A Court of Blood and Feathers

6

Branwenn

"Let's go already half-breed!" screams rain down on me, the hostility towards me as freezing as the ice water pours from the sky. I am shoved into the ring once again. It has been a month since I've been here. Surviving in the shadows and nursing my wounds as I train late in the night, during the day washing dishes as to keep my cover.

My thin clothing holds no warmth to my body as I shivered, wrapping my arms and wings around my body, desperate for heat. Mud splashes everywhere as one of the crowd members slams a rock into the mud at my feet. The toxic sludge seems to claw its way under my skin, between my feathers, coating my clothing. The taste of earth and iron and rot enter my mouth. Spitting, I hold my arms close to me, my wings clenched to my back as the crowd around me continues to scream and wither in chaos. Sound bombards me on all sides, causing me to stumble. My bare feet already not having a stable foundation in the slimy, watered down clay backed around my feet.

Looking down at the sludge, I almost lose the meager scraps of my dinner from the night before. Dark brown seems to ooze and bubble around my already filthy feet. Rust mixes with blood that seems to turn black before my eyes. I clamp down on nausea, I don't want to add to the already acrid substance I stand in. Picking up my foot out of the mess, my stomach clenches once again. Raising my eyes, I am once again met with two pairs of stony eyes. Delwyn and Ianto. The same males who greeted me upon my arrival at the Illyrian war camp by Lord Devlon's request.

"P.. please.." I whisper to no one in particular, my teeth starting to clack as the chill of the cold mud and brisk breeze start to envelop and penetrate. My breath coming in quick gasps, this visible as my hot breath puffs in front of my face in the chilly air.

I stare down at the mud and tears begin to fall into the swirl of sludge before me.

Drip.. drip.... drip.....

I sniffle. The light suddenly disappears. Everything is cast in black except for a slight illumination from the faint sun coming in through a wing membrane. I look up to find two sets of the crude Illyrian bat-like wings encompassing me as the two warriors, Delwyn and Ianto is what Devlon had called them, standing over me.

The whimper that escapes me is involuntary.

"Please..." I hiccup pathetically.

"Come on Birdie," Mother seems to whisper to me.

"Let us see if your encounter last month has changed your mind on staying here," shouts the voice that sends fear racing to my heart. Lord Devlon is dressed in tanned training leathers, far nicer than mine. Barely scuffed as he never enters the ring or involves himself with Illyrian warrior training any longer. Anger sparks in my heart as I look down at the tattered, sludge covered too big training leathers. Shody as they may be, they're the only thing that I've worn the past month that I have lived in this hell hole.

As a bastard, I was thrown out into the cold the first night immediately, no tent or cover. Along with training leather meant for a male Illyrian three sizes too large for my smaller frame. As a female I was denied access to top training and forced to spend my time in the kitchens watching dishes in boiling water that leaves my hands dry and cracked; the cold air making them split open and bleed easily at times. As a neophyte on top of everything, I was picked on the most by those who wished to weaken me further. Denied only meager scraps to the point that my bones feel brittle and skin hugs me too tightly in places it should not. I was pushed into the sparring ring first day against two almost fully fledged Illyrian males. Humiliated and beaten within an inch of my life.

My stomach gurgles violently as I keel over, the sound around me still battering my senses as I am still in the ring. Barefoot in unknown substances and the same two dangerous opponents advancing.