Growing Pains: Chapter 2

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The metal grate felt cold against the pads of Icarus’s feet as he stood for his bath. The temperature of the water was less startling each time they bathed him, and though he hadn’t been able to fully come to terms with the idea of another person washing every inch of him, he understood why they did it. He understood a lot more than they probably intended for him to. During his time here he hadn’t exactly sat idle. Those they used as guards would talk amongst each other, and Icarus would listen closely to what they had to say. 

He flinched when the water sprayed over the raw, exposed skin where his scales had been, and he heard a voice shout in the language the humans spoke to one another. It was a language Icarus could not understand, but the human who shouted the words was familiar to him—young by the standards of the humans from what he could tell, with dark brown skin and tightly curled black hair on top of his head. The human spoke to him in a gentle voice most times they interacted, even went so far as to pat his neck once his skin had regrown enough to tolerate the touch. 

The human’s hand pressed against Icarus’s throat, beside where one of his scales had been removed, and though it was uncomfortable, Icarus assumed the human was checking for damage. It was one of the many things Icarus did not understand about this place. So many humans worked here, scrubbing down drakiri as they came through the line to be washed and taken to Esperanza for examination, but this was the only one who seemed to actually care about the drakiri who walked through this place. 

“Finish washing him and send him to Esperanza,” Desmonae said, looking down at them from where she stood on the catwalk above. She wasn’t as physically intimidating as some of the other guards, but she frightened Icarus regardless. The way she hovered around him, yellow, glowing eyes staring him down like a piece of meat she was considering eating. Under different circumstances he would have wanted to befriend her and study her black, leathery wings, but he was petrified of her.

“Why are you here instead of Mijhael or Vyno?” a petulant voice asked. 

Icarus looked over to watch a drakiri he’d seen before leading a sprite with a brilliant white coat, dark brown antlers and a curled mane and tail by a rope attached to a metal muzzle. The sprite fought with every fiber of its being against the muzzle and the shackles that held its long, slender limbs together by chains at its ankles and wrists. The drakiri leading the sprite had the size and presence of a kainu, with the more elegant features of a mystic, fawn colored fur with markings that Icarus had begun to recognize from the terms he heard around the warehouse. The darker parts around his hooves were called socks, the spots and stripes on his pelt named according to their appearance, but the darker fur that blended into the lighter along the top of his body was sable, perhaps named after the animal that shared the name. 

“I could ask why you’re even here, Miska,” Desmonae snapped in response, leaping off the catwalk. Her wings stirred the air into a frenzy as they unfurled and gave a few hard strokes to slow her descent so she could touch down heavily on the concrete floor not too far from the crossbreed and the sprite. “Are you still trying to convince Mijhael your dusty looking pelt is worth anything? Trying to get off door duty by leading tantrum-throwing sprites around to look busy? That one hasn’t even been through evaluation, why is it out of its cell?” 

“Esperanza wants to see them,” Miska said defensively, his ears laying flat against his skull. He tried to lead the sprite around the nightmare who stood between him and the nearest inspection platform, but the rebellious sprite reared up and struck out with deceptively sharp hooves toward the nightmare. 

Desmonae’s jaws parted and she roared, her voice shrieking through the warehouse like a hell beast. The sprite fell back, legs crumpling and sending them falling to the ground. Their eyes were stretched wide, and the smell of urine lingered in the air under the strong scent of conditioning soaps. 

“He pissed himself in fear,” Desmonae chortled. “Get him out of here. And Miska, I don’t want to see you on this production floor again or I’ll skin you myself.” 

Icarus watched this happen while the humans’ rough, blunt fingers rubbed soap into his fur, stroked through his mane so roughly he feared they might pull the hair out themselves. They manhandled his tail, passing it between one another like a rope they were trying to coil up together. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not smack them in the face with the sodden fur that hung from his tail. But with his control focused there, he was incapable of holding his tongue. 

“Why must you terrorize them?” Icarus demanded, taking an aggressive step toward the nightmare. “You already have them under your hoof, must you crush them completely?” 

Desmonae rounded on him, putting her face uncomfortably close to his so he could feel the warm breath that she huffed out through her nose. Her gaze bored into his own, but despite his racing heart he did not falter. 

“If you didn’t have Vyno’s cock so far down your throat, I would crush you,” Desmonae hissed. “He’ll come to his senses eventually. Pelts never sell for much after they’ve been shipped to a few buyers. The value of yours will fall and then Vyno won’t have any interest in keeping you around. Then you’ll be discarded. You and those shit-eating whelps of yours.” 

She leaned in closer, eyes glowing brighter with malice as she said lowly, “I can’t wait to hear your children scream.” 

Icarus’s ears snapped back and lunged at Desmonae, rearing up to strike at her with his hooves since his antlers had been removed just the other day. She danced away, wings unfurling as she backed up, but not before Icarus’s clawed hoof struck the side of her muzzle, digging deep furrows into the sensitive skin there. 

Desmonae howled in rage and leaped at him, hooves flailing and clawed wings beating at him, only for a dark blur to crash into her, thrusting her aside. She lunged toward the drakiri that had intervened, only to balk and back away, yellow eyes staring hard down at the ground even as her nostrils flared. Blood dripped from her muzzle onto the concrete floor as Vyno glared at her, his tail lashing behind him in anger. 

“You were to stay on the catwalk,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Get back on the catwalk.” 

Desmonae fell silent for a moment, the muscles in her jaw working under her dark, satin pelt before she growled, “Dismiss me. I’ll kill him if you don’t.” 

“Touch him and you will enter the rotation again,” Vyno retorted, his words clipped but voice still calm. “You have clearly learned nothing from the last time, say one more word and I will do it.” 

A tense moment passed, Icarus watched the indecision cross her expression, until her lips pulled back in a snarl, and she spat in the younger nightmare’s face. 

Vyno flinched, his eyes closed, and he took a slow, calculated breath. The warehouse had gone utterly silent, even the humans stood as still as statues, watching the two strong-willed nightmares. 

“Take her.” The order was given and two primals stepped out from the shadows of the warehouse. Their pelts were black as night, Icarus couldn’t have told that they were there if his life depended on it—and he realized with a disconcerting jolt that it very well could have. They led Desmonae away, and Icarus felt weak with relief.

“Did she hurt you?” Vyno asked, looking down at the wet floor. 

Icarus turned, surprised, and looked at the glob of spit that slowly slid down the nightmare’s cheek. He said, “Only my pride.” 

“Then why did you goad her into a response?” Vyno asked, his voice pitched higher and raspy with what sounded disconcertingly like despair. It was one of the few things that reminded Icarus how young Vyno really was.

“She threatened my children,” Icarus said quietly, his voice even despite how much he shook from the cold water that clung to his fur and the unspent adrenaline that coursed through his veins. “I will not tolerate that.” 

Vyno’s eyes squeezed shut and the nightmare sighed, giving his head a deft shake and lifting his leg to rub his knee against the spit, though that only served to smear it across more of his cheek. His expression twisted in disgust, and he lifted his head to glower at the drakiri who stared at him. 

“Do we suddenly no longer have deadlines?” he demanded, raising his voice. “Get back to work!” 

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