There were other ways of learning how to fight in the Scorpion Den than by being taught, Fennec knew. Sirocco had told him about the fighting circles, the small, likely illegal ring fights. He said there was a whole circle just for dragonets, that they had thrown Qibli in against rabid chickens when he was younger than Coal. The adults liked to bet on them, especially when it came to a dragon vs. animal fight. The kids bet amongst themselves. They didn't usually have gold, so they traded in food, information, and easier fights for next time. Fennec didn't care for the gambling aspect of the fighting circles, though. He was there to fight.

He was there to get stronger.

He had slipped out of the Headquarters one night with Sirocco, knowing no one would notice if they were gone for the night. The only one who might squeal on them was Prickle, and he'd been out cold when Fennec left. Prickle slept like the dead, so they didn't worry too much about getting caught.

The fights were held under a bridge in the Scorpion Den. They sand was hard and cold as rock down there, especially since the part of the oasis that had once run through it had been dried up for years. 

"The older dragons fight on one side," Sirocco explained to him as they crept through the night to the bridge. "And the dragonets fight on the other. There's always two fights going on at once, and one dragon to break things up if the fight turns bad. The oldest dragonet breaks it up, and the adults rotate the job. An Outclaw takes the bets and gives you what you're owed when you're done."

"Have you ever fought in one?" Fennec asked. Sirocco scoffed.

"Hell no. I'm not stupid. Those fights are dirty." He said.

"We fight dirty in the gangs too." 

"Not compared to these fights we don't."

There were four other dragonets there when they arrived. One was a Skywing girl, with a long scar over her eye. The second was a Sandwing about Fennec's age. He was missing a piece of his ear. The third was a Mudwing barely older than Coal, who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, but didn't have a choice in the matter. The fourth was a Sandwing that looked at least seven, but still too young for the adult circle. He glared at them all, and no one had to ask if he was going to be the one to break up the fights later. 

"Who's going first?" He snapped at them, and the Mudwing girl squeaked in fear.

"Me." The Skywing announced, stepping into the circle. The sand was looser inside the circle, and someone had wrapped a circle of rope around it to keep the fighters inside. 

"Challenger?" Sandwing asked. No one moved. 

"I got a challenger for ya," Sirocco insisted, shoving Fennec forward. "It's his first night, so you might wanna go easy on him, Henna." The Skywing, Henna, laughed and cracked her knuckles.

"What's your name, newbie?" Sandwing questioned as Fennec stepped hesitantly into the ring.

"Fennec."

"We got a fight!" Sandwing yelled towards the adults. Some turned to look over Henna and Fennec. "Small circle Champion Henna of the Skywings taking on newbie Fennec of the Sandwings! Who wants to watch a dragonet get the shit kicked out of him, place your bets!"

"They're very optimistic here," Sirocco insisted, and Fennec stared at him. "Gimme five gold ones that the Sandwing loses!"

"Thanks for the support," Fennec grumbled, turning his attention toward Henna.

"Well they're right," She said, shrugging. "You're gonna lose."

"FIGHT!" Sandwing yelled, and Henna launched at him.

And she was right.

He lost. 

Epically.

After a good three minutes of fighting, Henna had him pinned, and Sandwing counted down while Fennec struggled under her, his vision blurry from being his straight in the snout, his wings scratched a bit too deeply for his liking. Cheers had gone up when they proclaimed Henna the winner and shoved him out of the ring and onto the cold sand. Sirocco laughed.

"Ready to go home?" He asked, but Fennec shook his head. He hadn't come here to get beaten more. He had come here to learn. So he struggled to his feet and watched as the other Sandwing, a kid named Ozark, stepped into the ring to challenge Henna. Nobody made a move to fight the little Mudwing, something Fennec was grateful for. 

More dragonets arrived, and Fennec found himself bouncing from watching the adults fight to watching the dragonets. He didn't bet, but he watched every move like a hawk, memorizing them to hopefully remember to use later, for his own gain. 

Sirocco started to ignore him after awhile, especially when some Sandwing girl named Simmer showed up. Fennec didn't care. If Sirocco was happy making out with a dopey Sandwing in a corner where everyone could see, then that was his choice. Fennec didn't personally see the appeal. He focused on the fights.

After about an hour of watching, he stepped back into the ring, going against Ozark this time. He knew better than to fight Henna again. Specks, the little Mudwing, said she had trained with a soldier in the Skywing army, some low ranking red dragon named after a gemstone Fennec didn't know. But he believed it. There was a grace to Henna's fighting that no one else in the dragonet ring had. She fought like a soldier.

Ozark, on the other hand, fought in a style Fennec was used to. The dirty clawing, the biting- he knew how to dodge that. He lasted longer in this fight, trying out more than a few of the techniques he had seen the adult dragons use. He didn't win, but the fight lasted over twenty minutes, and Ozark had gotten one lousy good punch in, and that was that. They shook talons when it ended, and even Henna remarked on how quickly Fennec improved. 

"How do you do it?" Fennec asked her, as one little dragonet challenged Specks, and he discovered that the little Mudwing was quite found of biting.

"Do what?" Henna asked, her eyes never leaving the fight.

"Win."

"Practice," She said. "I practice the same move until I know it like my wings. Then I learn another, and another. Eventually, you have enough moves in your arsenal to win any fight." Fennec thought for a moment.

"Could you teach me?" Henna made a face.

"One move. But don't think I'm gonna go out with you just cause I agreed to teach you." Fennec made a face.

"Why would I want to go out with you?" Henna's face lit up.

"Just for that, you've earned yourself two moves."

"If I say you're disgusting, do I get three?"

"No, but if you punch Sandwing in the face and live, I'll teach you whatever amount of moves you want to know." Fennec looked over at Sandwing, who was glaring at the fighting ring as Specks' challenger started crying. 

"Deal."

"Wait wha-" Henna watched in horro as Fennec marched over and socked Sandwing in the face. Sandwing let out a feral growl and launched him into the ring. Specks and the other dragonet screamed and scattered as Fennec ran like hell. Henna ran after him, and Fennec swore he heard Sirocco and Henna laughing as he fled.

He ended up hiding behind a closed stall, shrinking down when he heard footsteps.

"Fennec?" Henna's voice asked. He popped up from the stall with wide eyes, only to see the Skywing grinning at him.

"What?" He asked, and she start laughing again.

"My girlfriend would love you," She declared. "C'mon, I'll teach you to fight."

*****

The next week, Fennec showed up to the sparring room feeling confident. Henna had taught him as well as she could for the last few nights, and while he would've liked to see her more, she explained that she was going back to the Skywing Kingdom, as her girlfriend missed her and there was still more she had to learn herself. Fennec let her go and had spent last night in the yard of the Headquarters, tracing patterns in the sand. Henna, he decided, was the first real friend he'd ever had, and he was sad to see her go. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't dwell on it. He had bigger things to focus on in life than friends. Friendship, Drought always said, was a waste of time.

"Ready to get your ass kicked again?" Prickled asked smugly, stretching before they started. Drought, as usual, sat in his usual chair, watching. Fennec didn't bother to give a word to either of them. No one listened much to what he said anyways, so what was the point of talking?

"Begin." Drought instructed, and Prickle, as usual, flew right at him. But this time, Fennec dodged sending his brother grasping at open air with a confused expression.

And Fennec took the opportunity to launch at him instead. They rolled on the floor, and where Prickle struck, Fennec dodged and clawed at the places his brother left exposed. He shoved Prickle off him, getting back on his feet, and running. Prickle chased after him, and Fennec took the opportunity to swipe his brother's legs out from under him. Prickle ate sand with an ungraceful shout that left Drought staring, disappointment leeching from him.

The fight continued, dragging out longer as Fennec wore his brother down and tired him out. Prickle let out a scream of frustration and launched at him again. Fennec fought back offensively for once, and slammed a fist into Prickle's face. Prickle dropped to the floor, and started coughing, the wind knocked from his lungs. Fennec readied his fist again, but before he could strike, Drought stood.

"Enough." He said, his voice like death as he stared at them. Fennec froze, and Prickle stilled on the ground. Wordlessly he crossed the room and grabbed Fennec by the ear. He pulled him from the sparring room, all the way to his office on the other side of the Headquarters. Fennec refuses to make a sound the whole way, even though Drought's claws dug into his ear hard enough to pierce it, and there was just enough of a stretch that he was afraid his ear would be ripped off entirely. He knew better than to make a sound. He'd seen what happened to Coal when he screamed.

Once they reached the office, Drought threw him on the floor and slammed the door shut behind them. He glared at his middle son, and Fennec sat up on the floor, not wanting to take the risk of standing.

"What was that?" Drought demanded.

"We fought." Fennec said. The less words he used, the less likely it was for Drought to become angry at them, right? "I won."

"I have sat in that room and watched Prickle get better and better at slamming you into the dirt every week, and yet today you suddenly master the art of fighting and win? I know bullshit when I smell it, Fennec, so I'll ask again. What. Was. That." Fennec swallowed hard. There was no good way out this.

"I got tired of losing!" He said. "I wanted to beat him, but I wasn't good enough with just what you taught, so I found someone else to show me different moves so I'd have an advantage and I learned and I got better and it worked." Fennec couldn't quite read his father's face, but there was something close to murder on it.

"Who taught you?" He demanded. "Was it Cobra?"

"No."

"One of the other Sting members?"

"It was no one here."

"Lie to me again and you'll end up next to your mother in the yard." Fennec winced like he'd been struck. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.

"It was a Skywing dragonet. I met her in the fighting circles they hold under the bridge at night. I snuck out to train there, and she agreed to teach me."

"Name." Fennec hesitated. Nothing good would come of Drought learning Henna's name. He could do anything to her. He was cruel like that, and that was no way to repay the only real friend Fennec had ever made. "Her name, Fennec. Now." 

But what else was he to do? If he lied, Drought would kill him. If he refused, he was dead. Maybe he wouldn't do anything to Henna. She had gone back to the Skywing Kingdom anyways. If Drought went all the way there to hurt her, it'd practically be a declaration of war. Even Drought wasn't that stupid.

"Henna." He whispered, shame washing over him the moment her name left his mouth.

"Henna." Drought echoed. He walked over and grabbed Fennec, pulling him to his feet before he slapped him. "You need to relearn your place here." Fennec stayed silent, his face burning. "You are the middle son. You are NOT like Prickle. Being born second doesn't make you a sort of replacement. It does not give you value. Prickle is the oldest, and therefore the most important. He beats you in the fights because he trains twice a week with me and I want him to be stronger. He HAS to be stronger. You do not. No one cares if you can fight, Fennec. Your job is to be his punching bag. His way to learn. You were never meant to improve and outshine him and you still aren't. You are nothing, Fennec. You were nothing to your Mother and you're nothing to me now. You're not even worth striking."

Fennec didn't move. His face remains emotionless, every dark fear confirmed. Drought turned and opened the door to his office.

"You are done training." He snapped. "Both here, and anywhere else on this continent. Prickle will fight with Cobra's dragonets for now on. You will always be second to him." Fennec still remained motionless. He wasn't sure how to convince his feet to step towards the door. "Leave."  And he did. He walked out the door, and Drought slammed it behind him. He kept walking, all the way back to his room before he shut that door too and sat down.

Second, Drought had called him. But that was still wrong, wasn't it? Fennec wasn't second in anything other than age, and that didn't even matter. Prickle was first. Prickle had always been first, and he always would be. The oldest, the first in line, the first dragonet Drought and Ferla cared about, the heir, the one most deserving of the training, the perks, everything life had to offer was given to Prickle. 

But that didn't make Fennec second. Drought had been right about that. Prickle was first, yes, but Coal had been Ferla's favorite. Coal had been her favorite son before he'd even hatched. It was never Fennec, and even if Drought beat his youngest dragonet, he'd never kill him. If anything happened to Prickle, Coal would be the replacement heir, not Fennec. Never Fennec. He was not second. He was third. He had been third since the day Coal came into existence, and that would never change.

He had wanted to be strong because that was what Ferla had told him to be, but if Ferla didn't even care about him, then what was the point? Drought was right. He was always right, in his own way. Fennec was nothing. He was third, and that made him worthy to no one.