Winged

Chapter Sixteen

Sabrina

Above each individual table hangs a banner, color-coded to the bands on the wrists of the Manin sitting at them. There seem to be at least ten tables, but more are tucked away in corners.

Many tables are different sizes, to cater for the ridiculous amount of people sitting at them. A table decorated with a green banner located in the centre of the room was host to what seemed like thousands. The cavern must have been bigger than what I cared to look for if it could house all those sitting, and many pouring into the room behind me.

At each table were multiple breeds, races, and kinds, but the most shocking thing was that they were all getting along. Even people whose kin had warred for millennia weren't even sending vulgar gestures over the low table.

The only thing that was constant among the Manin were their bands. Green bands for the green table.

I feel a small tug on my wrist and look down to see Lucy inspecting my band, frowning.

"You're purple. You have to sit on the purple table." She takes me by the hand and runs me over to a table smaller than the green one but with still at least seventy occupants. Before I can barely get a word out, she's already dashing into the crowd, headed towards her table.

I look over at the people sitting with me. To the left of the empty chair in front of me is a thin man, this time with a top, who has claws instead of fingers and black eyes. I couldn't name his breed or where he hailed from if I was asked, but I've seen images of these creatures before. He looks frightening, and I'm sure he could eat my soul, but I take the seat next to him anyway, too stubborn to walk ten feet to another chair.

To my right sits a child with a wild head of curls, her head turned to face another person next to her. She doesn't look Manin... Oh.

As her face turns back to her plate, I catch a glimpse of a small snout with a little black triangular nose, whiskers and fur. Her hair hides two pink, furry ears, and her hands are paws.

Strange, but kinda cute.

Looking around at the other tables, I notice the pattern. Nearing the back of the cavern, the people sitting at the table are noticeably larger, chubby limbs splayed over their chairs. The tables closest to the entrance hold people whose bodies seem impossibly thin, cheeks hollow and bones showing.

We had been sorted into weight groups for appropriate feeding measures.

Looking around at the people near me, I startle. Was I really this thin? I guess the week on the ship had taken its toll. If the people surrounding the table was anything to judge by, I'd easily be able to count my ribs.

I peer for my friends amidst the host of people dressed in plain white shifts, tunics, and pants. Searching for a pair of wings surrounded with a soft, low-backed elastic bodice.

My gaze only meets foreign faces.

I return my gaze to the table in front of me as a young human girl with golden-brown hair and stormy blue eyes and a light splatter of freckles, maybe thirteen, serves me a plate, chicken drizzled with light gravy, pepper sprinkled atop. Mashed potato and peas garnished the side. She wore a long-sleeved, plain, white top, a short dark-grey wrap circling her waist, cutting just above her tan knees.

A thin weave of pale steam wafts from the roast as she pulls out a set of cutlery from a trolley she had been pushing, and sets in out in front of me, moving on to the next unfed Manin.

Why was such a young girl working in such a dangerous setting? Was she Grant's Washner's daughter? Was she so desperate for money she'd countered to being employed, here?