FINTAIL

𝘛𝘞𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘠 𝘖𝘕𝘌

"S-Shhh. I-It's okay."

"Everything will be okay, Speck."

SPECK STIRRED awake in a pool of water. It was cold against the scales of his sickled fingers, like greywater. Empty, even. He questioned the taste but savored the scent; salty, like the ocean he knew back home. Speck's heart writhed. He missed the ocean dearly.

It wasn't difficult to realize that he had cried himself to sleep -- his eyes stung and his throat felt scratchy and raw. How long has it been? Speck wondered, letting his tongue itch the roof of his mouth, before slathering the many fangs guarding his pointed jaw with saliva. It feels like a while.

His eyes looked ahead; two claws were clamped over his snout, perhaps a way to stifle his emotions when the worst got to him. It seemed to have worked; only the soft snores of his family rented the quiet air. Had it not, he'd expect Cora to be there, tending to him like the good sister she was, a tail draped over his back, a nuzzle to his cheek, maybe even a lick. Or the opposite; Fossil would be glaring over his bones, demanding that he shut up so he could sleep. Maybe even snuff something out of him if he willed it. It sounded like something the elder longsnout would do. Speck's nostrils wrinkled at the thought of that.

If only this surrendering of emotions worked the same for his mind. Riptide constantly returned to the back of Speck's skull, haunting him like a ghost. He didn't need an image to be reminded of his brother's terrible fate, and, now, his terrible lie. The longsnout whimpered, coiling into his spotted tail for comfort, frustrated above all else. Now his brothers and sisters were falling for false hope and he could do nothing about it but let it grow. Of course he had to be the bearer of all bad things.

Of course Riptide had to die, and not him.

He figured this is how Thorn felt when they lost Able. That survivor's guilt, that knot twisting at the back of his throat like a punctured talon. No wonder he didn't say anything afterwards. Even if Thorn's words were true, he'd be shamed no matter his efforts. The survivor is always the first to blame, the 'coward'. No predator wants to bear that kind of title.

'Everything will be okay.' Speck mouthed his brother's final words to the darkness, hoping it'd offer some clarity. Comfort, mainly. His mind decided to question it instead, and for good reason. Riptide and Able were dead. Thorn and Mother were missing. Their home was gone. They were hungry. They were scared. And they were locked in this prison, like that fish he caught writhing around in that river, tail thwapping against his wrist, breathing in its captors blood and drowning in his shadow. Speck shivered. How long before they become what they've hunted?

Alright, stop being miserable. Get up.

Speck obliged. He began by lifting his head and pushing his arms outward, feeling the soft clicks and cracks of bubbles between his bones. He extended his neck upward, warbled, then descended to test his rear. The longsnout pushed back, raising his hindquarters to the darkness and stretching his calves, tail waving to the sky. He looked back for a second, admiring his bulky hips and towering sail, the way the webs of his three-toed feet spread outward, claws spearing the sacred ground. He wasn't very religious about inspecting his body. But tonight seemed to change that. Temporarily, that is.

His mind wandered a third time; it was hard to tell time here. It always felt like it was night. The ceiling had no stars, no moon, no trees to waver; it was just black. Four invisible walls poisoned his eyes with that disguised color; it made him all the more uncomfortable that he wasn't strong enough to stare past it. He felt watched in this place. Studied.

Something was behind it, that was for sure.

He lowered back to the ground, eyes rescanning the walls, studying the intricate surface undulating around him like rolling clouds. They moved intricately, mindlessly rubbing against each cut corner, and moving toward the door that-