The sun poured in through a dirty window when Calum opened his eyes. He brought a hand up to his face and wiped away the crust from the corners of his eyes. There were three other beds in this empty room and a cabinet that was filled with bandages and medicine. A pair of crutches leaned against the side of his bed. It was warm and dry here, and a feeling of safeness he wasn't used to. He felt like a newborn bird, and peeked around wearily for the mother. Then he realized he'd slept in.

Calum shot up, and hissed when a sharp pain whipped through his abdomen. There were bandages underneath his shirt, and a splint on his foot. Calum realized his back was moist, like salve on an open wound. It felt partially numb, hot, and painful creating a horrible soup of discomfort. He remembered the adrenaline that pulled his muscles taught yesterday, and frantically dragging himself across the rough ground for a weapon, for anything within reach. The deadwing's unblinking stare as Calum waited for its teeth to sink into his flesh.

The deadwing.

Calum swung his legs over the lip of the cot, wincing slightly. It was less painful than the shame that pooled in his stomach. The way his joints locked up, the way he froze, his body was already tense, waiting for the slap. His one purpose, the event he'd been training for his entire life, and he'd failed first try. No, not fail. He'd have to try before he could fail. What he did was break apart at the first straw. He couldn't let that happen again. Even if he had to talk to and stare into his bright blue eyes again—his eyes?

Calum ran his hand through his hair, his fingers curled into hooks and stayed there, the pressure was comforting, "What is wrong with me?" 

The realization made his head swim, and he didn't let go of the bed frame in case he passed out. What was that thing? A young deadwing? He—It was barely bigger than himself, did they get more monstrous and beastly as they aged? He racked his brain, there were tapestries in the Hall of warriors with their swords plunging into beasts with small sharp horns, covered in oily hairs, its unholy wings fanned out behind it. Calum's stomach was wrapping around itself, this room was not a nest, it was a box of steel and wood. All of a sudden it was very small, and the chill caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. He couldn't stop his hand when he yanked on his hair—

"Nothing's wrong with you." A voice broke through his panicked train of thought.

Calum looked up, Holly was leaning against the doorframe.

"What... are you a nurse too?" He smiled.

She shrugged. "I have a wide range of talents. I have to talk to you about something. There'll be no prying ears here."

She sat down across from him, setting down a first aid kit and gestured for him to give her his foot. He obliged. Holly's hands were like soft Spring leaves as she checked how he was healing. Calum realized this...situation... was unfamiliar to him and yet his heart ached from setting down a heavy weight. He missed this.

"I heard about deadwing." She said, "You two met."

Calum frowned. "You... you said that like that was its name. His name?"

She hesitated; lips parted but tongue still. "Yes. There's a lot for you to learn, but I don't have time for that now. I have to ask you a very important question, but I need to make sure I can trust you. Promise me you won't tell anyone about this, especially the Patrons."

Calum felt sick. His scalp buzzed. Over and over in his brain Tarif's—no—it wasn't even his voice. He was reliving Patron Tarif picking him out in a crowded room. The way his face wrinkled when he was brimming with silent anger. These reminders came at him like chains, cold, heavy, and suffocating.

"Calum," her eyes were right in front of his.

She'd pulled his hand away from his face. Calum tasted blood on his lips.  

"I promise you, after today, everything is going to make sense. I will keep you safe." Something about her voice, the way she smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her old eyes. He believed her.

"Why today?" 

"Today—"

Holly was cut off by the sound of loud siren, crystalline and sharp, that froze Calum's blood.

The High Welf had arrived.

"I will meet you tonight at the river bridge, when the moon is highest." She whispered, squeezing his fist, and fled from the sickbay without another word.

He sat there, hands shaking, and slowly uncurled his fingers.

Pressed into his palm was a single black feather.

Morning lineup had congealed once more, beckoned by the siren. Calum limped across the field, making slow, painful, obvious work. He ducked his head under the stares of the boys, choosing a spot where he'd be missed. A boy shoved him and Calum's crutch dropped to the ground. The boy shot him a look, his eyes full of poison, and Calum shied away, stiff, shrinking to take up less space.

The siren sounded again; it was a horn blast from a welven quartz trumpet. The welf standing outside the High Welf's Quarters had one clasped in his hands. He dressed in a fine cloth that cut across his torso and trailed into a half-skirt above his trousers. Calum had seen him before, he was the High Welf's assistant, it seemed he'd started wearing pearls instead of abalone buttons. Whispers of shrewd nicknames for the lad floated around like flies. His long-pointed ears flicked back in annoyance.

The door swung, and the High Welf stepped down the porch. Silence fell upon the lineup. She had a long, thick black cape that trailed behind her crisp white gown and burning red chasuble. She'd painted her face in a way that reminded Calum's of a bear's glistening, hungry mouth. He shivered where he stood. 

She stared at them, saying nothing. Her eyes were a piercing yellow. Tarif's shoulders were stiff with sobriety, he never once took his eyes off her. She extended her hand, lax, and waited. Patron Tarif handed her a case of rolled parchment, which she tucked into her belt.

"Satisfactory numbers this semester, I trust." She raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, we just picked up the trail, it should be delivered before winter sets in."

"Excellent, at ease cadets." Her smirk lingered... until it didn't.

The High Welf frowned, and took a step forward into the lineup, the first row split to make a path, watching her with wide, startled eyes. Forward she pushed, the line crumbling before, wall after walls of boys until Calum had to scramble to his crutches. A cold hand clutched at his wrist sending pain lacing up his shoulder, to his horror he found the High Welf had him trapped, her stare bore into him. The ceremonial teeth painted onto her face opened up into a dripping maw, ready to swallow him whole.

"Why do you reek of deadwing?" She hissed; her nails dug into his wrist.

Calum's heart dropped into his stomach, "I w-was attacked by one yesterday."

Her pupils narrowed. "Then why is it not being held for me? You dare tell me a senior cadet of Tarif's ward let it get away!"

Calum felt the bite of her nails in his skin and couldn't stop the agonized noise that escaped him, "p-please, you're hurting me."

He didn't know if he was begging for release or mercy, he couldn't tell the difference. She grimaced, the way one looks at spoiled meat or dog vomit, and tossed him to the dirt. Calum fell against his crutches, forcing a strangled gasp from his lungs. Pain seeped out in waves from his ankle, back, and from the welts on his wrist. The lineup didn't reform around when she returned to her place next to Patron Tarif, creating a target where Calum played the bullseye. He looked up feebly, only to see Patron Tarif's skin was boiling with poorly hidden rage. He glared at the boy with two burning coals. Calum didn't want to get up.

"I want to know why you let this happen, Tarif, my table." She was back on the steps to her quarters without a second glance.

"Dismissed," patron Tarif grunted, disappearing behind the High Welf's doors.

The welf assistant put down his horn, and took his place in front of the building with his sword drawn. The rest of the boys filed away to attended to the rest of their duties, leaving Calum slumped on the ground. He stood, collected his crutches, and limped away. Though, he wondered why he bothered. Patron Tarif's table meeting was only a delay. A single raindrop in a drought. He'd be back on the ground and writhing in pain before noon.

He stared at the bed. His eyes burned with collected tears. On the ground, in a bunk is where he'd be sleeping tonight. Calum, gazed mournfully at the ladder, and down at his leg. His blankets were up there. The only food he knew he'd receive was out of his reach. He had a choice to make between a lot of pain and small reward, or a little pain and...a lot of pain later.

The wooden crate was rough on his palms. Just pushing himself up an onto it left his him dizzy and nauseous. His shoulders burned. He could feel his muscles blacken and peel away. It was taking too long for his vision to stop swimming.

"What are you doing?"

Calum looked down to see cadet Will staring at him, his expression momentarily free from annoyance. His shirt hung awkwardly on his frame. His had the audacity to show up with a toothbrush still in his mouth.

"What are you? A snitch?" Calum scoffed.

There it was. His thin eyebrows dipped down, and he held his tongue.  Calum couldn't reach the bottom rung of the ladder without jumping. He had a feeling that if he hung it would be painful, but his stomach was barren. An animalistic urge to hide and lick his wounds was all that was left of him now.

Will watched him as he balanced on one leg, readied himself, and jumped. One hand slapped onto the bottom rail, then the other. As soon as his shoulders bore his weight agony like no other flooded across his back. Calum didn't hear the scream that ripped through him, only felt the burn in his throat. He fell, rolling off the crate and landed in a heap on the ground. Everything hurt, black dots swam before his eyes. The fire in his throat turned to acid and he couldn't bring himself to move before throwing up.

Will hesitated, didn't say a word then walked away.

Calum waited until the sound of the door closed. Then shakily pulled himself out of his vomit and onto the bare cot he'd been given. The one he didn't deserve. His body was still, he could feel it shutting down, he could feel it forcing him to rest. His heart had been racing when he fell, adrenaline poured into the place sensation should have been. It was gone now, spilled onto the floor like a bottle of brandy drunken late in the night. Exhaustion took its place, his joints stiffened. He fell into a dreamless sleep.

Weapons disguised as hands shook him awake. When Calum opened his eyes, it was afternoon. His heart clenched. Patron Tarif stood above him, the burning coals stared down at him. There was a look of disgust and on his face Calum had never seen before. Not even the High Welf had looked at him like that.

"I'm s-sorry sir," Calum rasped. When was the last time he had something to drink? There was a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He could still taste the contents of his stomach.

Patron Tarif didn't blink. He didn't move at all. Calum didn't believe in magic, at least none that he'd seen, but the man before him was the best example of bewitched he'd ever witnessed. His limbs screamed for him to run, to hide. All of a sudden Calum was not a person, he was sorry, most importantly he was scared.

     "I'm not going to take any more days off," Calum's hand reached for his lower back, finding a half-healed scrape and began to pick at it. "I'll return to training tomorrow. No, tonight. I won't get dinner; I'm going to learn my lesson. I'll go out and kill the deadwing myself. I'll do the laundry again, for a week. I won't fail you again."

He felt dizzy, something about Holly floated past him, he couldn't remember. Tarif tuned away from his, and walked away. Calum's breath caught in his throat, it was the man hadn't seen it, like he was a ghost. Patron Tarif stopped in the doorway, hand stroking the doorframe.

Without turning around, he spoke. "You have failed me. Never in my entire career, have I trained a more shameful, sloppy, arrogant boy. Forty-three! Forty-three deadwings to my name. I've never lost one. Never dishonored my country, never taken the King's gifts for granted." His hand gestured to the entire barracks in one broad sweep.

He turned to face Calum, horrifyingly calm. "You will sleep here tonight; you will eat dinner's scraps after the dogs. I want you to understand what you are, a worm taking a man's share. Tomorrow, we'll clean up your mess, it will never happen again."

The sound the of heavy door closing made Calum flinch. He laid back down, covered himself from the cold as best as he could, and waited for the feeling of tears to go away.