Broken Bonds: Chapter 2

“I told you it wasn’t a fuckin’ monkey,” growled a large crossbred drakiri. His fur was dark chestnut, with speckled gold stars that seemed to glow along his head, neck, shoulders and back. He had been the first to notice the cries, and the last to volunteer to go looking for the source. 

“I did not say it was a monkey, Heilbor,” the crossbreed beside him said calmly, “I said it sounded like one. More specifically, I said it sounded like a monkey being stabbed repeatedly in the stomach.” 

“How do you know what that sounds like?” Heilbor asked, rounding on his companion. “Does Atalia the Stoic go around stabbing monkeys for kicks?” 

Atalia stopped and leveled patient, but judgmental yellow eyes on Heilbor, who met him with equal amounts of stubbornness. 

“I think you like to hear yourself talk,” Atalia said. “Now hush. We’re close.” 

They walked side by side, brushing dry shrubs and brittle grass aside as they searched for the source of the cries they’d heard. Atalia, unlike Heilbor, had been the first to volunteer to look for the sound. Of course, he couldn’t have anticipated what they would find, and he liked a bit of a mystery. 

“I smell blood,” Heilbor said, and Atalia wasn’t surprised to hear excitement in the larger drakiri’s voice. Heilbor was a good fighter, but he tended to drag his conflicts out, bleeding his prey and opponents alike. No one wanted to fight him, because no one wanted to deal with the scratches afterward. 

“Calm yourself,” Atalia admonished, shouldering him out of the way. “We’re here to investigate, not sate your thirst for blood.” 

The smaller drakiri stepped forward, his melanistic coat blending with the layer of rot underfoot. He frowned as he looked down at the ground, studying scrapes in the earth that would have told another drakiri more information. He relied mostly on scent when he hunted, as his eyesight was poor compared to others. But even he could see that something had been chased through this clearing. 

“Something must have made a kill nearby,” he said. “Come, Heilbor, this way.” 

They set off at a trot, and before long Atalia could use the scent of blood to lead him in the correct direction. His fur rippled along his spine with unease, because not only was his tongue bathed in the smell of blood, he smelled a disturbingly familiar scent. 

“Fuck,” Atalia breathed, his shoulders tensing as they rounded a copse of aspens. 

“You, swearing?” Heilbor said, astonished. He stepped forward to peer around the shorter drakiri and his eyes widened. Then, he grinned. “Fuck indeed. That’s Abel right there, ain’t it?” 

“It is,” Atalia said, his voice even. 

“He’s gotta be dead, right?” 

Atalia shoved his shoulder against Heilbor, grimacing as he snapped, “I should certainly hope not. You may not want anything to do with him, but how do you think Marcus will react to his only son being found dead and covered in blood in the middle of the forest.” 

“Not his only son anymore,” Heilbor said gruffly. “He’s got the whelp now.” 

“It looks nothing like him,” Atalia said gravely, shaking his head. “He could have found that drakling anywhere.”

“Does Marcus seem like the kind of drakiri to pick up strays out of the kindness of his heart?” Heilbor countered. “You’re as thick in the head as you look. Shut up and come on.” 

Atalia shook himself and walked toward Abel. The boy lay on his belly, covered in mud from the churned earth around him. Blood had filled hoof prints around his belly and his claws were still partially extended as if he’d been defending himself. 

“What did him in?” Heilbor asked, leaning down to sniff at the smaller drakiri. “He wasn’t bright, but he was a good fighter at least. Beat everyone that tried to jump him, at least.” 

Atalia leaned down as well and turned his head to the side so he could use the side of his neck to push against Abel’s shoulder. He strained with the effort—Abel may not have been enormous, but he was dense in more ways than one—but managed to push the boy onto his side, exposing deep, gaping wounds in his belly. 

“Damn,” Heilbor mumbled. “That’s fucked up.” 

“A boar perhaps,” Atalia said. He shook his head and breathed a disappointed sigh. “The son of the most powerful drakiri I’ve ever met, and he gets murdered by a pig. His name will always carry that stain so long as it is spoken by Marcus.” 

“God you’re dramatic,” Heilbor said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Come on, let’s go back and tell the others. They can break the news to Marcus if you’re so worried about it.” 

Atalia would have wanted to bring the body back with them, but it would only be tossed aside to rot if they did. He would return and bury it. They hadn’t found the source of the cries, but maybe they hadn’t needed to. Thinking back on it now, the sound wasn’t unlike the squeals of pigs he’d hunted before, though they had sounded deeper and louder. 

He turned to follow Heilbor, but something made him hesitate. He frowned and looked down at Abel’s wounds, at the flies that had begun to gather at the torn edges of the younger drakiri’s belly, and he felt his blood run cold. Had his belly moved? 

Atalia leaned down and turned Abel’s head so he could see his face, and his stomach lurched when he saw blood bubbling at the corner of his nose. He was still breathing!

“He’s alive!” he called to Heilbor. 

“He’s not, just leave him,” the larger drakiri called back. “Let the crows have him, it’ll be the only good he’s done.” 

Atalia didn’t have time to argue with Heilbor, wounds like this needed immediate attention, and from the blood that had pooled beneath Abel and soaked through the mane on his chest and belly, he’d been here long enough for his life to be at risk. 

The drakiri took two sharp breaths and grabbed Abel by the scruff of his neck. He had to bite hard and firm to get through his mane, and he growled with the effort of lifting even half of him. Atalia staggered forward, moving his legs so Abel dragged along the ground between his forelegs, his long tail sliding through the mud between his hind legs. 

It was long and arduous, but Atalia finally dragged Abel onto the compound and straight to the medical bay. It was a stout building with an open floor plan, several beds and nests laid out across the concrete floor with a private room in the back for more intense care. Marcus had deemed this a necessary expense after a particularly vicious battle with a rival group had left several of them near death. Atalia had been one such victim, laid out on one of those beds for a month and a half before he was well enough to get back to light activity.

He dragged Abel to that back room and laid him on the ground. He twisted to face the door and called, “Shasia, get in here!” 

A scrambling at the door told Atalia that Shasia had been outside, perhaps tending to his herb garden, and hadn’t seen Atalia carry Abel in. 

“He’s dying, fix him,” Atalia said, standing back to make room for Shasia. 

The medic’s eyes stretched wide and he asked, “What the hell did this?” 

“I think it was a boar,” he said. “There were toppled trees in the forest and hoof prints around where I found him.” 

“Bring me water from the well,” Shasia said. “Quickly.” 

He followed Atalia out of the room, running to a dresser that he opened and pulled fistfuls of rags out. 

“Anakaros, come!” Shasia called, and hoofbeats announced an albino sprite that ducked out of Atalia’s way just as the larger drakiri pushed through the doorway. 

“What’s happening?” Anakaros asked. 

“Abel is hurt, we need to help him,” the medic answered. “Atalia is fetching water, I need you to help me. Get the scissors and disinfect them, then bring them to me.” 

Frazzled though they may have been from the sudden appearance of their patient, Shasia and his apprentice gathered their tools. Shasia instructed Atalia to place the metal bucket of water on a scroll, and with an effort of will and a muttered incantation, steam raised up from the surface of the water. 

“Help me turn him,” Shasia instructed Atalia. “Hold him. If he wakes and thrashes, he’ll do more damage to himself.” 

Atalia lifted Abel’s head and sat with the drakiri’s neck pressed against him, head trapped between knee and elbow. He made sure not to put undue pressure on anything vital, and resigned himself to watching the grizzly process. 

Anakaros cut away the muddy and bloodied mane that clung to Abel’s belly, exposing the wounds. They looked worse now than Atalia had thought, and he shuddered as the two medics worked together to dunk the rags in the hot water and scrub out the wounds. They were puckered and full of mud and grit, and they didn’t stop until the wounds bled fresh and the flesh that was visible beneath the skin looked bright red and angry. 

“What’s that?” Anakaros asked, gesturing with a foreleg that was stained pink with blood. Atalia followed the apprentice’s gaze to the bulge of silvery flesh that had appeared in one of the deepest wounds and felt his stomach clench. 

“That would be his intestines,” Shasia said, sounding far too calm for the situation they found themselves in. “The boar cut through the abdominal wall. Do you smell anything foul, Anakaros?” 

The sprite leaned in and took a fearless sniff of the gaping wound. “It doesn’t smell good, but no I wouldn’t say it’s foul.” 

“Then the bowel has likely not been punctured,” the medic said, pulling a wad of thin translucent wire and a curved needle from a kit. “We will need to sew the abdomen and he will need to remain still for an extended period of time.” 

“Abel, sitting still?” Atalia said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He felt faint as he watched Shasia begin to sew the wound shut. “I’d pay to see that.” 

“He won’t be allowed to hunt or fight for at least a month,” the medic said distractedly, focusing hard on his complicated stitches. 

“He doesn’t fight unless he has to,” Atalia said, using the conversation as an excuse to not watch Shasia work. “He hunts, though. Always running around after that brother of his--” 

Atalia’s voice cut off and his brows furrowed. He shifted uneasily and looked to the door, peering toward the entrance to the medical bay. He saw a flash of brown and tan striped fur, and he called out, “Junko! Junko, come here!” 

The mystic crossbreed froze and turned, stepping into the medical bay with a confused expression on his face. “What?” he called. “Atalia? What are you doing in here?” 

“Where is Nathaniel?” Atalia demanded, ignoring the other drakiri’s question. 

“Why would I possibly need to know that?” Junko asked. 

“You didn’t need to, but now you do,” Atalia said firmly. “Whatever you were doing, it can wait. Ask around, find out if he’s on the compound. Abel was hurt while hunting, if Nathaniel was with him, he could be hurt too.” 

Despite his confusion, Atalia’s insistence had Junko trotting out of the medical bay in a hurry, asking anyone he saw if they had seen Nathaniel. 

“Cut the rest of the fur around the wound,” the medic said, gesturing to Anakaros. “We need to keep the area clean and his mane is filthy. Once that’s done, wash him and lay him on one of the beds. Anakaros, it will be your duty to watch him and fetch me if he wakes. We’ll apply ointments if he does.” 

“Shouldn’t you apply them now?” Atalia asked, frowning as he backed away to let the apprentice do what he needed to do. 

The medic let out a weary sigh and said, “Autumn is upon us, Atalia. My herbs are wilting, their potency is questionable. Marcus has made my priorities clear to me, and wounds such as these are not priorities.” 

Atalia’s gaze hardened and he said, “I think you mean wounds on drakiri such as this are not priority.” 

The medic met his gaze, but didn’t have to nod or blink, there was mutual understanding there. Neither of them approved of Marcus’s treatment of his son, but neither of them were strong nor fool enough to speak up against it. 

“That wound would not be survivable by most,” the medic said, keeping his voice low. “The fact that he was still alive when you found him speaks volumes to his sheer stubborn will. If he survives the night, I will apply the poultices I can spare.” 

Junko burst into the medical bay and skidded to a halt in front of them, looking frazzled. “He’s not on the compound, no one’s seen him for hours,” he reported. “The woods are being searched as we speak.” 

“I’ll come,” Atalia said. “Bring Aldwit and Iketatu, give their services to the medic and Anakaros. Marcus may not care if his son dies, but I do. Do whatever they need without question.” He started toward the door and looked over his shoulder as he called, “And if any of you see Heilbor, tell him I want to see him. I have words for him.” 

The search went on until the sun touched the tops of the trees. Half their search party abandoned their mission, assuming the child had been hunted by a fox or an owl, the other half wandered off to hunt for their own dinners, more concerned with their growling bellies than the safety of a child. To say Atalia was disgusted was an understatement. 

Concerned, confused, and more than a little desperate, the drakiri returned to the tree under which he had found Abel. All he found were flies clamoring on the ground to drink from the puddles of blood in the saturated earth. He looked up at the sky and in the dying light of the afternoon sun, he saw the gleam of scales and saw a dark little bundle of fur tucked into the crook of a thick branch in a tree. 

“Nathaniel?” Atalia called, his voice soft and gentle. He knew it was the child, but he didn’t know what state he would be in. “Nathaniel, can you hear me?” 

Nathaniel’s eyes opened, and a shiver wracked through him so hard the tips of his ears trembled. He didn’t say a thing, but Atalia could see his tiny claws dug fast into the tree branch. 

“Did you climb all the way up there?” Atalia asked. He received no answer, not even a shake of the head. “You must be a very strong climber. Do you think you can climb down to me? You must be very cold.” 

Nathaniel cowered and closed his eyes, but Atalia couldn’t tell if the child was shaking his head or simply trembling in cold or fear. 

“Alright, I understand,” Atalia said. The tree wasn’t tall, and its roots were half pried out of the earth, causing it to lean at a fairly extreme angle. He moved to stand directly beneath Nathaniel and stretched up onto his hind legs, lifting his head as far as he could. He plucked Nathaniel off the branch by the scruff of his neck and carried him home. 

As Atalia carried Nathaniel down the path that led to the medical bay, he glared at every drakiri he saw who had abandoned the search. They wouldn’t so much as look in his direction, focusing on their half-eaten kills instead. 

He stepped into the medical bay and saw Anakaros dribbling water from a rag onto Abel’s lips to try to get him to swallow some. So he hadn’t woken yet…that was not a good sign. 

Aldwit, a Q’lin crossbreed with a dark coat and beautiful, vibrant blue markings looked up as soon as he stepped into the bay. 

“Atalia, you found the boy,” he said, sounding curious more than anything. “Where was he?” 

Atalia walked up to Anakaros and set Nathaniel down in front of him. “Up a tree, sheltering from whatever boar must have hurt Abel, I suppose,” he said. “I think he witnessed it.” 

“Is he responsive?” Anakaros asked, looking down at the child as he passed the rag to Aldwit. He reached down to touch his nose to Nathaniel, who had hunkered down with his tail tucked between his legs. “He’s freezing cold.” 

Before they could try to remedy this, Nathaniel darted around the adults and squeezed himself between Abel’s forelegs, pressing his side to his brother’s chest and burying his face in his mane. 

“Nathaniel, come away from there,” Anakaros said, reaching out as if to try to move the child. Iketatu, a dark-furred kelpie with dusky green scales, was the one to place his hoof on the sprite’s forearm and shake his head. 

“Leave him, he’s not doing any harm,” the kelpie said. “They need each other’s comfort.” 

Anakaros looked like he wanted to argue, but he pressed his lips together in a thin line and sighed quietly. “If he wakes up, find me. I haven’t eaten all day, I’m going to see if Tessa still has anything left over from supper.” 

The three drakiri sat together around Abel and Nathaniel, looking down at them with equal measures of concern, confusion and frustration. 

“He was hunting a boar?” Aldwit asked. “Abel doesn’t often hunt prey that could hunt him back.” 

“I assume he was hunting a boar,” Atalia said with a shrug. “Why else would he be out in the forest alone?” 

“He wasn’t alone,” Iketatu pointed out, sitting and wrapping his tail over his forehooves, the fins twitching in irritation.  “He would never have brought Nathaniel out into the forest.” 

“He is young,” Aldwit pointed out. “Why Marcus thinks a child is qualified to raise another child is beyond me—” 

“He has ears,” Atalia said lowly, glancing down at Nathaniel. “Young ears, but they work and he understands enough. We shouldn’t talk about him like he isn’t here.” 

“He is not even six months old,” Iketatu protested. “How much does he really understand?” 

“Enough to understand that his father is a monster,” Atalia sighed. 

Aldwit and Iketatu stiffened and both looked around, one toward the door to the medical bay, the other to the room near the back of the building where Shasia and Anakaros were spreading sand to soak up what blood they could from the concrete before it soaked in too much. If they’d overheard, they didn’t show any sign of it. 

“I don’t see how he could,” Aldwit murmured, his expression tight with disapproval. “He hasn’t so much as sniffed in the boy’s direction since he showed up.” 

“I don’t pretend to understand what Marcus does in his free time,” Iketatu said, “but he’s brought us another mouth to feed, going into winter no less.” 

“If you think Abel won’t sacrifice his own meals for the drakling, you have bees in your brain,” Atalia said, feeling a need to defend Abel that he didn’t understand. He owed this child nothing, yet to allow others to question him felt wrong.

“That’s if he survives at all,” Iketatu said pointedly. “Anakaros told us he might not make it through the night. If that’s true, there will be no one to take care of the whelp.” 

Atalia stiffened and narrowed his eyes, leaning forward to thrust his muzzle into Iketatu’s face as he growled, “You would abandon a child?” 

The kelpie didn’t so much as flinch, holding his chin high and meeting Atalia’s fierce gaze without fear as he said, “I would abandon a child who is not my own, yes. I feel for him, I do, Atalia. But this is not a community dedicated to raising families and thriving. The weak die and the strong take what the weak leave behind. I wouldn’t be surprised if the drakling ended up a meal for one of these vagrants if Abel doesn’t pull through.” 

The implication sickened Atalia, but he couldn’t disagree. Marcus didn’t hold interviews for who could join his ranks, but the weak were often weeded out within days of arriving. The strong bullied those who seemed out of place, picking fights and stealing food from them until the weak fought back and died or their nests were empty the next morning. If Atalia had anywhere else to go, he would. But this close to winter, being on one’s own wasn’t sustainable. 

“If Abel doesn’t pull through, Nathaniel will be Marcus’s only legacy,” Atalia said bleakly. 

“Marcus has created his own legacy, he doesn’t need children for that,” Aldwit snorted. “Are either of you likely to forget him once we escape him?” 

A collective shudder passed through them and silence stretched on for what felt like a lifetime. Iketatu was the first to break it as he said, “I don’t know what the future holds, but if Abel isn’t to be part of it…I wish Nathaniel all the best.” He stood, stretched and looked to each of the other two drakiri. “I suggest you keep your voices down and if you try to protect the child, watch yourselves. There are drakiri on this compound who would pay to get their teeth in that welp just for the pleasure of being the ones to say they killed Marcus’s son.” 

Atalia snorted derisively, “And what bravery that would show, killing a child who can hardly put a sentence together, let alone defend himself.” 

“Time softens minds, give it long enough and Nathaniel will be a thousand pound beast of a dracus with teeth the size of great swords and blood that burns like acid,” the kelpie said with a shake of his head. “Just watch yourselves. You’re the only ones in this cursed place I can stand to be around for any length of time.” 

Aldwit flicked his tail in farewell to the kelpie and looked to Atalia, his steel blue gaze questioning. 

“Do these children mean something to you?” he asked. 

Atalia frowned and looked away, shifting uncomfortably as he looked down at the children. Nathaniel had all but buried himself in Abel’s chest fur, and though the older brother’s belly rose and fell with his shallow breath, he lay so still he looked dead. 

“Do they need to mean something to me in order for me to care that they live?” Atalia asked, his tall ears flattening against his skull. 

“No,” Aldwit said, “but it would make more sense if they did. I can’t say I’ve even seen you speak a word to either of them.” 

Atalia flexed his clawed hooves and took slow, measured breaths. Aldwit did not deserve his frustration, and becoming upset would help no one. Yet he couldn’t help the emotions that welled up in him, and he looked down at Nathaniel as he said, “I’ve grown weary of the violence, Aldwit. I feel old, my bones ache for peace and quiet, neither of which I will ever experience here. I can’t imagine growing up in this environment.” 

Silence stretched between them, an unspoken agreement weaving through the chilled air. 

“You should go,” Aldwit said. “Rest those old, weary bones.” 

“And what of your bones, weary or not?” Atalia asked. 

“I can rest them right here,” Aldwit replied, his eyes bright with amusement. “A concrete floor suits me just as well as a plush mattress. Unlike some drakiri I know.” 

Atalia nudged the other drakiri affectionately and shook his head. “Send someone for me at dawn. I’ll watch over them.” 

“No you won’t, you old goat, catch up on your sleep. Don’t worry about them.” 

Atalia stood, cast a last uncertain glance at Nathaniel, and walked out of the medical bay. He turned toward the barracks where he often slept, looking forward to resting after the frantic search that afternoon. He was a few steps from the door when a flash of movement to his right drew his attention. His eyes widened and he shifted his weight, but not quickly enough to brace against the drakiri that barreled into him. 

Claws pierced his skin, digging into flesh and pulling hard. He snarled as he felt his hooves leave the ground and grunted as he was slammed into the concrete path. The weight of the drakiri above him drove the breath from his lungs and he thrashed, twisting to look at the face of his attacker—Heilbor! He shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Who are you to demand I come see you?” the larger drakiri sneered, baring his teeth as he drove his claws deeper into Atalia’s side. “I am not some dog to come crawling at your beck and call.” 

Atalia’s lip curled and he twisted, bringing his tail up to smash into Heilbor’s side. The spines along the crest of each plate stuck fast in his flank and thigh, drawing a pained roar. 

Heilbor leaped aside, giving Atalia enough time to roll to his hooves and stand. They faced each other, hackles raised and tails lashing. 

“I’m someone who can beat you in a fight and has done so in the past,” Atalia spat. “The next time I tell you to help me, you help.” 

“And if I don’t?” Heilbor challenged, mocking his tone. 

Atalia’s tail curled and he took a step forward, lowering his head slightly in a visual threat. “I will kill you.” 

Fights were common, even encouraged. But killing another drakiri was seen as a step too far. Drakiri were valuable resources, as Marcus couldn’t hold his territory as easily without them, so infighting that thinned ranks due to injuries and infection weakening individuals would result in disciplinary action. Such action was doled out by Marcus himself. By threatening to kill Heilbor, he was inviting conflict with Marcus directly if he followed through with the threat. 

“He’d kill you before you could so much as twitch a whisker at you,” Heilbor sneered, though he sounded less self-assured now. 

“Then that will be two fewer drakiri in the world who don’t deserve to be here,” Atalia hissed. He lunged forward and Heilbor leaped away, hooves skidding in the mud as he fled. 

Atalia breathed an annoyed sigh and gave himself a shake, wincing at the pain from his scratches. Any other day he might have gone to the medical bay to ask for a poultice, but he didn’t want to know if he was a priority for Shasia or not. 

He walked into the barrack and found an unoccupied bed. The mattress was thin and had scratches and holes in it where the padding—hay and bracken in this case—was starting to fall out. At least it would keep him off the floor for the most part. 

He laid down on the mattress and cleaned his scratches with slow, rhythmic rasps of his tongue that helped to relax him after a stressful day. His thoughts wandered back to his time in the forest when he’d found Nathaniel in that tree. The boy had been cold to the touch and looked utterly traumatized. Had he watched the animal attack his brother? What had they been doing out there? 

A worrisome thought occurred to Atalia and he looked to the door where he saw more drakiri filing into the barracks, some arguing over which bed they would take for the night and others trotting down the line to find a nest before the bickerers could come to a decision. Any one of them could have told Marcus what happened, and Marcus wasn’t exactly a reasonable drakiri…what if he came to the wrong conclusion? After all, the children had been found far from the compound, and Nathaniel wasn’t allowed to leave. That probably wouldn’t fall in Abel’s favor. 

Atalia sighed and rested his chin on his wrist, promising himself that he would speak to someone in the morning. Maybe he would speak with Rizan, a nightmare who seemed to be one of the few drakiri Marcus would allow within spitting distance of him without being challenged. He didn’t understand how the nightmare had been able to get close to Marcus, but it was a better option than reaching out to Marcus directly. 

He slept fitfully through the night—which wasn’t a shock, as he almost never slept soundly. Between the ghastly snoring of the drakiri around him, the mumbled threats made in their sleep, and the muffled grunts of what Atalia had chosen to believe was effort rather than anything lewd, he hadn’t had a full night of sleep since he was brought to this place. That night, however, was worse. He had struggled to sleep in the first place, and every sound had woken him enough to open his eyes, scan for danger, and then close them again in a desperate bid to rest. By the time weak morning light filtered through the holes that had been kicked into the walls in past disagreements, Atalia felt more exhausted than when he'd laid down. 

He stood and stumbled away from his mattress, keeping his tail curled tightly to avoid smacking anyone with the spines. What a wonderful way that would be to start a morning…

Atalia’s belly growled, but he didn’t have the energy to hunt for himself. He looked around for one desperate moment, thinking maybe someone had abandoned a meal after an early morning hunt, but he saw only a scruffy looking yearling with a scar covering half her face. She lay in the mud near the only tree that grew on the property and held a rabbit between her forelegs, gnawing on it with broken and rotten teeth. She noticed him looking at her, grabbed the rabbit in her mouth, turned and ran like her life depended on it. 

Feeling wretched, Atalia walked the concrete path until he reached the medical bay. He peered inside and saw Aldwit lying on the bed in front of Abel, putting himself between the door and the unconscious drakiri. At least he could trust someone to follow through. 

He considered going inside to make sure Abel was still breathing, but he didn’t want to step on Shasia’s toes, the mystic knew what he was doing—that was what he had to keep telling himself, at least. 

Atalia continued on, his gaze fixed on the path in front of him, but he paused again when he saw Junko standing outside the mess hall, licking the scales on his chest. He looked rather pleased with himself. 

“Junko,” Atalia called as he walked up to the other drakiri, “good morning.” 

“Oh!” the kainu mix said, his ears perking up. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon after…well.” 

“After what?” Atalia asked, raising a brow. Was he expected somewhere? 

Junko squirmed a little and sat down, curling his tail over his forehooves for a moment before the tip began twitching so hard he couldn’t sit still and stood again. 

“It’s not really my place to say, is all,” Junko said nervously, his eyes darting this way and that, looking at everything that was not Atalia. 

“Junko, tell me what you know,” Atalia said, fixing his gaze on the smaller drakiri. “I won’t stop asking and I’m patient enough to keep you here until sundown until I get my answer, you know that.” 

Junko’s ears flattened and he lashed his tail in frustration, knowing that Atalia was right. He glanced to the left and right, then at the door to the mess hall. Finally, he leaned forward quickly and stuck his mouth so close to Atalia’s ear that the kelpie mix had to steel himself so he wouldn’t shake his head and jerk away. 

“Rizan’s looking for you,” he hissed. “I don’t think it’s for anything good.” 

Atalia’s ears perked up and then lowered in suspicion. He pulled away from Junko and studied the smaller drakiri, wanting to ask him for more details. Rizan didn’t often interact with any of the other drakiri unless there was something in it for him, and when that was the case, it was never anything good. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like it one bit. Yes, his plan had been to find Rizan himself and speak to him about what had happened to Abel, but he’d been the one in control of that decision. Now that Rizan had made the conscious decision to speak with him, things were no longer in his favor. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Atalia said, lifting a foreleg to dismiss Junko. “Go on, do your tasks for the day. What are you on this morning, so I know where you are in case I need to find you.” 

“Tessa told me she needs more potatoes so I’ll be digging those up, then I’ll be gathering clay to patch up the holes in the barrack walls,” Junko said excitedly, lifting his tail high in the air. “Heilbor said if he feels a single draft this winter he’ll skin me for a blanket.” 

“Heilbor says a lot of things,” Atalia growled, “all of it is nonsense. Don’t let him strong arm you into doing his tasks either, if he’s been assigned to that job, he’s to do it.” 

It wasn’t Junko’s responsibility to make sure others did what they were told, and Atalia knew he was likely just doing what he had to in order to keep others from viewing him as a target, but Atalia had seen the younger drakiri run himself ragged trying to do the tasks assigned to others who didn’t want to work to earn their keep. 

Shaking his head, Atalia walked to the door and wiped his hooves on the mat outside so as not to incur Tessa’s rage. She hadn’t started cooking yet, as the scents of cooking meat were absent from the mess hall this morning, so she must be in the back preparing breakfast. She wasn’t an imaginative chef, but she could at least cook well enough to keep her position. 

Inside the mess hall, there were tables where drakiri could set their bowls to make it easier to eat, but mostly there was standing space. The mess hall also doubled as a shelter to fall back to if they were to be attacked on the compound, where they could barricade the door and buy themselves time. It had never been used for this purpose, as anyone stupid enough to let themselves be cornered like that wouldn’t be around long enough to make themselves a liability to others. 

This morning, only one drakiri stood in the hall, poring over a folder on a table with handwritten pages spread out. He had a pale brown coat with a stripe of lighter color down his neck and back, with off-white markings that patterned his fur in the likeness of a skeleton. It was an unusual marking, one that struck Atalia as appropriate for the drakiri, as Rizan had all the personality and charm of a corpse. 

The drakiri looked up when he heard hooves on the concrete floor and the folder snapped shut before vanishing. 

“Atalia,” Rizan said, beaming as he walked toward the kelpie mix. “Just the drakiri I was looking for.” 

Atalia fixed Rizan with a suspicious stare as the nightmare circled him, trailing his long, furred tail around his chest and down his flank. 

“What do you want, Rizan?” Atalia asked, unwilling to entertain the other male’s antics. “I’m tired and not in the mood.” 

Rizan shook his head and clucked his tongue like Atalia was a naughty child. “I don’t think you’ll want to keep that tone with me, not today of all days,” the nightmare said, flicking his tail over Atalia’s nose sharply before stepping away out of the kelpie mix’s reach. “You see, a little birdy’s told me that you went out looking for a certain someone last night, and you found him where he wasn’t supposed to be.” 

His belly churned with unease as Atalia stood there, hearing the exact accusation he had feared would come from Marcus. Had word spread so quickly already?

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Atalia said stubbornly, scuffing his hoof against the floor and examining the claws. “I do a lot in a day, you’ll have to remind me.” 

Rizan’s lip twitched in a rare expression of annoyance before he gave his tail a flick and looked Atalia up and down. His gaze lingered on the scratches on the kelpie mix’s side, and he smirked. 

“Heilbor told me you two found Marcus’s children out in the woods, the older one gored by a pig supposedly,” Rizan said finally, not bothering to feign concern like he might have with another drakiri. 

“Why is that of interest to you?” Atalia asked, eyeing the nightmare and holding his tail steady. He didn’t think the other would attack him, but with how tense things were he still wasn’t sure he liked being in a room alone with him. 

“You and every other drakiri on this compound know that Nathaniel is not allowed to leave,” he said. “And we all know that where the older one goes, Nathaniel follows.” 

Atalia’s brow furrowed and his ears laid flat against his skull. No one else had been around when he returned with Nathaniel, no one else had even seen him out in that forest. Now he was grateful that no one else had bothered to help him look that late into the night. 

“Abel was hunting a boar from what I could tell,” Atalia said, holding his head high and maintaining eye contact with the nightmare. He chose his next words carefully, laying the foundation of a lie that he hoped the child could follow. “I found Nathaniel up a tree.” 

“And where was the tree you find him in?” Rizan demanded, stepping forward until their muzzles were a whisker’s breadth apart. 

“Not far from here,” he said. “Close enough that it was apparent to me he had tried to follow Abel but got turned around. He’s hardly old enough to be out on his own even if there weren’t dangerous animals in the forest.” 

“A child hardly out of the womb climbed a tree?” Rizan asked dubiously. “Is that the best lie you can construct?” 

“I’m telling you I found him in a tree,” Atalia retorted, finding it difficult to remain calm. “I don’t rightly care if you believe what I have to say, this is the truth as I experienced it. And you’re welcome to tell Marcus what has been said here.” 

“Oh I will,” Rizan snapped back, his hackles raising. “Believe me, he’ll hear of this.” 

“Hey!” 

The voice came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a metal pot banging against a counter. Atalia flinched from the sharp sound and looked to see Tessa standing with a knife hovering beside her. 

“No fighting in my mess hall,” she snapped, and the knife jerked forward threateningly. “If you’re gonna beat the shit out of each other, find somewhere else to do it or I’ll help you get started.” 

Rizan let out an angry snort and shoulder-checked Atalia as he walked toward the door, his sharp scales scraping against Atalia’s smooth scales and making him grit his teeth in discomfort at the jarring sensation. He glared at the nightmare until he turned out of the door and vanished from sight. 

“My apologies, Tessa,” he said, approaching the sprite with his head bowed politely. “I’ll make sure any conflicts stay out of your area.” 

“Right you will,” Tessa said, gesturing at him with the knife. “I’ll have your eyes out if you don’t.” 

“I don’t doubt you,” Atalia said, shivering at the thought. He shook himself and looked to the pot the cook had brought out with her, wondering if it had been used to start anything cooking yet. “Have you had the opportunity to start breakfast?” he asked. 

“You’re perfectly able to hunt for yourself, why don’t you?” Tessa demanded, shooting him a glare as she dragged the pot off the counter and turned back to the brick cooking area. 

“The meal would not be for me, it’s for Nathaniel,” he said, hoping his memory of Tessa’s enjoyment of the child was correct. 

“Where’s that rat bastard brother of his?” Tessa grunted as she hauled a massive cast iron pot onto the fire and tapped her hoof against its side. A gurgling splashing sound came from within, and Atalia was surprised to realize that she had used a spell to fill it with water. That seemed useful. “He’s usually the one coming to me begging for food for the scrap.” 

“The rat bastard’s out of commission for a while,” Atalia said, watching as a wrinkled potato floated up from a pile of spuds that looked in much the same condition and floated to the knife where it chopped uneven pieces off that splashed into the filling cauldron. 

“He’s a coward, you mean,” Tessa snorted. “Can’t face me himself anymore. Maybe last time I whooped him was enough to get him to smart up and stay away from my shit.” 

Even the cook hated Abel. Atalia had to suppress a sigh, knowing that the short-tempered sprite was the only one who would cook anything for him. 

“It’s not Abel I ask this for,” he said. “Nathaniel is very sad that his brother is hurt. I think having a tasty treat might make him feel better.” 

Tessa’s head whipped around and she looked at him in disgust. “Don’t you talk like that to me, you’ll not butter me up. I’ve got half a cock left, take it and get out.” She gestured to the ice box and made a disgusted sound as she went back to chopping potatoes. 

Atalia turned away from the sprite and opened the ice box, head jerking back in surprise at the cold air that shot up his nostrils. He looked inside and found half a cooked chicken on a plate. It was scrawny and looked to have been picked over for the best pieces, but there were still some chunks of meat clinging to the bone that he could bring to Nathaniel. 

He picked the chicken up off the plate and walked out of the mess hall, shuddering at the cold air that greeted him. Winter really was on its way, and despite his winter coat that had grown in over the last few months, he still felt the air bitterly cold against his skin. 

Atalia stepped through the door to the medical bay, frowning when he saw Jennifer standing over Abel. She was a pretty drakiri, with a dark blue coat that bordered on black. She had lighter, almost lavender colored socks and a shimmery spot on shoulders and back that made her quite attractive. She was also quite cold to most other drakiri for this very reason, Atalia couldn’t say he blamed her. 

She looked up when she heard Atalia approach and glared at him demanding, “A pig did this to him?” 

Atalia set the chicken down and licked his lips as he looked down at Abel. “Kind of,” he said, looking back to Jennifer. “A boar, actually. They have very large tusks, and while I didn’t see the beast myself, I saw evidence of one rooting for food in the earth and destroying nearby trees.” 

Jennifer shook her head and looked over her shoulder as Shasia appeared in the doorway. She glowered at him with enough hatred to make even Atalia balk, but Shasia met her gaze calmly and then walked past her with a bundle of herbs in his mouth. 

“How is he?” Atalia asked, hoping to distract Jennifer from whatever had upset her so much. 

“His belly is hot to the touch and his breathing is shallow,” Jennifer snapped. “This medic says he has an infection, but he won’t do anything to help Abel!” 

Shasia didn’t rise to the anger in her voice, simply began tying leaves together with twine to string up on hooks set into the walls. 

“Jennifer,” Atalia said, keeping his voice even so she would have to quiet down to hear his words. Once she turned to look at him he continued, “He’s doing all that he can. Marcus has his claws in this, he cannot disobey.” 

“He can and he should!” Jennifer nearly snarled, stamping her hooves in frustration. “But he won’t because he’s a coward!” 

“He won’t because he’s not a fool,” Atalia countered. “If he disobeys Marcus’s orders, at best he gets cast out, at worst he is killed. Either way, everyone loses because he will be dead and we will be without a properly trained healer. His hooves are tied either way. At least this way he can do some more good in the world.” 

Jennifer held Atalia’s gaze, and he could see the hurt in her eyes, could see tears forming in them that gathered and fell in the streaks that already existed on her cheeks. 

“None of you care about him. Not a single one of you wants him to live, you just want him out of your hair so he’s not an inconvenience anymore,” she spat, her words like venom. “Shame on you. Shame on all of you. I hope you feel useful when he’s a corpse you have to bury.” 

She turned on her heel and stalked away out of the medical bay, her tail lashing angrily behind her, the air buzzing with fury in her wake. 

Atalia breathed a soft sigh, understanding her anger and frustration, wishing he had a solution. But all he could do was pick up the meager offering of a partially eaten half chicken and try to coax a traumatized, grieving child to eat some of it.