Endless Days. Endless Nights. [m]

[Draconian]

The dry heaving was music to his ears. So was the weird cute noise Blondie made. In fact, Grant gave a chuckle and a wide smile, "That was adorable," He purred, licking his lips and eyeing Dax's mouth. Enjoying the way he tried to posture and show off his teeth. Did he think he could be intimidating here?

Grant glanced to BabyFace and then back to blondie before he decided he knew how to keep them compliant. Threatening one of them at at time had sort of done it. Did he tie the hands up normally though? Do what Purple did to BabyFace? Where every movement would put strain somewhere else? He moved in behind Dax, gathering the boys wrists in his hand, thumb smoothing over the palm and giving a brief gentle caress of the forearm. "Now I don't want to hur--" but then a head slammed into his face. Grant gave a grunt, his hands tightened around Dax's wrists and he took a second to assess the damage. Well, there was a giant gash on the inside of his mouth, his teeth had sunk into his lip and he felt the hot rage boil in his chest.

Cassen was busy taking care of Titus. Purple lifted a hand to help but he was stopped by a quick look from Grant. Blood dripped from his mouth and he made quick work of tying up Dax's arms, wrists together, elbows as close as they could be. Uncomfortable and difficult to move in. Grant kept his grip bruising around Dax's bicep and he used his other hand to wipe his mouth away, pausing to look at the blood from his mouth before spitting blood onto his hand and wiping it on Daxten's cheek. "You don't need your balls to take it up the ass," Grant held Dax's face, fingers digging into his cheeks, eyebrows up and his expression grim, "You do anything like that again and I'll do those Essryni fuck's a favour and remove yours." Grant didn't bother asking if he understood. He simply grabbed Dax's shoulder and forced him onto his side, where getting up from with arms and feet bound would be difficult.

Angry now. The noises Sincuvo kept making just filled him with rage.

"Shut that fucking kid up!" Grant screamed at Purple who jumped to attention. Quickly, Purple moved back down to the small human, ears pinned back. The Kulshedra moved between Sincuvo and Titus, blocking his view, before he scooped the boy up awkwardly and shuffled away towards Kesrel. There was a fleeting pause. He kept his back to Titus and the boy's head at his chest. Purple paused. Remembering how he'd once comforted a smaller kulshedra when he was at home. "You should get some rest," He said, voice rough but soft. Cassen was occupied with butchering Titus and Purple looked at the blondish boy from over the fire. Grant had vacated the immediate area to return back to his smaller camp before he did something stupid like murder a cash cow.

The purring started not long after, an attempt to comfort. No doubt if it was silent the noise would carry through and the quick confused look from Cassen meant that it was loud. Harmless though, so he said nothing. Purple held Sincuvo in his lap and he kept switching his gaze from Kesrel to Daxten. Then his voice dipped, a strange vibration to it from the constant pulses of purring. "You need to stop fighting," he said softly, eyes wide and imploring, "Please. You'll do no good and you'll only get yourselves hurt more. I've seen..." Purple closed his eyes briefly, "Please." Purple couldn't help himself when he placed his chin on the top of Sincuvo's head, craving comfort and touch. Probably holding Sincuvo and purring was more for himself than the boy, but the least he could do was be a block so the body couldn't be seen anymore.

Though, Purple probably didn't smell much different. "You don't want to end up broken like me. Pretend to be compliant before they skin you, too." He glanced between the boys again before he placed Sincuvo to the ground and moved away, still purring and still being at an angle enough to keep the boy from looking at the corpse. "Now please rest. You'll need it."

[Paladienne]

Daxten felt a sort of sick satisfaction at the sight of the leader bleeding like he was. It warred with the pain in his arms and shoulders for attention, but it was still there, like an itch just beneath the skin where he couldn't reach to give it a really, really, deservedly good scratch. His eyes slid to where the dead man was being butchered, and his stomach tightened, but he wasn't sick this time. He doubted there would be any help for him if he did start puking. He could always choke on it and suffocate himself, but that was the coward's way out and he wasn't about to leave Kesrel and Sincuvo alone with these bastards.

At the sound of the rough voice, his eyes went to the Kulshedra, Purple. The wounded creature was telling him to rest, to stop fighting, because if they did, they would only hurt themselves more, and they would see even more horrible, terrible things. Dax didn't doubt for a minute that Purple had seen, and experienced, more terrible things than what the three Greenclaws were experiencing now. One look at the Kulshedra's truncated tail told Dax that. And Purple continued to experience horrible things every day and every night, horrible things that Dax could only hear and imagine, and know that, quite possibly, those same things were in his own future. Broken. Skinned. Dax swallowed hard at Purple's description of himself. A flare of pity caught fire in his heart for the Kulshedra. He didn't want that. He didn't want to end up like Purple. That knowledge - and the fierce desire to protect his friends and keep them safe - were reasons enough for him to keep fighting.

But his rational mind was finally reasserting its dominance over his bestial one, and Dax knew that Purple was right: he needed to pretend to be compliant to avoid further harm and he needed to rest. Beyond inciting more violence against himself and his friends, which he was loathe to do, there was nothing he could do now, especially not bound as he was. He couldn't run, he couldn't fight. There was no way he could protect his friends and keep them safe. So he had to rest, to regain his strength and husband it closely, so that when the opportunity presented itself, he could do something. So he could fight and win. Or so he could run. Bottom line was, really, to be able to protect Kesrel and Sincuvo and ensure they lived and were able to escape.

But Daxten was also wondering if his friends weren't the only ones he could save. Purple didn't deserve this life, and he didn't deserve whatever happened if they were rescued.

So Dax decided that he would watch and wait, and when an opportunity presented itself, whenever and if ever it came, he would take it. Until then, Daxten looked toward Kesrel, and then Sincuvo, trying to smile and reassure them that everything would be okay. Trying to tell them silently to hold onto hope and not let it go.

Because if they let hope die, then they would really break and be lost.

[GoblinFae]

From his exhausted place on the other side of the fire, Kesrel could not help but flinch at Grant's threats of bodily harm to Dax's person. The youngest soldier of the trio curled in tighter, his hands moving protectively in front of his own bollocks as if terrified that the leader would suddenly change his mind on who was to be punished for misbehaviour.

Nevertheless, he continued to lay there complacently as time passed in its own strange way. He could not say if it was minutes or hours before his dull corner of the world where he existed was disturbed. That strange sound was echoing from Purple's chest again although this time it was louder and stronger. Entrances and curious, Kesrel could only blink slowly and stare as his brother-in-arms was settled close beside him with the lizard-man behind Sincuvo.

Wise, brave Sincuvo with his heart of gold that had come back just because of Kesrel looked worse for wear than the rest of them. It frightened Kesrel some to see this man that he so adored and looked up to, appearing so lost and vacant. It was as if the candlelight had been smothered and not even the embers remained within.

"Is that what happened to you?" He replied, his voice crackling as his gaze shifted from Sincuvo to Purple. "Did you try to fight them too? Your tail-" Kesrel shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. "Will they really eat him?" His eyes darted over the man's shoulder to the butchered remains behind him. "They wouldn't really, would they?"

Kesrel stared upwards for a few fearful and imploring moments before struggling to sit up again. It took some effort but he was able to use his bound hands to once more sit awkwardly in front of Sincuvo. The poor boy was caked in mud and while Kesrel understood his friend's distaste for physical contact he hoped he would be forgiven for what he had in mind. After all, the river town boy knew better than most how itchy mud would become once dried.

As best as he could manage, he collected a thick patch of moss from around one of the tree roots and scooted his tired, aching body close. "Let's see if we can get some of this off you," he whispered even more softly, unsure if it was said more for himself or Sincuvo. As gently as he could though he used the soft, sponginess of the moist moss to scrub away as much dirt off his friend's face as he could get. When it became too sullied he would tear up a new piece and begin again.

The repetive motions were hypnotic and soothing for Kesrel for a few short minutes. But tears soon welled in his eyes as his mind warred with his perceived burden of guilt. "I'm sorry," he sniffled in the boy's ear. "I'm sorry, Sincuvo. I'm so sorry." His voice waivered and his head bowed until his chin dug against his chest.

Kesrel's head pounded from all his moving, his injuries, and then building pressure of straining against tears. He did not see Dax's encouraging looks of hope. Instead he felt only his own despair and grief. He wished he had someone to hold him right then, to wrap warm soothing arms around him and promise that everything would be alright. Unable to obtain any of that though he offered the only comfort he had to give that he felt might even be grudgingly accepted. A gentle squeeze to Sincuvo's knee and quiet words bidding the older boy to rest. It seemed it might be another long, restless night for all involved if the antics of earlier were anything to go by. Kesrel was certainly sure he could not unsee the earlier carnage should he attempt to close his eyes and rest.

[nephero]

   He was being lifted, and he keened. It was a soft sound— he didn't seem to be capable of making more noise than that— but it was high and sustained, and somehow always far off in the distance. The world moved, and it felt like it would shake him right off it, just one little flea on the back of a dog sent off into the void of nothingness and wide wailing winds.

   Sincuvo didn't catch his breath again until they were settled down once more, until the world stopped moving and he was left in blissful, still warmth. Warmth and a low rumble, quiet and soothing and continuous, the feeling of tiny river stones rolling in his hands, settling into his bones, rolling and rattling over his ribs and spine and easing away the tension build from the rough, muddy rope.

   Sincuvo shuddered, staring down at his feet, still coated with mud. They would itch soon. Sincuvo couldn't feel them, not by themselves— couldn't tell where he began and the mud ended, and it still smelled so terribly of blood and vileness, of the stink of emptied bowels mixed with the tang of metal, and Sincuvo squeezed his eyes shut tight as if that would somehow help him tune it all out.

   Tune out the fire. Tune out the yelling. Tune out the talk. Tune out the weird not-quite-soft scrubbing at his face. Tune out the cold in his skin and the ropes burning into it. Tune out the smell, the awful smell, the awful sounds of metal on skin and the wild, electric sensation that drew across his own flesh with every swipe of Cassen's knife. Tune out his own breath, the feel of wet air in his lungs, the thudding of his heart and the grinding of his teeth, tune out how it all just kept happening all at once, over and over and worse and louder—

   The only reprieve was the rolling rocks, the steady sound, something to focus on besides everything else that demanded his attention, and slowly Sincuvo opened his eyes again. He looked, dazed and tired and exhausted and sick and all the other adjectives, over at Purple, skirting his view away from his eyes and mouth and instead focusing on his chest, where the rumbling rolling rock noise seemed to be at its deepest.

   Sincuvo took another breath, and closed his eyes again, lost to everything but the rumbling for fear of being lost completely.

[Draconian]

With the momentary rebellion quelled, Grant quickly took his rest. Done for the time being. Krominic was busy wrapping his wound and Cassen... Cassen was getting their rations ready in what remained of Titus. Purple remained vigilant though his eyes almost closed a few times. Exhausted was a good word for what Purple was. There was little he could do for the little humans and aside from caution them to comply ...  Purple fell asleep eventually, though his eyes opened at every noise and pop of the fire.

Dawn eventually greeted the group and Grant was the first up. His belongings were packed up and he glanced at the corpse tied to the tree. What an eventful night. The majority of the meat was cut from what had once been Titus and the meaty skeletal remains stayed tied to the three. His head and face had been untouched, left to stare down at the group while they slept.

"Time to continue on, Kids," Grant said, voice loud, giving Purple a gentle kick in the thigh. Cassen grabbed Dax by the arm, Korminic grabbed Kesrel and Purple had Sincuvo. Though instead of making him walk, Purple hefted Sincuvo up and over his shoulder. Grant gave Purple a smack on the back before laughing and after making sure the fire was out and a little bit covered they moved on.

"Now. We don't want a mess today, right? We're going to walk, take a break to eat and then continue on and if none of you little fucks have a temper tantrum again the rest of our little walk about will be fine." Grant nodded to Sincuvo, "That one lost his walking privileges and if we need to we'll conk you on the head and drag you to our next destination." he sneered at the group, "I'm willing to accept what I can get for you at this point 'cause you're all being such a fucking hassle, which means I might start cutting off pieces. You understand?"

Grant smiled then, "Good. Let's go."

And then they began to walk again.

[Paladienne]

Daxten slept. Or he thought he slept. He couldn't really tell. If he slept he didn't dream. He didn't feel rested, as he thought he should be if he slept. His shoulders hurt from his arms being drawn so tight behind his back and bound. Despite his exhaustion, his eyes glared defiance, but he couldn't act on it. Not without causing his friends to get hurt. Because he understood the nature of the bandit leader now. There would be no surviving him, not even if they made it to wherever they were going in one piece. The bastard would forever be part of their lives, ruining them if not outright destroying them, because they wouldn't be able to escape the memories, no matter how deep down they shoved them. Grant's threats now were said with deadly seriousness, and Daxten was certain the man had no qualms about following through with them now. And he understood that Grant wouldn't take limbs off the one who was misbehaving; no, the bastard would take limbs off the misbehaving one's friends. And then he'd...

Daxten fought not to be sick.

He hadn't realized where their food had come from until he'd seen what they were doing to the man tied to the tree, and his stomach had begun to churn and bile burned his throat, and the more he tried not to think about it, the more his mind wanted to shove the images back into the forefront and force him to dwell on them.

And yet, Daxten couldn't help but feel hungry.

Maybe that was another reason he couldn't sleep. The hunger. And the knowledge of how it would be sated. That, and the nightmares wouldn't let him. Every time he started to drift off, those staring dead eyes would focus on him and accuse him, and the bile would burn Daxten's throat to the point that he simply couldn't sleep because of the pain. Or maybe he couldn't sleep because of the monsters that chased him through the darkness of his mind, wielding bright and silent knives, and laughing cruelly as they stretched out their claws to sink into his skin and batter him with a number of emotions Daxten just couldn't figure out how to name.

He didn't fight when he was hauled up to his feet. He just focused on Grant and stared in defiance at the man as he spoke. His eyes drifted to Sincuvo, draped over the shoulders of Purple. He looked at Kesrel, huddled and defeated beside his own "guide". They were his reasons for obeying. They were his reasons for giving in. As long as he could keep them safe, nothing else really mattered. And, finally, he looked back at himself, at his feet, at the ground, before he looked back up at Grant. He didn't argue, he didn't say a word, but there was some kind of violence boiling deep down inside him, whether he recognized it for what it was or not. Yet he buried it deep, whether unconsciously or consciously, and plodded along in perfect obeisance, his head angled downward so he could watch where he put his feet.

[GoblinFae]

He laid there the entirety of the night, unable to sleep and unwilling to move. The skin of his cheek felt tight and cracked. It burned something fierce anytime he tried to move his jaw so he quickly gave up on moving his mouth more than necessary. The occasional wince only created a cycle of further pain though that he just could not seem to avoid.

Kesrel was tired, sore, miserable, and closer with every step he took to being completely and utterly defeated. How could he fight monsters that ate their own comrades when they died? He had heard tales of such monsters but thought them only something to scare naughty children back into their beds at night.

His stomach clenched at the reminder of mutilated flesh below an unseeing, yet intact face. He couldn't say whether it was the way the dead man's jaw had hung so limp and lifelessly open or the glazed look of dull, jellied cow eyes that bothered him more. Perhaps it was the stench of hot blood and sewage that really got to him. In his head he saw all the flies buzzing around in search of food and homes for their young.

He thought of his companions then. The bodies of the dead who had been left to rot in the warm sun and cold rains. They must have been covered in maggots now. Kesrel shuddered as if the thousands of worm-like white insects were crawling all over him en mass. He could imagine their saggy flesh moving above the multitude of insects allowed to breed and thrive within their bodies. They must have reeked by now with that sickly sweet and fetid odor that was worse than fish guts in a boiling, summer sun.

The young soldier choked then, coughing and gagging once before doubling forward and vomiting the very last bits of sustenance he had left in his system. Acidic bile burned his mouth and nose, making his eyes water while he swayed slightly against Korminic's pull to continue forward. It was the final straw that brought Kesrel right to his knees. He gasped for air between heaving, choking breaths.

Had Arami joined his comrades? Were they also lost to this world? Would they too become forgotten maggot feast, unburied and unable to be set free of their mortal shell, their soul forever trapped and lost so far from home?

Such thoughts forced the tears to stream down his face faster. It wasn't fair! All the capable warriors dead, and he was left behind to live. Maybe it was fair after all. He got to live and suffer eternally. Their deaths hopefully were relatively painless. All he knew though was that he didn't want to go on. He wanted an end to this. He did not wish for the shame of being such a burden to his friends and such an embarrassment to his country as a soldier.

What was the point of anything when he was such a failure?

[nephero]

   It was, probably, a good thing that Sincuvo had lost his walking privileges for the remainder of the trip. His sleep had been so awful, somewhere between sleep and not sleep and nightmarish sleep and the deep anxious miasma of being in a permanent wakeful fear. The short night they had was eaten up almost immediately, and Sincuvo was left utterly exhausted.

   So exhausted that he couldn't even do more than let out a soft breath in lieu of any real protest as he was hoisted up and over Purple's shoulder. The hold was obscenely uncomfortable: Purple's shoulder dug into his middle in a way that didn't at all get along with his gnawing hunger and residual nausea, the triple-whammy of internal turmoil further aggravated by the fact that he was moving forward while upside down.

   Still, the prospect of being sick was far, far worse, and so Sincuvo was able to push his thoughts into a focus, breathing in and out in time with the sway of Purple's movements. It was a hard match, at first. Purple was a weird walker, and what remained of his tail swayed oddly to keep their combined balance. But, scattered though it was, there was a rhythm to it, and it was that same rhythm that provided the undercurrent Sincuvo needed. In and out and in and out again, and in and out. Eventually the nausea passed, though the pressure on his gut did not.

   It was an annoyance, and impossible to ignore completely, but at the very least Sincuvo wasn't about to go spitting up like an infant all over Purple's tail. He was pretty sure Purple wouldn't have appreciated that, at all. He was pretty sure. Sincuvo wouldn't have liked it, and it made sense that unless Purple was really weird, he'd be the same. But then again, Sincuvo had been wrong about stuff like that before.

   He really hoped Purple didn't like things like that. He ate people. But then again, so did the leader of the bandits. So did Sincuvo, if the butcher cuts on the dead man meant anything. It was weird to consider— like wild game after a hunt, arrows pulled and hide skinned away, the chunks of venison peeled from bone bit by fibrous bit.

   Bloody work. Hungry work. Hunting work.

   "Do you only hunt people?" He asked quietly, voice raw and sandy from lack of sleep. He tilted his head just a bit, trying to look up— down?— at Purple, and catching a faceful of deep bruise-colored hair for his efforts. Sincuvo shook his head to free himself from the sudden strange sensation, paused, and then did it again. For being out in the mess of things like they were, Purple's hair felt nice. And they'd already stolen away Arami's things— this was the closest to touching their blanket Sincuvo had gotten in days.

   "Where I'm from, we hunt a lot. There's plenty of yew trees, and those make the best bows. It's a death wood, you know, and it helps with the passing better. Keeps them from being upset about dying..."

   Sincuvo frowned a bit, and looked back to Purple's swaying tail, unsure for a moment.

   "Maybe it's how it feels. I've never been shot with an arrow. Have you?"

[Draconian]

It felt uncomfortable to be... Considered people.

For so long Purple had been... The teeth. Meat to be used as seen fit. The small human over his shoulder with the soft sleepy voice. Purple's ears flicked backwards to catch the words like gentle caresses that coaxed some rational functional side out of him. There was a frantic mental push back though. Needed to be stoic. Needed to feel nothing. He knew he'd fall apart like a hand through a cobweb if he broke the line between being teeth and being a person. Purple didn't reply, but he thought of it for a time, his ears flicking while he thought of replies. He'd already let himself get too involved, anymore and he'd... Make a mistake.

Grant and another human followed close behind. Occasionally giving one of the other little humans a push forward when they started to lag behind. Purple followed Cassen, who led the way back to the original camp. Back to sell ... Purple's eyes unconfused and he lost his footing for a moment. Licked his lips and shook his head to remember himself. He was Grant's teeth. He was his master's tool. His master's object. He was to follow orders and--

"Purple, the fuck you doing? Move your fucking ass." Grant barked, clearly angry and irritated with out this was going. It wasn't like the original plan at all. Titus wasn't supposed to be dead. He wasn't supposed to be wounded, and sure they had an extra meal now for a few days and one less mouth to feed, but at what cost? It was hard to find good loyal people that didn't expect half the pay! Everyone was tired, Grant would be lying if he said he didn't want to just get this over with. If it wasn't going to be his face on wanted posters he'd just set the kids loose in the forest to fend for themselves.

If they'd been rich stupid kids that would have been a real options. Sadly for them, they were (badly) trained soldiers.

"I don't want to hunt people," Purple said softly, a ghost of a whisper. He'd never had one of Grant's captors communicate back with him. He'd always try to push the line, but he was scarred, scary and had to do bad things to people that didn't deserve it. Why? Purple looked over his shoulder briefly at the human that commanded his entire being.  "And arrows and knives hurt."

Why?

The walk was uneventful. Purple was stewing in his own thoughts. Grant occasionally barking an order and demanding they stay in line. Purple's ears turned down every time he heard Grants voice. His eyes glazed over.

Before he knew it, after only a few pauses for bathroom breaks and to eat... A snack... If any of them could stomach it. The day slowly ticked down and soon enough it was dusk, with a chill setting into the air. Purple relished it.  His shoulder hurt from carrying 'babyface' all day, but he imagined the little human probably felt sore, too.

A gentle hesitant glance towards Grant when he finally got up and looked to his master for guidance earned him a violent slap. His head whipped to the side and he took a moment . "Go get some fuckin' wood!" Grant snarled, clearly angry and irritable. Purple should have known to get wood. There would need to be a fire or they'd be too cold over night. They had no blankets. They had nothing.

Obediently, Purple went to find wood, while Grant and the others situated the three humans. Cassen sat beside Kesrel, looking at him sideways for a moment, "Grant," Cassen said, his voice loud enough to carry into the slowly darkening woods.

"You sure I can't test this one out before we sell 'em?"

"Fuck sakes Cassen," Grant said, exasperated, "No. Don't touch the fuckin' goods. He'll be worth less." Cassen frowned at Kesrel before he got up and moved back to set up their own bedrolls for the night.

"Purple!" Grant yelled, "Hurry your ass up!"

[GoblinFae]

Every step forward was heavy in his heart. But everything was already starting to feel like the new normal. How many days had it been since the massacre of their group? Two? Three? How many more days were ahead of them? Would they even live to see the end of the road? Kesrel had a sinking feeling that not only they would, but that he would wish he hadn't. That like the cowering mudfish burying itself beneath the muck, he would rather death over endless unknown torture in a broken life.

Every part of him throbbed and ached worse than any drill with extra rations on his back had ever done. He was exhausted, bleeding, and broken. Apparently despite the training they had all had together, despite this being his first real mission out of the city and an easy one at that, Kesrel was pathetically weak and unprepared for the real world, for what it really meant to be a soldier. What had he gotten himself into if this was what defending his land, his people meant? He was a dishonor to the true warriors as he apparently could only pretend to be like them and not even keep up. He weighed them all down. If it had not been for him Daxten could have escaped. If it had not been for him Sincuvo would have not come back. He was the weakest thread in the rope. He was the reason they would all end up dead or worse. Maybe if they had had a stronger friend, then they wouldn't be as badly injured, they wouldn't be tied up and carried like a pig roast, they wouldn't be dead.

One lone, strangled, despairing sob escaped him before the back of his already pulsing head was smacked hard, forcing him into silence again. On and on they marched. Food at some point was forced into his mouth but was evacuated as quickly as it had entered and no amount of jeering or laughter or threats would make him open his mouth again, knowing it was the strange lizard human that had been kind to the Greenclaws that was being fed to him.

The mindless movement forward came to a harsh end for him though as Cassen dragged and plopped him to the ground, eyeing him up like freshly caught fish. Kesrel heard the exchange but found himself unable to react, to even care. He was empty inside. There was nothing left to feel. He could only slide onto his side and lay there with unfocused eyes and a numb soul, rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth completely oblivious as the camp settled and moved around him.

To Kesrel's right, Daxten was once more shifting and squirming oh so stealthily in his mind. The blonde boy's eyes were especially dark as they glinted in the rapidly dying sunlight, full of determined and dark thoughts of escape and bloodshed. The boy froze suddenly though staring first at Kesrel and Sincuvo before raising his chin to look towards his captors.

"I'll tell you where others are if you let me go," he called out.

[nephero]

   Arrows and knives hurt. Sincuvo could understand that. He'd had plenty of accidents when he was small and learning the world and how to manage all the different things there were to manage. He'd cut his hand once, chopping carrots when his sisters started to argue and got too loud. That had hurt.

   Sincuvo watched from where he was put on the ground, and looked at all the scars and pieces missing from Purple, at how deep they went and how much more was lost than just a slice in chopping carrots. These men ate parts of him. Sincuvo had eaten parts of him. There had been no arrow to the heart to make up for it, either, just pain after pain. Sincuvo's nostrils flared in anger as Purple was struck.

   He wondered if these men would be so cruel if they had been the ones being carved up for food. If they had felt pain.

   Kesrel was crying on the far left. He wasn't making a sound, but Sincuvo could see the way he moved and had heard what one of the men had said about him. Sincuvo was about to speak, but other, closer noises distracted him, and he stared instead at Daxten between them. If he kept pulling at his ropes that way, he'd only hurt himself, the creaking and brushing harsh against skin in the evening quiet.

   But not quite so harsh as what Daxten said after. Sincuvo's eyes widened in disbelief. Where others are? Daxten knew where others were? Had more escaped? Were more alive?

   The quick bit of elation Sincuvo felt at the prospect of others being alive and well and free was very quickly overshadowed by the realization that they would not be alive and well and free for long. Daxten wanted to trade, and worse still he wanted to trade his people to these men who cut their dinners from their own friends. It was low, it was worse than low, it was against every code and promise any of them had ever made.

   Sincuvo snarled, tried to lunge at Daxten but fell hard into the dirt instead. His hands and legs were still tied, but that didn't stop him from swinging his legs hard in Daxten's direction.

   "Sellout!"

[Draconian]

Words spoken from blondie made Grant's eyes light up and he was almost convinced for a second. Almost. He wasn't a fool though, the bandit knew that it was lies and the kid was just looking to save his own skin. While Grant was more than happy to back track a little to collect more flesh to sell, being lied to just made the pit of his stomach burn and he felt his eye twitch. While he was a vicious monster, being beaten didn't do much for him. He could recall all the little fists and legs that had beaten his chest of the years and he could only laugh at the memories.

Being lied to though?

Grant smiled his sharp, cutting smile and looked at Blondie. Cassen gave a weary look to Grant as he pondered at the boy like he was weighing options. On one hand, he had three stores of good flesh to sell. On the other hand, this one was a liar and Grant hated liars. Purple held wood in his arms, the stub of his tail instinctually moving to flick back and forth, though no long graceful appendage followed. His ears perked up and his scarred hands tightened around the sticks, he could smell Grant's anger.

While it had felt like an eternity of contemplation Grant smiled widely and walked over to Daxten, curling an arm around his back after smoothing a dirty hand over his cheek. "Well, that sounds like a good deal to me. More of them for one of you? Yes, show me," He lied - justifiable, of course. He undid Daxten's bindings, going leisurely and ignoring any cries from the other children as he gently rubbed feeling back into the terrified Daxten's arms. Grant smiled again, head tilted confused on why possibly Daxten was so scared. "Come with me, then you can tell me." Daxten ignored his comrades as well, having chosen his life over theirs.

Grant led Daxten out into the forest, whistling sharply from the shadows of the trees. Purples ears perked up again and after placing down the wood gently, he cast quick nervous glances, pupils dilated, to the two remaining Green Claws as he slowly made his way over to his master, his footsteps silent as ever. Purple was a predator now with one sharp noise.

Grant came back not long after, looking happy and smug, holding Purples muzzle in his hands. He smiled brightly at Sincuvo and Kesrel before he went over to the wood and started to build a tiny fire before he'd decided it was enough of his work and he went to set up his own personal camp not far away. Purple had been gone for what felt like a long, long time, though Grant didn't appear to be worried.

Cassen and Korminic had gone out for more wood after Purple failed to return and helped set up the camp, piling more wood than ever onto the pitiful fire it had been moments before. After setting up, the pair tried to feed the boys their rations to keep them alive but not well fed. The fire was warm and bright, and the wind was blowing different than usual. Hard enough to break branches. Sleep would be hard that night, with all the noise.

Lately, for the Green Claws, sleep was a simple wish that was barely granted. They had been ignored, their remaining friends sold off, and without Purple there to be some semblance of a guard, Cassen and Korminic got to be their overnight watch. They'd take turns, of course.

[GoblinFae]

Kesrel had sat there frozen through it all: Daxten's betrayal, his departure with Grant, the whistle that had Purple at sudden attention before disappearing, Grant's return with an empty muzzle in hand and neither Daxten nor Purple. He had wanted to plead with the kind captor, not much more a prisoner than they were when the lizard's eyes had landed on his own, had wanted to beg and plead for him to stay as he had been the only comfort outside of his own friends. But he found himself lame of tongue and willpower.

Like stone he sat through it all. Daxten had betrayed them and Kesrel did not wish to think of the fate that had met him. Deserved or not, that had once been his friend. What desperately clung to hope he had of Arami getting help and finding them was fading. They were going to be sold off or die. They couldn't run. They couldn't escape. Sincuvo had tried but sweet, fool that he was had come back for Kesrel. It was hopeless. What could he do? What could they do?

That was it. There was only one thing left to do. The battered and broken boy looked to his left where Sincuvo had flailed in an attempt to strike their traitorous companion. It took several attempts to wet his parched lips in order to utter his name, his voice croaking and cracking worse than after the long nights on watch spent telling stories or singing songs.

There would be no more of those nights now anyway. A tear, one he didn't know he even had left in him, slid down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

[nephero]

Sincuvo quit flailing the moment he saw Grant lead Daxten away. The gait, the syrupy talk, the way their captor smiled like it was all okay, all of it had Sincuvo freezing in place like a deer, like that would somehow save him from the predator lurking just out of sight.

Daxten wasn't coming back. The thought didn't gut him as the deaths of the others had, but it did fill every inch of him with dread. Carefully, Sincuvo wormed closer to Kesrel, an overall pointless gesture given that neither of them would be able to do anything, against anyone. But somehow, just that bit of closeness made him feel just an inch better. A pointless inch, but an inch nonetheless.

Kesrel was saying something, but Sincuvo couldn't hear. Their captors were rustling round, chatting now and then, too, but even that was dim in the wash of all that had happened. Everything was just so much, and he just... couldn't, anymore. He wished, desperately, for it all to just be over, and his stomach and chest twisted hard, because he knew it never would be. Not until he got led into the woods, too.

If he hadn't been so hungry and tired and scared, he might've started crying, too. Instead, he just squeezed his eyes shut, and waited.

[Draconian]

The taste of blood was heady.

Purple felt deep shame at being conditioned so, shame that he'd rip and tore. Killed. Shame that he'd given in to baser instincts that screamed predator and killer and murderer and monster. When Grant didn't return to muzzle him, he just remained. The broken corpse of the young one at his clawed feet, his hands and mouth stained red. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, breath trembling out of him. He could help.

He flexed his fingers, frozen. Purple couldn't move. When was the last time he had a thought of his own? He remembered how Grant gave commands and the speed at which they were fulfilled. The promise of pain always lingering. He could help the others and then... It was dark and cold now. He looked up at the sky, trying to see stars. See what time it was. Grant still hadn't come back and Purple didn't know what to do. Would it be easy to save the two?

It was like a jolt, when the idea sparked across his mind. Movement entered his limbs and after what felt like hours of standing and waiting for instructions... Purple let out a little gasp, breathing like he hadn't in years. Like a veil had been lifted from his eyes and chains had been broken. He could hear the fire in the distance, though the sight of it was obscured. His fingers tingled and his heart raced, stress cluttering his thoughts and making his eyes water in fear.

So wrapped up in his own first steps towards the sound of fire, he missed the sound of beating wings. Purples ears twitched as he walked, slow careful steps. Maybe he could wait for one of them to enter the darkness of the forest, he could... Cassen was first watch, Purple noted, though both were still awake, Korminic was clearly getting ready to sleep at least. Purple crouched and picked up a rock, standing up and dropping it from far above his head. Korminic's head shot up and he looked into the darkness of the trees.

"The fuck was that?" Cassen said, looking worried, pulling a dagger out. Purple took a few noisy steps back, "It's just a rat," Korminic said, rolling his eyes, "ah shit I didn't realize how dark it got, go get the muzzle, the lizard should be done with the kid by now." Purple winced, hyper aware of the dried blood on his hands and face now. Cassen got up and got the muzzle from Grant. Maybe hide?
 
No.

No more hiding.

Cassen whistled while he walked into the trees, muzzle in hand. Purple was complacent. Purple was trained and taught. Purple was being eaten alive. Purple was theirs and would do what they told him. Cassen realized too late that the dark figure in front of him wasn't just a shadow of a tree, realized too late you needed functioning vocal cords to scream, throat torn open and pitiful wet gasps were the only noise Cassen could make anymore. Purple let the body of his captor drop to the forest floor with a thump and he carefully took the muzzle, glancing down at it before dropping that to the ground too.

"Cassen?" Korminic said, glancing to the tent the three men shared, contemplating if a little thump in the forest was enough to get Grant. He was so distracted by Cassen in the forest, he didn't hear the quiet footsteps come from the opposite side. The soft sound of metal and leather. He did notice when the spear head pierced through his chest, his eyes went wide with surprise and he grabbed at it like that would accomplish anything.

Pallaton glanced at Sincuvo and Kesrel, felt a burning in his throat that he couldn't spot his son before he ripped the spear out of the waste of a human soul, sweeping the spear to the side to fling blood off and away. A raspy gasp and Korminic lay bleeding on the ground, heart giving its last pitiful beats. Another rider went to check out the tent, a sharp shout followed by a gurgle and the dragon rider gave a look to Pallaton before shaking his head and giving a hand signal that he was going to look around.

"Children," Pallaton started, spear at his side, the whites of his eyes red and his voice almost trembling. It was beyond a relief that they'd been found and the disappointment at it being just two, instead of all of them, weighed heavily. A single step forward, before a scarred, long haired purple beast-man bolted from the trees.

"No!" Purple shouted, arms thrown wide in front of Sincuvo and Kesrel, the spear tip pressed to his chest so quickly could feel the tip dig in. "Don't hurt them," Purple's voice was rough, barely used, "I..." he had nothing to barter with, he didn't even have his skin, "Please. They don't deserve this, I'm good at following instructions and I have a strong bite. Let them go and take me instead," Pallaton's eyes widened in shock before his gaze turned into a glower and he dug the spear in a little deeper, angry. Lethal.

"Arami is with Arcturus," Pallaton said, glancing at the purple beast-man again. Pallaton and the other Dragon Rider were only supposed to be scouting, but when they saw it was one man dozing by a fire and one preening in a tent it was too good an opportunity to pass up. He looked behind the boys to the other dragon rider who moved behind the two and began to unbind them. Carefully check them for injuries. With the purple beast-man basically impaled on his spear, Pallaton didn't have to negotiate, "Sincuvo, Kesrel." He looked to the two, his gaze steady but softening when he looked at them, "I know you're both exhausted but this is very important. Do you want me to kill this one? He has blood on him and he smells of them."

[GoblinFae]

The alarm of their captors hardly phased Kesrel. He watched the unblinking stare of a dead fish as they bickered amongst themselves, their words the buzzing of flies in his ears; constant but near indiscernible. And then like a ghost from the shadows, a figure fierce and known was suddenly impaling Korminic. Kesrel did not believe his eyes, thinking the hallucinations of lack of sleep and pain were taking him. He shook his head, shoulders slumping in further defeat. Would this hell never end?

The apparition spoke to them and yet he remained unreactive until their captor-prisoner came barreling from the treeline and shouting to stand in front of them. His head shot up then, eyes widening in shock and awe. Purple could see them. This must be real!

He barely felt or noticed as another unbound him as his eyes could only focus in horror at the sight before him; a bloody and begging Purple, a fresh trail of blood slowly trickling down his breast from where their commander's spear dug into his chest.

"NO!" he shouted emphatically as he weakly threw himself at their feet, his arms wrapping around Purple's closest leg, his head buried against his thigh. The movement made his stomach twist and such loud words turned his vision blindingly white and hot for a moment. "He protected us! No kill! No kill, no kill, no kill...."