous road feel navigable. In battle, its presence folds the battlefield into a deeper, more intimate story. The Snapling darts in with a quick, precise bite that carries a bite of shadow, then withdraws to the edge of vision, as if it were a wisp of ink in the wind. It can weave a silken tether of darkness that binds a foe’s attention, buying its trainer precious moments to strike or reposition. Its other abilities feel like quiet, deliberate whispers—tremor-driven pounces that unsettle a line of defense, or a sudden veiling that lets it slip past a wary opponent. It is not a flashy pet, but a reliable one, turning tense exchanges into measured exchanges, where small advantages compound into hard-won victories. Traveling with a Snapling is a lesson in patience and precision. It never rushes; it tests the air, the ground, the faintest scent of a rival’s path, and it invites you to move with crisp, deliberate steps. The bond grows in the subtle currency of shared risk—hushing your breathing inside a collapsing ruin, letting the creature’s quiet courage lead you through a decayed city’s heartbeat. When you reach a market stall or a caravan yard, the story continues in the language of trade. I found mine first in a cobbled square and then again, years later, at Saddlebag Exchange, where a vendor’s ledger fluttered like wings and the price—roughly a few gold—felt fair for such a steady, shadow-woven companion. A creature that can turn fear into focus is worth more than a handful of coins, I’ve learned, and the Ebon Snapling has taught me to walk the night with a lighter step and a firmer resolve.