He hadn't expected an unarmed attack. Ralarulash had puffed his chest, ready to reply to the boy's articulate yet feeble request -- and to mock him for throwing away his only means of defense -- when his adversary suddenly leaped forward with the precision of a practiced swordsman, a hand outstretched for a feather.

Ralarulash whipped his wing up toward the sky, flapped with a swirl of dust, and leaped backward a few feet, his paws skidding; he had only just escaped the boy's greedy hands. He would have to keep a careful eye on him. He grinned sharply.

"A feather? Ha!" He lowered his head and resumed circling the boy. "A feather plucked from my living wing has a potent power -- but you knew that, didn't you, alchemist?" He snarled, and his claws flashed as he walked. He stretched his wings to show off their articulate undersides, the tawny down and plumes. "You've come here without a plan, without a hope of succeeding -- I would kill you before you could touch me." His throat rumbled in a thoughtful growl. "But I might [i]give[/i] you what you want, if you will offer something in return. Like the villagers give me food in exchange for their lives, you will give me freedom in exchange for a feather."