FINTAIL (SLOW UPDATES)

𝙏𝙒𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙔-𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

THE DOOR to Thorn's cage flung open. A heavy breeze of smoke charged into his body, burning his nares and the scales of his flesh in molten heat. The dark green corridors of the massive ship greeted his eyes once more, and the air above rattled with the eerie cries of twisted metal and snarling gears.

He took a few steps forward. It felt strange to him that this became his new normal, this terrible, impossible scene that smothered out the colorful richness of his home world. Thorn's nostrils would wrinkle at the foul odor he had accustomed to. He missed the stench of leaves in the air. The mud that squished beneath his talons. The natural breeze that lifted salt and sand from the distant shores to pat against his hide. The cool echo of the cave.

The only piece he had left now was this heart-shaped rock in his clutches. And now it has become a tool. That didn't feel right either.

Thorn scowled, scanning his left and right for any wandering aliens, then proceeded out the door and onto the catwalk. It wouldn't take long to find the door to his mother again.

Five is the magic number, He thought silently, recalling Tar'nex's earlier warning. That wasn't too hard for a longsnout. Thorn counted every doorway, carefully peeking over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being followed, then carried on. His tail bounced above the ground to prevent any noise, and his claws twitched into his chest, talons at the ready. He had too many questions to ask her, and not enough time. He needed to be ready with them, be forthcoming and not let his emotions get the better of him a second time. But when he reached the door—

"Oh no."

It was already open. The emerald light from the outside stretched into the blackness that encompassed where his mother used to lay. Her scent was still there, too, but faint, and old. She had been moved not too long ago.

He sniffed the ground for a better understanding; the raw stench of blood struck his snout without warning. Thorn tensed up. He remembered seeing the blood all over her scales earlier, and the horrible look of fear cast across her face when he noticed it. It was a look he hadn't seen before, and it horrified him even more when he was forced back to his assigned room with no answers in lieu of it.

What was hurting her?

A noise caught his attention, a pair of voices, drifting further down the open walkway he had yet to explore. They weren't heading to him, yet, but they felt familiar. Thorn swallowed, looking back over his shoulder, then toward the source of the noise. His stomach squirmed with worry.

You can only stay out for five minutes, he reminded himself. It had well been three. He would have to go back now.

But he didn't move. He couldn't, not without some sort of confirmation that mother was alright. And with that terrible memory of her injuries planted in his mind like a plague... No. This wasn't worth another second of fear.

Screw it.

Thorn hissed in spite as he started forward. His tail kept count of all the cages he passed by, a thud signifying a single gate. He hurried his pace all the more; like a hatchling bearing a sibling's prized possession, he didn't want to be caught so soon. By number sixty-six the row of cages had ended, and a new hallway took form, smothered with blackened mirrors, polished floors, and a dim silver light that barely gave his eyes clarity. It looked dead to him. Thorn snorted as he entered, now tracking his mother's familiar scent through the unknown. It was harder to keep on it, each road taken became a fork, or a split, or a divide that didn't feel right.