Perri, it turned out, was actually quite the gentleman. He didn't just show me how to efficiently hunt rats—using traps, yes, but also by employing a rather unconventional method. He revealed the secrets of attracting them—laying out glittering gems (apparently, rats have a surprisingly sophisticated appreciation for shiny objects), rotting flesh (the classics never fail), and anything else that might tickle their admittedly peculiar fancies.

In the end, we spent the afternoon hunting. By Perri's clever methods, we gathered at least ten plump rats. I smiled, gathering them into a wriggling pile before setting them ablaze with a burst of fire. Perri blinked, his eyes wide. "Umm, w-why exactly...?" he stammered. I chuckled, swishing my tail. "I like my food cooked," I said simply.

Perri chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "I see. Well then, I better be off," he said, rising to his paws. He shook his fur, sending a flurry of dust motes dancing in the air, and smiled. "I'll see you another day, are you often around here?" I nodded, a small smile playing on my snout. He waved his bushy tail, a final, almost apologetic flick, before dashing off into the undergrowth. I watched my dinner cook, a contented warmth spreading through me. Perhaps, just perhaps, fleeing from home wasn't so bad after all.

SCENEBREAK

My snarls echoed the crackle of the fire consuming my dinner, a pathetic counterpoint to the horror unfolding before me. Crimson stained my mother's cerulean wings, a grotesque blossom against the azure. Each desperate thrash of her powerful limbs only served to tighten the grip of my father's obsidian claws around her throat. Her roar, a guttural shriek that tore through the night, was cut short by a strangled gasp. Her eyes, usually pools of molten gold, were now glazed with a desperate, fading light. He pressed harder, his face a mask of cruel satisfaction, the scales on his snout gleaming under the sickly moonlight. "Now do you yield, you whore?" he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that slithered into my very soul. The scent of ozone and blood filled the air, a sickeningly sweet perfume of violence.

"I... I didn't fuck him!" she snapped, her voice tight with a mix of fear and defiance. Tears streamed down her face, tracing paths through the grime on her cheeks. Her hands, gnarled and bruised, clenched into fists. I sobbed softly, pulling Manog closer, burying my face in his thick, comforting fur. His body trembled slightly, mirroring my own shaking form. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls of the cell, highlighting the despair etched onto every line of her face. "It's true! After the coup... please, she would be better off fucking our general!" The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications, a desperate plea cloaked in a veneer of bitter resignation.

Father snarled, smoke curling from his nostrils like a venomous serpent. "Lie? You bitch! You lie to me after all I've sacrificed for you!" Mother coughed, a spray of blood misting the air, and pushed him off with surprising strength. "All you've sacrificed? What do you even mean, buffoon?" she stood shakily, her usually vibrant scales dulled with pain and exhaustion. "I'm done with this. I'm taking our daughter, our dog, and our rabbit away from here." Father snarled again, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through the very stones of the cave. He leaped in front of me, his tail lashing out, the jagged tip catching me across the snout, drawing blood. I sobbed, the taste of copper filling my mouth, and dragged Manog, his whimpers a heartbreaking counterpoint to my own pain, after me.

Mother stopped short when she saw me cowering beneath the furnace, a pathetic heap of scales and fear. She sighed, a long, weary sound that echoed the desolation of the cave, then whirled around, heading to the room she shared with my father. Father stood there, all angles and menace, his breath heavy in the stale air. He had a few scrapes; here and there, so he headed to the cupboard to take out some sort of ointment. I hissed, a low, warning sound, barely audible above the crackling of the fire. Father shrieked at me, his blue eyes flashing with furious light. "You too, whore child! Go and leave! I don't care!"

:I went to my room, clutching Manog that night, and curled myself into a tight ball, trying to sleep. The cut on my snout still throbbed, a dull, persistent ache. Then, anger began to brew within me, a slow, hot fire spreading through my veins. No more, Father, I thought, the words a silent vow in the darkness. No more.