Sa’krien
Art and writing by oakleafwolf and amazondreamer
A storm was raging. With the clouds making the angry skies prematurely dark, there wasn’t much light to see by and what light managed to filter down turned greenish and weak, reflecting off the dark bark of the trees in the forest as if it, too, quailed at the oppressive weather. Cold water whipped nearly sideways as the howling winds drove it into the sides of two travelers seeking shelter for the night… though they seemed oddly unaffected by the adverse conditions. A mother and foal wandering the woods, their blood red eyes, horns, and claws gleamed in the sparse lighting, marking them as the violent Samanayr’sa’krien they were.
The mother sa’krien paced forward, keeping the foal on her leeward side and lashing her tail as she examined and ruled out various unlikely shelters. Finally, as the last of the anemic lighting was disappearing she paused near the edge of a thorny thicket. Carefully scenting around the thicket for predator-scent, she satisfied herself that she was the most dangerous creature in the immediate vicinity and gestured the foal into the heart of the dense mass of thorns.
Within the thicket, the noise of the storm abated to a quiet whine and occasional draft. It was even reasonably dry—the thorn bushes grew out of a small rise that allowed for good drainage and the thick leaves and vine-like limbs channeled most of the rainwater away from the pair as they settled in for the night. The mother settled herself and growled a warning to her foal to settle him next to her, taking care to keep him in the center of the hollow, where there were no stray drips and her body could take the brunt of the drafts that wormed their way in with icy tendrils to steal the heat of a little one such as he.
Giving in to a motherly impulse she nuzzled her little foal, taking care to keep her fangs from marring his thin hide while he was still so fragile. “My son,” she spoke for the first time that day, “You know that we are different from the plant-eater samanayrs, shunned and outcast, but never bow your head in shame. You are a link in a long chain of proud spirits. We are sa’krien. We are different, but it is not a bad difference. You must learn your heritage and be proud of it.”
As the colt gazed up wonderingly at his mother, she turned to look out into the darkness. Meditatively, she began a chant that was at once rhythmic and driving, like drums before battle. The colt was entranced; feeling his blood stirring with the beat of the strange cadence… yet also soothed as his mother’s song lulled him to the siren song of safety. Eventually, he slipped into that place in-between; the grey world of sleeping and wakefulness where images come quickly and clearly.
Distant past is brought to fore
Explosion booms like battle roar
Nineteen pair-songs captured, caged
Trapped between while magic pours
Pairs are twisted, rage and pain
Others falling, dying, slain
Foolish human, failing mage
Casting spells to alter brains
Once discovered, magely greed
Imprisonment while children bleed
Gladiators fight on stage
Giving rise to violent breed…
The first thing Fang of the Deadly Strike could ever remember was light. Very bright light. And noise, although he may have been making that himself—his parents told him he entered the world squalling and fighting, even though his bright red horn and claws weren’t properly developed yet. When he finally calmed down enough to take stock of his environment, he was in the large, square room that he knew as home for the first year of his life. The walls were thick and made of stone to a height several times taller than even his father could reach. At the joint between the stone and the solid, wooden beams above it were several small windows which carried in a faint, breeze and not much else. Lighting was provided at all times from eight crystal globes positioned at regular intervals along the walls that glowed with bright mage-light, and the floor was coated loosely with straw.
At regular intervals, a portion of the wall would open just large enough for Fang to enter. A much larger room that looked about the same awaited him on the other side, but also contained about ten other foals of approximately his age. They were free to play with each other, and did so with reckless abandon; attacking each other with their baby claws, gnawing on each other’s ears, and squabbling over the various rawhide-and-bone toys scattered around the room. Eventually, a chime would sound and walls of magic fire would separate the sparring foals from each other and herd them back to their respective parents’ enclosures.
Upon his return, Fang would find that a new layer of straw had been laid down and there was a small, colt-sized portion of meat for him to gorge himself upon until his parents returned through a parent-sized hole in the wall that would disappear as mysteriously as his own did until the next day, when the whole process repeated. Fang didn’t worry very much about what how he came to live in such a place, where his parents went, or what caused the portals to appear and disappear because his needs were taken care of, down to the supply of protein that kept his little belly round with baby fat.
That is, he didn’t worry very much until shortly after his yearling markings grew in and he found himself abruptly separated from the odd, but pleasant enough life he had known as a colt. The transition was sudden, and un-heralded; simply one day, when the chime rang, his Fang-sized portal did not bring him back to his parents but to a smaller pen where his portion of meat was smaller than he wanted and he was completely alone for the first time in his life.
He howled that first night.
Unsleeping, unresting, and utterly unsatisfied by his new position in life, he howled with all the rage in his little yearling heart. By the time the wall opened again, his voice was rough from use, every muscle in his body was cramped, and every joint was sore.
He glared at the wall then. That open portal was the cause of all his current discomfort, and responsible for the loss of his parents. He yowled an insult at the backstabbing portal and lay down, lashing his tail and putting his back to the opening in protest.
Only then did he find out how little control he had over his life.
Indifferent to the pain Fang was feeling for the change in his world, a chime sounded over him and a crackling, magical wall closed around him. Yelping, Fang leapt up and threw himself at toward the back wall of his new cell, scrabbling for purchase on the paving stones and straw, only to be forced backward toward the portal. He dug his claws into a seam in the floor, shoving back at the magic wall only to be toppled forward and land heavily on his side.
Kicking, bucking, clawing, and thrashing, Fang was forced out the hole in the wall at a constant and impassive speed. By the time Fang was through the hole, his vision was black and crackling around the edges, the blood-rage of his sa’krien birthright rendering him into a deadly, whirling mass of hatred and claws.
FINE.
Snapping his head around, he focused on the first target within his vision—a fully-grown stallion giving a territorial call about a quarter of the way across a room that looked like his childhood playground, but with strange obstacles scattered around. Fang didn’t care. If he couldn’t damage the magic wall that pushed him in here, something would have to die.
Fang launched himself across the floor, hurdling a narrow, but deep, pool of water in the ground and bellowed a challenge at the older male. Surging at the territorial stallion’s throat, he was knocked violently to the floor by the male’s taloned paw. His head cracked against the paving stones and sent lines of heat though his skull while dazzling his vision, but Fang’s hatred was not abated. Twisting out of the stallion’s next attack, he clawed up under the stallion’s belly, raking upward with his claws… but only managing to grab bits of fur as the other sa’krien leapt off of him and reached forward to try a swat of his own.
Fang danced away, surprise taming the berserker-rage in him enough for Fang to take in snatches of details about the room in between volleys with the stallion. Low walls, deep trenches with and without water, and high platforms demarcated the room which was punctuated here and there by other pairs of battling sa’krien. What is this place? Fang wondered, confusion slowing his reactions enough that he took another brutal blow to his head.
Focused back on the fight at hand, black flames of anger licked at the edges of his control again, driving him to fight more viciously. For every bite, he bit back; for every scratch, he returned with a slash. Slowly, Fang began to feel a rhythm to the interchange, a song of battle beneath the violence. He began anticipating his opponent’s moves until an opening presented itself like a gift. The stallion’s throat left unguarded! Striking forward with blazing speed, Fang landed a deadly bite… just as a chime sounded overhead and his jaws closed on a magical wall, separating him from his opponent and pushing him irrevocably toward a portal in the thick stone wall.
Thus began a new pattern in Fang’s life. Each day the portal, the wall pushing him out, a fight with a stranger and just as the fight was about to end… another chime, another wall, and back to the pen where a too-small portion of meat awaited him. Within the first month Fang’s baby fat was gone, purged by the fire of his new and demanding existence. Muscle corded over his slim shoulders, every inch of him honed to a deadly weapon.
Obviously, Fang was not in control of his life. Where he had never thought to question his existence before, he now spent hours brooding. Who controlled the portal? The walls of magic that herded him to and fro? Where did the meat come from? The breeze from the windows? The questions knotted themselves around in his mind and rooted in his heart, settling like a seed of crystalline fury. This life that he had always known was not the natural way of things. Somehow, somewhere, there must be something different and if only Fang could find it, he could be free of the pain of this captivity.
When he wasn’t brooding, Fang amused himself by using his claws to dig mortar out from between the stones making up the walls of his room. Over time, he built himself a sort of ladder. As he dug, he could get his claws between the stones and climb partway up the tall stone walls surrounding him. It was slow going, though. Not until another year had passed did Fang actually began to near the top of the walls. His excavations had left piles of rubble which he swept away into the seams where the walls met the floor, for fear that his nebulous captors would discover the ‘improvements’ he’d made and reverse the process.
He was within a body length of the change from stone to wood and the sill of one narrow window when he sensed it was about time for the chime to push him into the fighting room and this day’s opponent. Dropping swiftly to the floor, absorbing the impact with liquid grace through his limbs and haunches, he strode toward the wall and readied himself for a quick bout, anxious to get back to his project.
When the wall opened, Fang charged through the opening without waiting for the chime and wall to push him through. There before him was his opponent: female, double horns, two-toed clawed paws and… beautiful. She was glaring at him with true malice, her dark pelt making a lovely contrast with her lighter mane and tail. Head down, she gathered to counterstrike his charge. The battle-song surged through Fang’s veins louder than ever as he dove in and gave blow for blow. Ducking, weaving, and threading himself around her nimble form he found that without holding back he matched her evenly, perfectly.
It was like poetry, or a masterpiece of violence made of the two of them together. Though the bloodlust clouded his vision as usual, a part of Fang’s mind stayed detached, marveling at the wonder of the form before him. She was vicious. Perfectly deadly. Though he sought the bout-ending move as always, some new, strange part of him hoped she would be the first opponent to best him instead.
They fought for what seemed like hours, trading bites and lunges, strikes and slashes. Fang felt his strength nearing its limits, his limbs shaking as they struck out, but noticed that she, too was beginning to flag—they were perfectly matched. Eventually, an all too familiar chime sounded over the battle and was immediately followed by the crackle of the magic wall. But the bout hadn’t ended! It wasn’t time!
Fang threw himself again at the mare, but contacted only the same wall that had governed his life for far too long. Slamming himself against the barrier again and again, he watched as the mare, too was herded off to her own opening in the wall. It wasn’t fair! Why was his life governed at the whim of some untouchable, unknowable force?
Screeching into his pen he raged over the injustice of his life. To what purpose was it all? Fang ran for his wall-ladder, scrambling up to the top of the section he had already carved out. With a great leap, he launched himself upward at the tiny opening above him… and missed. Falling, he flailed about until he managed to catch a claw in the wall and pulled himself close, body slamming against the unyielding stone of the enclosure.
Again he scrambled up to the top of the ladder, preparing to leap upward. This time he spread his forelegs widely, scrambling for the interface of wood and stone to grab and pull. With a heart-stopping jerk he felt his claws catch this time, violence banking the hatred in his heart. Fang quickly pulled himself up as well as he could, seeing the window clearly for the first time. Now that he had made it, the window seemed smaller, as if it were shrinking just to spite him. With a battle cry, he jammed his head sideways into the gap, hooking his horn through the other side and squirming up into the space above.
One shoulder in, Fang felt his ribcage contract slightly as he forced his way through the window. He experienced a moment of panic as he found himself unable to breathe and then his torso was through, his small, whipcord-and-bone hips following much easier and he was tumbling down onto a sort of wooden walkway.
Taking a triumphant breath of freedom, Fang gazed around him at the world outside his pen. The top body-length or so of the wooden walls and ceiling of his cell bulked behind him. Directly before him, across the walkway was the upper portion of another pen. Walking over to it, a curious sniff through the window revealed that it was inhabited by the stallion he’d had his first bout with. With an annoyed growl, he pulled his head back and looked up. All the pens appeared to be located inside a tall building—he hadn’t made it to freedom after all. A ceiling far above and walls all around proved that he had made it from his small cage into just another, larger one.
Well, if Fang could escape one cage, surely he could escape another! Turning, Fang set off to explore the larger room he now found himself in. Creeping between the pens, he investigated each. Here was an older stallion; there was a couple with a foal much like how he started his own life… There weren’t actually that many pens all told, perhaps eight or so roofs to house pairs of sa’krien parents, and another twelve individual-sized pens, each of the inhabitants asleep after the day’s harsh demands. Really, it seemed far too few pens for the number of opponents he’d fought over the last several months. Where did they all come from?
Wandering between the pens, and idly sticking his head into this one or that, he caught a familiar scent. Spicy and feminine, it was like the smell of ambrosia drawing him toward a pen off in the corner of the stable grounds. Peeking his head through the window to confirm what he already knew, Fang gazed down into… the empty cell of the female he had battled earlier that day?!
“Well, well. Look what we have heyre…” drawled a husky voice behind him.
Fang pulled his head back out of the window so quickly he slammed he head into the top sill on accident. Pulling his head out properly on the second try, Fang blinked the stars out of his vision as it cleared to reveal the female.
“Why, it’s that delicious stallion I fought in the tyraining gyround today” she continued, inspecting the claws on one forepaw nonchalantly. Turning her gaze up to meet Fang’s, she continued, “I thought theyre was something diffeyrent about you. What ayre you going to do now?”
She thought he was different? She thought he was delicious?! Quickly, Fang recovered his footing and retaliated with a quick, “I’m going to get away fyrom heyre. What ayre you going to do?” Remembering the ferocity with which she’d fought earlier that day, he shifted into a strong guard stance, balanced on the tips of his paws and ready to evade at a moment’s notice.
Eying Fang carefully, the female replied carefully, “I wish you luck with that endeavoyr” her voice dripping with sarcasm, “The dooyrs out of the uppeyr walkway ayre guayrded by hiyred men and duyring the day the mage uses the walkways to perfoyrm the magic that foyrces us into the rings. If you have any otheyr ideas, let me know.”
The female sighed and looked down at the floor, sinking onto her haunches and broadcasting depression with every inch of her body. Looking up into Fang’s face with her eyes only, she bitterly added, “I’ve been looking foyr a way out foyr the last month. I… I hate it heyre. Theyre must be something… moyre. Out theyre.”
With that, the mare picked herself up and glared furiously into the stone wall at her side, and once again her eyes were lit with those alluring embers. Not really knowing what he could say about her last, depressing statement, Fang just simply added, “I am Fang of the Deadly Styrike.”
“Flame.” The mare offered, one side of her mouth quirking upward in amusement, “Flame of the Banked Coals. ‘Fang of the Deadly Sytrike’ is… eyr, a little much, isn’t it? I mean, it’s so… so… dyramatic!”
Slightly deflated by Flame’s unconcealed amusement, Fang shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He’d never really had any social experiences beyond terse conversations with his parents, and didn’t know how to react to this sort of teasing. He’d always just sort of chewed on his peers and called it good…
“Oh come on now,” Flame said more gently, “It’s not that bad. Heyre—it’s almost time for the fiyrst moyrning patyrol, go back to your cell and meet me back heyre tomoyrrow night, all right Fang? I… I’m glad you made it up heyre.” With that, she squirmed back through a window in her own pen and jumped lightly down to the bottom.
At a loss for what else to do, Fang did as Flame had instructed him. He trotted quickly back to his own pen again and worked his way back through the window. Leaping gracefully down to the floor and landing balanced, he settled himself down on the floor to sleep before the day’s fight. …He tried to, at least.
That night when Fang returned to Flame’s enclosure, he spoke to her about how he always knew there had to be more to the world than the fight-food-sleep schedule that had been imposed upon them. She told him about how she always dreamed what was beyond the cell windows since she was a filly, and then they returned to their own areas just as distant doors slammed to signal the first night patrol.
Every night after that first meeting also found the two young sa’krien up on the Walkway. Some nights they sat and talked, other nights they explored the strange world over their enclosures. Occasionally they had close calls, accidently remaining on the Walkway until the great doors on either side of the enclosure grounds boomed open and human patrols thumped their way around the room. Fang and Flame would have to quickly and silently part, running for their own pens and slipping down before the guards noticed their absence. The two sa’krien grew close as time went on. Sometimes it was just enough to meet and pass the time in silence, each understanding the other’s nature completely.
As Fang and Flame grew more tightly bonded, they also grew restless. Where their budding relationship should have brought them joy, it could only do so in snatches. Small servings of time each day that left neither of them satisfied and both of them longing for the time they could be together once again. Eventually their conversation turned again to the elusive idea of freedom, and how it could be achieved. The pair concocted a dangerous plan to free themselves and agreed upon a night to do it.
The day of the escape Fang was pitted against a much younger stallion, almost a colt, much like the opposite of his first yearling match. Through the battle-fury he tried to be gentle with the young male, but to end the match he had to strike out viciously. The chime dinged to separate them over the cries of the yearling and the magical wall delicately separated them, pushing Fang back into his pen.
Wired with excitement, Fang scrambled deftly up his stone ladder to the window, pushed his way through, and flopped out onto the walkway. Flame was already waiting for him up there, a quick nuzzle and nip betraying her own excitement. The air seemed electrically charged, and every sound was magnified as Fang concentrated for the sounds of discovery.
Step one was to create a distraction. Some weeks ago, on an exploration of the Walkway, Fang and Flame had stumbled upon a door hanging slightly ajar over the walkway. They had ducked inside, but found it to be only a small room full of buckets and mops as well as some glass jars of spare nails and fastenings. Disappointed, the two had left, having been thwarted in their unanticipated escape attempt.
Today that closet would play a large role in the coming events. Making their way to the small room, Fang pried the door back open with his claws while Flame slipped inside to retrieve one of the small metal pails and a large glass jar. They closed the closet carefully and silently skulked around the edges of the Walkway toward one of the large, heavy doors that patrols came from.
Once they were in place, in front of the door but back behind the enclosure of another sa’krien, Fang wrapped his tail through the handle of the metal pail and Flame gathered herself, balanced on her back legs. Closing their eyes, each of them took one final deep breath before launching their plan into action. On some silent signal, Fang ran out around the side of the pen and off, making a zigzagging path with the bucket clattering noisily behind him. At the same time, Flame launched her glass jar directly at the heavy door; glass shattering and scattering nails all over the Walkway immediately in front of the door.
Fang and Flame took off, pounding toward the left edge of the walkway, Fang taking care to lose his bucket along the way in a dark corner. Just as they came together the door slammed open and a stream of guards poured out, running out into the enclosure, heavily armed. Meanwhile the young couple skulked their way around the edge of the Walkway toward the now-open door and slipped through.
Success!
Or not. Heartbreakingly, the guards’ door did not lead to the world, but to another room, this one long and lined with benches. Was this all there was to the world? And endless stream of stone containers?!
Running now, Fang and Flame slipped through yet another door on the far side of the guards’ room and found themselves in a gently curved hall decorated with rich woven tapestries. Doors lined the outside of the curve to the left and to the right a line of benches wrapped around the outer spiral.
Shaking, Flame inspected both directions of the hall and turned to Fang, “What should we do now? Which way should we go? I neveyr thought that rooms would just lead on and on!”
Fang nuzzled his mate, trying to lend her strength. “Theyre are only two directions to go from heyre, Flame. You scout to the left, and I will go to the right. In fouyr hundyred heayrtbeats we will meet togetheyr under that bench. Then we can decide which way to go.”
Eyes turning steely with resolve now that she had a plan of attack once again, Flame turned and trotted off to the left. Fang turned to the right and stalked his way from shadow to shadow off in that direction. After about the first hundred heartbeats the floor tipped slightly downward and the hall turned into a downward spiral ramp. Fifty heartbeats later he was within sight of a great doorway, and carefully he made his way toward it.
A draft was coming in from around the cracks of the great gateway and it smelled… fresh! Excitedly, Fang ran for the door only to gaze up in dismay at the scale of it. Taller than the guard’s door by another body length and proportionally wider, the wood looked solid and heavy. Not to be discouraged, however, Fang continued his exploration.
One corner of the great door, on the handle side and near the floor, there was a gap for Fang to investigate. It looked slightly smaller than one of his enclosure windows, but he had to try it… Fang shoved his head through the gap, forced his shoulders through, and found himself stuck sickeningly for several long moments as his lungs could not expand. Feeling the familiar rage boiling within him, he brutally forced himself farther through the gap, finally feeling his hips come through and he was out!
It was so bright.
So much brighter than ever the crystal globes of his pen were. And green.
A light breeze picked up his mane, tossing it lightly and dropping it back down. The feeling was unlike anything else. Suddenly, Fang realized he had to have been gone for at least three hundred heartbeats now… Flame would be waiting for him and he’d have to hurry back.
Just as he stuck his head back through the gap, he saw Flame running toward him down the spiral ramp—she must have reached the end of her hallway sooner and come looking for him. Except that her face was seamed with panic and fear. She wasn’t trotting forward, but fleeing for her life at a dead run away from the guard behind her.
Heartsick, Fang tried to push his way back through the gap to help her, but got caught on a ragged splinter jutting out from the broken doorframe. Helplessly caught, he watched as the tall guard caught up with Flame, dropped a net on her, stuffed her into a sack, and dragged her away while she cried for him. While he was enjoying the breeze outside, his mate… his MATE… had been fleeing for her life, needing his help. Remorse welled up like bile as he struggled back through the door, trying to follow before his love was out of sight.
The splinter gave way with a quiet cracking sound and Fang was back through the door, galloping toward the retreating guard. Not sure what he could do to help, Fang slipped in behind the guard as he went through yet another door in the tower. This one contained a wide stone staircase leading downward. The guard thumped heavily down them and entered an area that could only be the world below the walkway.
Thick, featureless stone cubes penetrated the heavy wooden ceiling above. The guard carried Flame without hesitation along the edge of the facility, heading toward Flame’s cell. Fang, realizing he couldn’t hope to take on such a large and well-armed human, followed stealthily behind.
The guard stopped in front of Flame’s pen and pressed a small red stone at hand-height within the stone wall. Instantly, one of those square, magic portals opened in the rock and the guard went through, the rock closing behind him. Fang hid himself in deep shadow, waiting to see what happened next.
It seemed like an eternity, waiting there to find Flame’s fate. While he crouched in darkness, a half-patrol of guardsmen marched noisily toward Flame’s cell. Clanking with armor, the leader of the patrol stepped up to the wall Flame’s captor had disappeared through and rapped loudly on it with the metal backing of one of his right gauntlet.
“Gris!” The patrol leader shouted, “Wot yeh doin’ in there? Paintin’ a pit’cher? Gerrout ‘ere so’s we can check the other pens! We get done quick enough an’ the master’ll ne’er know anythin’ happened!”
The wall portal opened and “Gris” came back out, chuckling darkly. “Don’ know how she did et, but she’s tied up too well to gerrout noaw!”
With that, the guardsmen marched away, taking Gris with them. At each pen in turn, the opened the portal in the wall, and poked their heads in on the pen’s inhabitants. Here was Fang’s chance! Quickly, he dodged out of the shadows, making a running leap for the small red stone that marked the portal spell trigger.
Hitting the stone with his nose, Fang landed lightly and scurried through the portal. There was Flame, tied to a stake in the center of her cell. Her jaws were tied shut, her legs bound together, and she looked so pitiful and broken, it broke Fang’s vicious heart. When she turned her head to see what new torture had come to plague her, she saw Fang and tears began to flow over the bindings on her muzzle.
Fang knew he didn’t have much time to work—there were only twenty pens after all and eventually they would find his own, empty cell. He threw himself down and began gnawing on the bindings at Flame’s legs. Delicately, he snipped the rope over her muzzle and licked the salted trails from the sides of her face, nuzzling her gently. Flame pressed against him, seeking pure emotional comfort from his solid form.
Suddenly a shout went up across the compound and the pair knew they had very little time left. Fang scanned the wall he came in from, singling out one small, greenish stone at about the same position as the red one outside. Once again leaping at the trigger switch, he tapped the paver and the portal opened into chaos.
Outside Flame’s pen was a mass of arguing guards, nearly coming to blows with each other. As the portal opened, they turned and gawped at the opening with two tiny sa’krien in it.
“FLEE!” screamed Fang, shoving Flame from behind, “Between their legs! QUICKLY!”
Startled, Flame shot into the mass of guards, threading through the forest of their legs, Fang following quickly after. The guards grabbed and swatted below them, shouting for reinforcements. Fang leapt up to run beside Flame, nudging her with his shoulder toward the staircase that lead upward to the outside door and freedom.
They reached the top of the staircase just as hobnailed boots could be heard on the first step at the bottom. When they reached the door, Flame hesitated, and Fang pushed her into the gap, ramming her past the narrowest point with his shoulder. Sticking his head through the gap after her he called after her, “Run! Find cover! I will follow you!”
As Flame turned to flee, Fang turned back around and faced the guards boiling out of the stairwell. Flame would never make it to safety in time if he didn’t buy her some time, so Fang lashed his tail and lowered his head with a feral growl. His mate, his love was threatened by these reeking, unwashed guardsmen. No more.
NO MORE.
Rage lit his soul as Fang faced the mass of guardsmen. They hadn’t thought to bring a net. Good.
Fang pounced on the nearest guard, scaling the man’s leg by digging his claws in viciously. Slashing and biting in the openings Fang leapt to another guardsman, digging in with his teeth at a tender spot. Giving as good as he got, Fang marked the patrol with long, jagged streaks and bite marks until one of them caught him with a crushing backhand. Fang fell from the force of the blow, tossed into the wall and hitting his head.
His world went black.
…Mare flees and stallion still remains
Feeling breadth of battle’s pain
Hoping mare is running free
Knowing how she’ll wait in vain
Mare waits faithful till dusk falls
Hopes stallion will escape the walls
In her heart she knows the truth
No-sam could escape those halls
A seed of hope has yet to shine
Unknown foal is intertwined
Mare is mother, joy again
Foal carries on Sa’Krien line
The mother sa’krien ended her recitation, the cold wind needling through her hide, but she was satisfied knowing she protected the young one sleeping next to her. He had drifted off long before the end of the story, but she would tell him again later so he would understand the nature of their existence.
He could be proud of that long-ago ancestor, no matter what the other samanayrs thought of their kind. Sa’krien weren’t the unthinking, vicious monsters they were portrayed as. They were aggressive, surely, but to protect themselves and their songs. Bonding deeply and closely, sa’krien experienced a world of stark contrasts and sharp corners, never to live in the shades of grey that others of their kind do.
The colt stirred in his sleep, quirking one corner of his mouth into a snarl before settling back down. The mare smiled to herself and drew him closer into her side. If she ever had to choose, she knew she would die to protect him. For now, though, it was only rain and thorns, darkness and wind.