Twice a year; once in spring and once in autumn, a verdant moon rises to bring the bestial instincts of non-humans to light. Celestials and demons alike struggle to keep hold of themselves, something ancient welling up within them and shifting their thoughts and feelings to a more animalistic state.

Today, the first Primal Moon of the year has risen.

This isn’t like him at all. Throughout this entire journey, Ao Lie has been many things, played many roles, and each one was performed with a cat-like smile on his face.

A dear friend. A loyal steed. A fierce warrior. A fellow disciple. A compassionate friend. An awe-inspiring dragon.

But this is new. Your dragon’s eyes; though always green, have become newly darkened pits of hazy viridescence. There seems to be no end to the muddled depths in his eyes, no slack given to the pull of his lips, now stretched into a rictus grin.

Ao Lie swings his- sort of his, it had been created from one of Wukong’s magical hairs after barely four seconds of begging for one- his dagger down. The knife work is rough, sloppy. The fish that lie limp across the bloodied rock suffers another mangling blow, struck again by the blade. Stripped of scales and bones, what’s left of the poor thing is soon barely a pile of minced mush.

Lie takes the puddle of gore into his bare hands, racing it to a pan set haphazardly over two rocks, heated by a fire a little too wild. If you hadn’t the foresight to surround it with rocks before your dear dragon had lit the kindling, it no doubt would have spread out of control by now.

He throws in a sloppy handful of spices, spattering over the goopy meat and sizzling as they fall mindlessly into the oil. Herbs, ripped to pieces by his hands. A flash of yellow as he takes up a lemon and rips it into uneven halves. The acidic spray of citrus that follows will in theory season the puddle of frying flesh.

With a hasty tip of the pan, Lie fills a smooth wooden bowl and races back to you.

“Eat up, darling!”