Post by The Jenn on Aug 17, 2008 21:54:50 GMT -5
He rode in a wooden slatted crate on top of the moving coach, shivering. It wasn't the cold that was getting to him, no. The weather was actually mild and pleasant, a slight breeze wafting the scent of spring blooms through the slats and stirring the air around his cage. It ruffled the papery-thin faerie wings on his back and he whimpered, tucking into a tighter ball. Long puppy limbs fit as best they could, the legs of a seven-year-old whippet beginning to outgrow his body.
The woman riding below him in the carriage proper had called him 'pretty' and agreed that he was perfectly salable. The words had scared him at the time and served to properly terrify him now. Where exactly were they going? Who was he going to be sold to? No one had answered his questions. He'd gotten a smack for speaking and another for impudence. His cheeks still smarted. Winston had never been hit before.
No, that wasn't his name anymore. 'Winnie', his father had called him. She said it was a pet name and suitably androgynous. When she spoke of his gender, it sounded like acid on her tongue. He had never been more frightened of anyone in his life than he was of his father after meeting her for the first time. She'd been away all of his childhood, working in one of the Courts, and had surprised his mother with an unexpected visit home. Normally Mother had always been the one to go and visit. She hadn't had time to hide him, her little secret, not someplace he wouldn't be found. His sister had gone running out to greet her and he, not wanting to miss out on the fun, had chased her.
"My little secret," his mother had always said to him with fondness, a sad little smile on her muzzle. And "your bloody secret," his father had growled, staring down at a son who was the spitting image of her, a slender Yarrow whippet, looking up at her with the fearful eyes of a child who didn't understand. She had taken great pains to explain it, though, while his mother cried in the corner and tried not to watch as her mate tore down every shred of self-esteem she'd ever given her son. Male. Ace. An abomination on the region. If he'd been born in the Gardens, his father said, she would have just thrown him outside and watched how long it took for others in the town to tear him to shreds. As it was, they lived in the Selkie Lakes, his mother's home region.
They had been afraid that first night, worried that his father would take him outside and drown him in one of the lakes. But no, she'd had a far worse fate in store. Later that morning, she contacted someone she could trust with the information and plans had been set in motion for his eventual sale as a high-class pet. It didn't matter if he thought of himself as a person, an individual. His father had found a way to melt the fight right out of him.
If he didn't cooperate... his mother would die. Any love that had existed between his parents, any bonds of trust, were shattered as soon as his father came home that day and found the second child, the one her mate had conveniently failed to mention in letter or conversation. His father had made no bones about staking her life on his cooperation. She would die, and then he would die, and that would be the end of it.
He'd numbly listened to everything she said after that, shell-shocked and trying to absorb information at the same time. No more speaking. No more thinking, if he could help it, never mind that he was an intelligent boy with a hunger for learning. He was nothing more than some rich person's plaything, a fact that she'd reassured him his seller would take pains to hammer home.
When the woman had taken him from his home, the last thing he saw had been his mother sobbing in the front window, his father watching him go with raised hackles and a venomous expression, and his sister sitting next to her looking confused. The image would haunt his dreams for years to come.
The woman riding below him in the carriage proper had called him 'pretty' and agreed that he was perfectly salable. The words had scared him at the time and served to properly terrify him now. Where exactly were they going? Who was he going to be sold to? No one had answered his questions. He'd gotten a smack for speaking and another for impudence. His cheeks still smarted. Winston had never been hit before.
No, that wasn't his name anymore. 'Winnie', his father had called him. She said it was a pet name and suitably androgynous. When she spoke of his gender, it sounded like acid on her tongue. He had never been more frightened of anyone in his life than he was of his father after meeting her for the first time. She'd been away all of his childhood, working in one of the Courts, and had surprised his mother with an unexpected visit home. Normally Mother had always been the one to go and visit. She hadn't had time to hide him, her little secret, not someplace he wouldn't be found. His sister had gone running out to greet her and he, not wanting to miss out on the fun, had chased her.
"My little secret," his mother had always said to him with fondness, a sad little smile on her muzzle. And "your bloody secret," his father had growled, staring down at a son who was the spitting image of her, a slender Yarrow whippet, looking up at her with the fearful eyes of a child who didn't understand. She had taken great pains to explain it, though, while his mother cried in the corner and tried not to watch as her mate tore down every shred of self-esteem she'd ever given her son. Male. Ace. An abomination on the region. If he'd been born in the Gardens, his father said, she would have just thrown him outside and watched how long it took for others in the town to tear him to shreds. As it was, they lived in the Selkie Lakes, his mother's home region.
They had been afraid that first night, worried that his father would take him outside and drown him in one of the lakes. But no, she'd had a far worse fate in store. Later that morning, she contacted someone she could trust with the information and plans had been set in motion for his eventual sale as a high-class pet. It didn't matter if he thought of himself as a person, an individual. His father had found a way to melt the fight right out of him.
If he didn't cooperate... his mother would die. Any love that had existed between his parents, any bonds of trust, were shattered as soon as his father came home that day and found the second child, the one her mate had conveniently failed to mention in letter or conversation. His father had made no bones about staking her life on his cooperation. She would die, and then he would die, and that would be the end of it.
He'd numbly listened to everything she said after that, shell-shocked and trying to absorb information at the same time. No more speaking. No more thinking, if he could help it, never mind that he was an intelligent boy with a hunger for learning. He was nothing more than some rich person's plaything, a fact that she'd reassured him his seller would take pains to hammer home.
When the woman had taken him from his home, the last thing he saw had been his mother sobbing in the front window, his father watching him go with raised hackles and a venomous expression, and his sister sitting next to her looking confused. The image would haunt his dreams for years to come.
