In one of the many rooms of the Sting Headquarters, there was a training room. It was one of the bigger spaces, and members often liked to go there to spar or strengthen their fighting skills. It was also a place where Drought tested new members out, to push their limits, and today, it was the place where he brought Fennec and Prickle.

"It's about time you two learned to defend yourselves," He declared. "If we ever get attacked again, you should be able to fight off other dragons instead of relying on others to protect you. Relying on others will only make you weaker, and besides," He gave a very pointed look at Prickle. "Leaders of the Sting have to be the strongest of the gang. That way no one can challenge your position." Prickle nodded, listening intently as Drought began to explain some of the basics of fighting, one of the Sting's lower members helping him to demonstrate. Fennec watched carefully, trying to learn as much as he could. His father rarely taught them anything these days, let alone a skill they'd actually need to know to survive. 

And mother had told him to be strong. How strong could he be if he didn't know how to fight?

"Your turn," Drought instructed. He took a seat and waited. "Fight each other." Prickle and Fennec stared at him for a moment, then faced each other, hesitating. They had had their fair share of scuffles over the years, like all siblings did, but they had never downright attacked each other. It was then that Fennec realized there might have been a reason why Coal hadn't joined them here. Maybe Drought didn't want his youngest son to learn about how to defend himself. Fennec glanced over at his father, who was looking more disappointed by the second.

"Is there a move you want us to show y-" He started to ask, but he was cut off as Prickle punched him in the face. Fennec hit the floor with a shout as Drought laughed, actually laughed.

"Good start, Prickle," He offered. "Now take him down." It occurred to Fennec then, perhaps a bit too late, that his father didn't really care if Fennec learned how to fight or not. Prickle, as the heir, was always the important one, after all. 

Prickle dove at him, and Fennec rolled to avoid him, scrambling to get back on his feet as Prickle lunged again and again. His older brother chased him around the sparring room as Drought watched.

"Only cowards run from a fight," He remarked, and Fennec's face burned as he stopped running and turned to face Prickle once more. He barely saw his brother's face before he was punched again, harder this time, and Prickle jumped on him.

They wrestled on the ground, clawing and snapping at each other as Drought nodded his approval. Fennec locked his teeth onto Prickle's ear and yanked until he heard something rip and Prickle yelled out, clawing at his face in retaliation. They stamped on wings and tails, swiping talons and ripping at any scales they could reach. It was a dirty fight, not fair on either side. But Prickle was bigger, and he used his size to his advantage. He grabbed Fennec by the throat and tossed him to the ground, pinning and punching him as Fennec struggled and failed to get out of his brother's grip. It was only when his face was wet with his own blood that Drought stood.

"Stop." He ordered, and Prickle paused in his punches, finally taking in the damage he had done. They both breathed heavily, and Fennec coughed for more air, felling trickles of blood run down his scales. He wondered if he looked half as bad as Coal had that night, or if Prickle's beating still wasn't enough to compare to what Drought had done.

Drought walked over to them, examining the injuries, the skill with which Prickle kept his brother pinned to the floor. He nodded, a pleased look on his face.

"Very good." He said finally. "We're done for today. Clean yourselves up. We'll meet back here next week."

He left, and Prickle released Fennec, not even bothering to look guilty for all he'd done.

"He said we did good," He said, awed that their father even knew what a compliment was. "He said I did good." Fennec spit blood on the floor and trudged toward the infirmary. Prickle followed behind him, practically starstruck in a way that made Fennec feel sick.

****

The fighting lessons continued, and Fennec didn't understand how Prickle kept getting better. They met together. Drought gave them the same tips, the same skills- how did he keep getting beaten by his brother? Every time they met, Prickle would slam him into the dirt and leave him so covered in his own blood, he looked like a pathetic Skywing. And Drought didn't care that Fennec lost every time. Even the one fight he had gotten a good punch in on Prickle, had nearly won the whole thing; not a word. It was more frustrating than getting the shit kicked out of him by Prickle was.

But Fennec wasn't the only one getting the shit kicked out of him. 

Coal met them in the infirmary sometimes, his breathing shallow, his cuts deep. Even if he crawled in, barely unconscious, though, the dragons in the infirmary would pay attention to Prickle first. Prickle didn't have a scar on him. The dragons in the infirmary would tend to his every complaint and woe within seconds, like he was being pampered at the spa. They'd turn to Fennec next, and one of the dragons would always give them some healing paste to put on their cuts so that they wouldn't scar. He asked once for them to treat Coal first, as he wasn't quite sure if his little brother was even breathing, but the doctors ignored his request, insisting that he was more important, so he had to be treated before anyone else, other than Coal. They never offered the healing paste to Coal, either. His scars grew along with Fennec's growing despise for being beaten weekly by his own brother.

Be strong, Mother had told him. Strong was the last thing he felt whenever Prickle knocked him off his feet. He was sick of losing fights. He was sick of being one of the weaker members of his family, and he refused to just take the beating like Coal did. He was, for once, willing to stick his neck out if it meant he'd win one fight, consequences be damned.

Fennec was done losing, and he was going to do something about it.