A few years later.....

Drought was dead. Actually dead. He had died killing the last member of the gang that had killed Ferla, and while that meant most of the gang was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, Fennec couldn't help but pause and admire the beauty of it in a way. It must have sounded like a sort of love story to anyone who hadn't known Drought. Died avenging his wife's death, only to be reunited with her. It was beautiful in its own way.

Nobody else, of course, had thought so. 

Prickle refused to believe the messengers at first. He outright refused. Drought was invincible, especially to them. This was the dragon who had built a gang from the ground up and no one had challenged his power since. He had taught Prickle everything he knew about how to lead and how to fight, and now he was expected to believe that he had died in a fight? No. Absolutely not.

Fennec had to agree with his brother. There was something unbelievable about it. But once they carried in Drought's bloody, battle worn body, there was no denying it. He was coated in the wounds of a well fought battle, and Fennec could tell that some of the scratches on his father had to have hurt.

A part of him was glad for that. After abusing Coal for so many years, Drought had finally ended up just as shredded as his son in the end. He was no better than any of them. Prickle had been surprisingly quiet after seeing their father's body. It was the first, and only time Fennec thought he had ever seen his brother speechless. It was as if all the weight that Drought had carried had transferred itself over onto Prickle at once, and he was struggling to find a way to avoid drowning under it. 

But Prickle was Prickle, so he found his voice soon enough, and announced to the gang that he was the new leader, and Coal, of all dragons, was the new heir. Fennec fought back a wince at the second part. He knew he wasn't going to be chosen as an heir. He was too close in age to Prickle for that, but still. If Coal was the heir now, it only confirmed what he had already known—Coal was second. He was always second. Fennec was just another dragon in the gang. If he turned up dead, he'd be just another dragon on the bonfire, not worth burying.

It had been Prickle's idea to bury Drought. He had offered it to Fennec, who agreed it was a good idea. If Ferla was buried, then why shouldn't Drought be? Prickle thought it was because their parents should be together, in life and in death. Fennec just thought that it was fitting. Ferla had loved the sky, and was never given the opportunity to return to it. Drought had never cared for the sky, so why should he get the honor of joining it? If Ferla had been buried out of a refusal to let her leave, then Drought would be buried because that was where wicked dragons belonged.

Drought's death day was rough for many. Prickle put on a tough face. He ordered the other members to pull themselves together, to quit crying or mourning and continue their jobs, but Fennec knew his brother was yelling that at himself just as much as he was to everyone else. Prickle didn't feel much, but Fennec had spent enough time around him to know when he did. He was hurting, and while Fennec didn't blame him, he didn't feel the same. 

Coal had a rather uneventful response. Fennec had been expecting an outburst of some kind. Not out of grief, of course, but out of relief. Tears of joy, cheering, something. But Coal had only sat down in one of the hallways and stared at the wall for hours. Nothing more, nothing less. What he was feeling, Fennec didn't know, and he knew he had no right to intrude on it. He and Coal were similar, yes, but they were not the same. They did not have the same memories of Drought. They were not going to mourn him in the same way.

But Fennec didn't feel like mouring, and that only confused him further. He wasn't sad about Drought dying. His father had been horrible. He wasn't devastated, he wasn't happy, he wasn't anything. The closest emotion he could name his feeling was a slight sense of just... inconvenience. Like Drought's death was a stack of paperwork he had to complete, nothing more. It was strange, and Fennec didn't understand it. Wasn't he supposed to feel something more? Shouldn't he feel something more? Drought had been an ass, yes, but he was still his father. That had to count for something, didn't it?

He had felt a lot of things when Ferla died. The sudden absence of emotion over Drought was not what he had been expecting. He just didn't feel anything about it, whereas dragons like Rattlesnake were in literal tears. 

Fennec wondered if this was what it felt like to be Prickle all the time. To be so cold, so unfeeling. It wasn't an experience he liked.

It started making sense to him while he and Prickle dug a hole for Drought's grave, right beside Ferla's. When their mother had been alive, Drought hadn't been so cruel, he remembered. Sure, he hadn't been nice. He wasn't warm or caring, but he wasn't so openly cruel. But after Ferla, after Coal hatched... It had all been downhill from there.

Maybe, Fennec thought to himself, digging a bit deeper into the cold ground. Maybe he didn't grieve for Drought now, because his father had already been dead to him for a long time, and he had just never realized it. The Drought he had originally known died with Ferla, and that dragon stopped being someone he cared about shortly after. It wasn't that Fennec didn't consider Drought to be his father anymore— if he didn't, then who else would be? It was that Drought had cared so little about him that Fennec couldn't help but feel the same. Prickle and Coal felt more about his death because they still felt something towards Drought. Prickle had worshiped their father, and Coal hated him more than anything else. No wonder they had been hit by the realization that he was gone. But Fennec had felt nothing before, so he felt nothing now.

In his mind, for the last few years, Drought had already been dead. They had just waited to bury him until now.

They held the funeral at dawn.

A small bonfire was held for the few dragons that had died alongside Drought, and then everyone took turns helping to bury their former leader. Prickle had said a small speech about living up to his father's legacy, and honestly, Fennec didn't listen to most of it. Rattlesnake stood close to his brother, watching Prickle like he was gold, as usual. Sirocco didn't seem that upset, but he showed up with a Sandwing girl that Fennec recognized from the fights. The yard was crowded with the entirety of the Sting there, and he didn't quite understand why so many had come to mourn Drought, when none of them had come for Ferla's burial.

Prickle had thrown in the first talonful of sand, and it had done little to darken the sandy scales that stared up at them from the hole. Rattlesnake had thrown in the second bit, and Fennec the third. The rest of the Sting formed a line to do the same, and Prickle and Fennec watched every one. Cobra had spit into the grave instead of throwing sand, and while Prickle had snapped a rather crude insult at her, Fennec didn't blame her. That grave deserved a lot more spit then sand, in his opinion.

It was only when the funeral was nearly over that Fennec looked around and realized that Coal hadn't shown up. He hadn't even bothered to be there for their father's funeral. He knew that Coal hated Drought, but still, wouldn't it have been good to get some sort of closure? That was the main reason Fennec had come. He had watched to watch Drought be buried under pounds of sand, never to rise again. There had been something satisfying about it. 

Maybe Coal would come later, he guessed. When all the Sting were gone and he could be alone. His youngest brother was often alone, so it wouldn't surprise him, but Fennec couldn't help but remember back to Ferla's funeral, when he had watched the sunrise as an innocent, happier Coal had refused to sit still. It was strange now, to be attending another burial without him.

Prickle didn't sleep in his room that night, so Fennec didn't have to bother to wait for his brother to be asleep before he snuck out. He sat against the wall of the headquarters, so he wouldn't scare off anyone who walked by. He stated there, staring at the two graves, waiting for Coal to show. Even for the dragons you hated, you had to come. Some part of you had to come see it for yourself, that they were gone forever, and Fennec wanted to be there when his brother arrived. He wanted to nod to him, to silently tell him that things would get better, that they had to without Drought around. He thought through all the things he had to say, all the things that should've been told to Coal a million times over, but he'd never heard.

But Coal never came.

So Fennec said nothing.