A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures Chapter 8: ʕ•̫•ʔ---Baby Wyvern Thinks I’m a Snack

Na: Munchie

Age: 15 days

Gender: Male

Species: Wyvern

Elent: Unknown

I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I stood outside the entrance to Munchie's den.

The air was thick with the earthy scent of wet stone, with just a hint of sweet chocolate from the cart I was pushing. Its wheels creaking as I rolled it forward. This was it, my final baby dragon of the day.

I thought I was ready for anything.

After all, I'd survived an overzealous dragon throwing fruit at , a full-on birthday song performance to Princess (complete with accidental high notes), and, not forgetting, an impromptu sing-along session with Sweet Tooth (cause he heard singing to Princess and wanted to join in along), who I still wasn't entirely convinced wasn't part dinosaur, part marshmallow.

But I was determined to get through this. Munchie was my last dragon and after my previous encounters, how hard could it be?

I adjusted my utility vest, checking for the 20th ti if all my tools were secure. That's right—I was professional now. This wasn't my first rodeo.

"Munchie?" I called into the dimly lit den. The na alone gave hope. If he was called Munchie, surely that ant he was a big eater, right? Just a baby wyvern with an enormous sweet tooth. How bad could it be?

The only sound was the echo of my voice bouncing off the cave walls.

No response. No movent.

Great. Maybe he's just asleep. My shoulders relaxed, and I pushed the cart closer, my hands sweaty from the anticipation of whatever ca next.

But just as I rounded a sharp corner in the den, I heard a sound—a whooshing noise. Before I could react, sothing cold, wet, and distinctly slimy hit my face like a brick wall.

I gasped in horror, trying to scream, but the wetness was everywhere, dripping into my eyes, my mouth...my very soul. It was like a wall of dragon drool that covered every inch of my face, heavy and oppressive.

I was lifted off my feet. My body twirled in mid-air, like I was in so grotesque carnival ride. I could feel my body being twisted, and I realized—sohow, absurdly—that this was it.

I was going to die.

Not like this.

For a brief second, my life flashed before my eyes... that one ti I tried to pet a raccoon back in my friend Sam's backyard, my disastrous attempt at karaoke, and the ti I accidentally walked into a door while texting... and now, this.

My obituary was going to say: "Zoologist Intern Eaten by Baby Wyvern. Cause of Death: Swallowed Alive." How utterly ridiculous.

Then—Munchie spat out. The sheer force of it sent crashing to the ground with a sickening splut.

I lay there, gasping for air, drenched in sothing that slled distinctly like rotten fish and chocolate.

Had I just been assaulted by a dragon with literal dragon spit?

I wiped my face and blinked as the world ca into focus.

I should've been relieved. I was still alive, after all. But instead, I felt… offended.

Truly, deeply offended.

Munchie stood a few feet away, looking absolutely disgusted with , like I was so kind of filthy snack he'd just rejected.

He wiped his tongue with the back of his claw, then took a quick swipe of his tail, like he was trying to scrub his mouth clean.

I stared at him, trying to shake the slimy goo off my goggles. "Oh, so I'm not good enough for you, huh?" I growled, attempting to stand up, my legs still shaky from the whole debacle.

Munchie blinked slowly and snorted, as if to say, No, you're not.

I raised an eyebrow. Maybe I had underestimated this wyvern. But you know what? I wasn't going to back down.

"Alright, Munchie," I muttered, stepping closer, trying to muster so sense of confidence. "You think I'm gross? Co at , then. I'm not scared of a little spit."

For a split second, his eyes narrowed.

Big mistake, Carl, I thought.

His wings flicked. It all happened so fast I didn't even have ti to blink.

Munchie's wing shot out and collided with , sending crashing back into the cold stone wall of his den with an impact that made my teeth rattle.

"Okay," I coughed, gasping for breath.

"Noted. Never provoke a wyvern."

My chest felt like it was being crushed under a ton of bricks, but thankfully, the magical fibers of my uniform absorbed most of the impact. It felt like being hit by a heavy, rubbery pillow. A very, very heavy pillow.

I was sore, but I was alive. Barely.

Munchie, apparently not satisfied with just one slap, decided to make his personal punching bag. Before I could even get my bearings, he swung his tail like a battering ram, hitting square in the chest and knocking backwards again.

I couldn't even get my feet under before he headbutted , sending tumbling across the floor. My vision swam, my breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Finally, Munchie stopped.

"Well, this is great," I grumbled, rubbing my sore ribs as I tried to get back up. "Really great." I felt like a human chew toy at this point.

He cocked his head to the side and stared down at , his tongue lolling out as he panted.

I felt my chest tighten in frustration. I couldn't even fight back. Not because I was scared, but because, quite frankly, I had no idea what his elental powers were.

Baby wyverns could be territorial, sure, but they also had unpredictably destructive powers. And all I had were cookies and a utility belt filled with snacks and calming sprays. Newest update provided by novelꜰire

I groaned as I sat up, rubbing my sore shoulder. This was turning into the worst day of my life.

"Alright, Munchie. You win this round," I muttered, feeling like a deflated balloon. "But don't get too cocky. I'll figure you out eventually."

Munchie blinked at , then turned away and waddled over to his stash of treats, happily munching on the cookies and chocolates I had brought for him.

I just sat there, utterly defeated, my mind reeling.

Did he actually just… ignore ? I an, seriously. The audacity.

"I swear, dragons are the worst," I muttered under my breath, limping toward the food cart. "I'm starting to regret making them my favorite species."

Just as I was about to wallow in self-pity, Munchie did sothing that completely threw off. He picked up a cookie between his claws, waddled back over, and with an exaggerated huff, dropped it in front of .

For a brief, hopeful mont, I thought maybe—just maybe—he was offering to make ands for the brutal smackdowns he had just delivered.

Then, he licked the cookie.

He actually licked it, like so sort of sick joke.

Then dropped it in front of , as if to say, 'Take it or leave it'.

I blinked at him. "You've got to be kidding …"

I stared at him. "Really, Munchie? This is how you apologize? By making it worse?" I scowled, but he didn't seem to care, just looking at like a smug little gremlin.

After a mont, he offered the cookie again, and I glanced at it, the sharpest edge of my frustration bubbling up. "Nah, buddy. You can keep that one. I'm not that desperate."

Munchie rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes, as if I were the unreasonable one here, and went back to his pile of snacks. The nerve!

I pushed myself to my feet, feeling like I had been through a washing machine and left to dry on a line.

As I stumbled out of Munchie's den, my mind was buzzing.

Munchie was a handful, sure, but there was sothing undeniably adorable about him, too. Even after he wiped his drool-covered tongue on and knocked around like a ragdoll, I couldn't help but feel a strange bond with him.

"It seems I still had a lot to learn if I was going to survive with magical creatures, not just here, but in all of Mythica. No Zoology degree could help with that."

Deep inside I couldn't shake the feeling that these dragons, mischievous and temperantal as they were, were going to be the least of my problems.

********

Zoologist Guide: Tips for Feeding Munchie (and Surviving)

1. Gear Up

Uniform Check: Make sure it's secure—those magical fabrics can handle claws, bites, and saliva.

Goggles & Gloves: Because getting dragon spit in your eye is not a fun way to start the day.

Tools: Load your vest with treats and a calming spray—your best defense (or distraction).

2. Sweeten the Deal

Cookies & Chocolates: Munchie's favorites! Have a stash ready to keep his attention (and keep yourself off the nu).

Hide Treats: Stash a few around his den—think of it as a snack scavenger hunt to keep him occupied.

3. Sneak In Like a Pro

Announce Yourself: Let him know you're coming with food. He might respond better when he knows the goodies are on their way.

Enter Slowly: Keep the cart between you and Munchie. You're the waiter, not the entrée.

Watch His Body Language: If he's crouching or twitching, brace yourself—baby wyverns love surprises.

4. Play it Cool

No Eye Contact Battles: Just a friendly glance, don't stare like you're challenging him to a duel.

Small Bites: Give him treats slowly. Rushing could make him think you're desperate... or delicious.

5. Avoid Provocation

Don't Challenge Him: As tempting as it might be to establish dominance, baby wyverns can beco aggressive if provoked. Maintain a calm, steady voice and avoid making sudden movents.

6. Always Have an Escape Plan

Know the Exit: Keep an eye on the quickest route out. Trust , it's crucial.

Keep Path Clear: A cartload of cookies won't save you if you trip over it while fleeing.

Calming Spray on Standby: One spritz and a handful of treats. Your best strategy for a quick getaway.

Good luck! And rember—if he spits you out, just be glad he didn't like the taste.