"There," one of the watching men said, reaching down to pet the neck of his horse. "I win."

"Not necessarily," said the other, not moving. "Watch."

Fifteen minutes passed. The horses occasionally stamped or shifted, and the freshening breeze brought them the wet sound of the chreotha feeding. Occasionally the first man would glance at the second, but the second man's dark eyes were ever fixed on the chreotha and its meal.

The head of the yendi fell severed to the ground, followed not half a second later by the body of the chreotha, its fur suddenly dull and matted in the reddish afternoon light. "We both win," the second man observed, wheeling his horse around.

"We both lose," the other man said, turning to follow.

"There's a lesson for you there."

"I'm certain there is."

"No, no, not there. I meant in the fight between the chreotha and the yendi."

"Oh? I assure you that I already know how to use poison to my advantage, Dragonlord."

"You are determined to be unpleasant today, aren't you?"

"I am nothing if not consistant."

"Ah. Nothing." They rode on for a minute without speaking before the second man added, "It doesn't matter what shows on the outside. What other people see, that's misleading at best. What matters is what's going on inside. That's the lesson you should learn."

"...did you just call me a poisoned chreotha, Dragonlord?"

"I did not. I called you a Dragon."

"...ah." 

And they rode on, in silence.

[Information on the creatures stolen from here.]