Alexis enjoyed his delightful life in the tiny village of Paraborn.

He was not alone in his love for his community. Everyone he knew spent most of their days smiling. They greeted each other with an embrace and parted with simultaneous calls of 'Westeroo.'

It meant 'I'll be seeing you soon, and my heart is fuller for the knowledge,' though the language from which it originated was lost. Only a few words remained, and they were used with no concept of the deeper meanings. In fact, it was said their definitions were warped by time into something far removed from they once were.

Much as the Paraborn inhabitants were. Once, the village had been larger. Set against the mighty Aren Rush, whose waters ran deep, wide and swift, it had teemed with activity from across the country. Its location was prime for trade routes, and the Paraborn authorities were keen to take advantage of the booming coffers such business provided.

Then came the first Fall. The drought brought the famine, which brought disease. Hunger. Mistrust. Bloodshed. Paraborn dwindled as quickly as the Rush dried. Even long after the machines were built and the waters restored, the village was unable to rebuild itself fully. The world had changed. Those remaining believed it was for the better.

The inhabitants of Paraborn knew it was.

Alexis was an early riser. The smell of freshly burned oil seeped in from the ever open window as his father pulled levers and pushed buttons, which he would teach his son very soon, to coax the tractor into life. The chuggachuggachugga of the pistons pushing pressurized steam through the engine was a better alarm than any cockerel. Alexis would jump out of bed, splash his face with last night's drinking water and pull on his clothes. He'd hum along to the tune his mother would be singing, then would run out of the door, picking me up along the way.

"Let's away, Boxer," he'd cry. And he would laugh.

We both would.

He'd grab a slice of the still warm, freshly baked bread his mother had put aside for him at just the right time for the thickly layered butter to be melted exactly how he liked it. He'd offer me a bite and, knowing I'd refuse, not wait for an answer before shovelling the slice into his mouth. He'd suck his fingers clean, then wipe them on his trousers. And he would laugh.

We both would.

"Where are we going today?" I asked him, my voice jittering from being shaken by his hands bouncing as he ran.

The morning was bright, the mood was brighter and the bread, I was sure, was more delicious than it had ever been. It was a simply superb day.

"It's a surprise," he said breathlessly.

Even though Alexis ran everywhere and spoke at a speed matching his footsteps, his breath could never keep pace. He was forever waiting for it to catch up and, sometimes, his lip colour would fade, taking on a blue tinge. His lungs would be rasping as they clutched at precious air, desperate to inhale it. Then he would carry on, unworried by the episode. His parents were concerned, but he didn't seem to be suffering from the symptoms, and doctors were unable to find a cause. It was just the way the boy was. It wasn't a problem until it was a problem.

But I knew differently. He was not well. He never had been, which was wrong in itself. Alexis should have been the healthiest boy alive.

So, why wasn't he?

I'd asked him, of course. I was more than just his toy. I was his best friend, and he mine. We talked about everything, often until the birds began to sing, announcing the beginning of a new day, when he'd realise he hadn't slept and I realised I hadn't been lubricated. He'd stretch and yawn. His eyes would close, and he'd grab the last remaining hours or, even, minutes before he had to awaken.

While he was asleep, I would be busy. Perhaps I should learn to rest, but I didn't like inaction. I preferred to be always doing something. I'd tidy his room, picking his clothes from the floor and putting them away so he wasn't berated by his parents. I'd oil my joints and tighten any loosening screws, which always tickled. Thankfully, I required little maintenance, so could spend the rest of the night doing what I was here to do.

Keep watch.

Alexis enjoyed surprises. Even the smallest would elicit a gleeful cry. I was not so enamoured by them. I liked to know what was happening, otherwise I wouldn't always be able to protect him, which was my utmost priority.

"Oh, tell me!" I said excitedly.

Alexis just smiled and continued to run. He seemed energized and was venturing further from Paraborn than we'd ever gone before. I was powerless to stop him, being a mere toy, so was simply carried along. He was a young boy, so his mind could change suddenly without warning. It could often be confusing and frustrating.

And I loved it, mostly. His enthusiasm could suck in even the most miserable person in the village, not that there were many. In fact, there was only one. Edgar Broomridge was an accomplished doctor. He had saved numerous lives. Yet, his face had forgotten to smile a decade before, when his son had died from an incurable sickness. The Fallow, the pandemic that ravaged us after the Fall, had struck young William first. There had to be a first, didn't there? Well, William was it. At seventeen, three months before the birthing day that would signify his stride into adulthood, the Fallow took him.

Since that day, Edgar Broomridge's sadness and grief had faded, but the melancholy remained.

My wings flapped as we went. They were not the usual Gargoyle wings other toys like me had, and I'd often wondered why. Rather than clawed, arching canopies of taut skin, mine were straighter, double planed and intricately decorated. The rest of my design was more traditional, except for my more upright posture, but I still had the black skin and red eyes. My teeth were fanged and as sharp as my horns.

Alexis told me it's good to be different. He would know, though he wouldn't know why.

Toys were a personal thing. We were the playthings of our owners, so our appearance was secondary to the pleasure we brought. It meant there was no derision aimed at our differences. Still, was I Gargoyle enough? The mythical creatures were fierce. Not only was there no ferocity in our play, but there was also none in my attitude. If Alexis was happy, so was I.

I was rarely not by his side, so I wondered how he knew where we were going. It was unlikely he had come this far on his own.

We stopped again, with Alexis doubled over, coughing.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

He was getting worse. He ran everywhere and, though his breathing suffered, he didn't cough as if his insides were trying to be outsides. His face flushed, but wasn't the colour of beets. He shouldn't be ill, however. It was supposedly impossible.

"W... We're here..." he wheezed, setting me on the ground next to him.

I scurried around his feet, sniffing at the ground. Though my nose didn't detect odours in the same way a dog might, the sensors in my nose could pick out individual scents and vibrations, enabling me to 'see' them in the form of a glow. Something was wrong, but I wasn't sure what. The radiance had tinges of colour I hadn't seen before. Should I be worried? Even if not, I was. I had to be, in case danger lurked. Alexis found my concern excessive, but I ignored his complaints. It was better than him being injured, or worse.

And, there could be so much worse.

"Where is here?"

"You'll see," Alexis said, sounding more like a normal ten year old boy. "Hello!" he called.

The movement from the trees was unexpected. I should have known something was there. I opened my mouth and bared my lengthening fangs.

"Don't worry, they're friends."

"We are indeed," said a man with wild hair, wearing telescopic spectacles I remembered well.

He sat astride a great, monstrous beast. One with fangs longer and thicker than my own body. Fangs that could pierce my metal torso with the smallest effort. A beast with wings that, if not folded as they currently were, would be vast flaps of thick flesh with claws at the apex of each arc. A true Gargoyle.

Goliath, the creature my design was based upon.

And, of course, the man himself. My creator.

The Toymaster.

Hey Sinners! Here's the latest chapter for the @layeththesmackdown Genre Smackdown prompt! This follows on from The Source and the chapters that went before it, and I can see a whole new story building! I hope you enjoy it!