FSE

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The shrill whistle ran through the mines, making every individual with keen ears wince. Luckily for Myra and Aryn, they did not boast such a keen set of ears. On the flipside though, Aida did. The wolfess nearly dropped her pick, reflexively reaching up to cover her ears. Fortunately, she didn't. That would've been an extra beating.

The blower of the whistle wasn't one of their usual keepers. The new guy had only one eye, which glared with yellow malice, matching the reddish-brown tint of his scales. His hide was criss-crossed with scars, which were visible on his shirtless torso.

Usually the overseers didn't go shirtless. This guy must've been something new.

"Attention slaves!" he rumbled. "A new vein of ore has been discovered and I'm here to designate workers to it. Any volunteers?"

His yellow eye roamed over all the slaves, most of whom were too frozen to move. Myra had researched that some of her kind had a hypnotic ability to freeze people with their eyes. Perhaps this monster was one of them.

"No? Very well..."

He shifted slightly, glaring in Myra and Aida's direction.

"The lordlings. Come along lordlings. And the wolf pack."

Getting a new tunnel started was the most dangerous and grueling task given to the slaves. Nobody ever volunteered for them, since people oftentimes didn't return from the task. Rockfalls, cave ins, and unexpected voids led to a few fatalities.

However, opposite to usual, Myra had had to resist volunteering. This tunnel, strategically laid by one of Aida's wolves, was their ticket out of here. A ticket that Myra fully intended on using. She wouldn't die in this hell.

And if she did, it'd be driving a sword through Drysenn's heart.

She looked over at Aryn, who gave her a wearied look in response. He was beat, despondent, ready to give up. He was certain that there was no escape. That there was no rescue. He'd always been the pragmatist out of the two of them. Doubting and analyzing.

And if Myra thought truthfully about it, she was willing to admit that he just might be right. There was little chance that this escape was going to bear fruit. There were ten million things that had to go right, and only one that had to go wrong. Really, it wasn't logically sound.

But Myra had hope. According to the slaves, on nights when they didn't even have a loaf of bread to share between them, or they were beaten to the point where they could not stand, or they were humiliated before all the slaves, that was the one thing they'd always had. Hope was a driving force for them. Hope was what broke them free of their bonds. Hope is what gave them eyes for the future. For the freedom they so well deserved.

And hope would be what Myra held on to. When the others gave it up, she would keep it close.

The two reptilian siblings hoisted their pickaxes over their shoulders and climbed back up the cave with Aida's wolves, ready to start digging a new tunnel. Their tunnel to freedom.

That night, the entire cabin was quiet. Hushed conversations, when they took place, were limited to just a few words from either of the concerned parties. Aida and her Wolf Pack were usually the most vocal ones in the cabin, and they were dead tired from the extra work of starting a new tunnel. Most were asleep or sitting quietly.

Even Aida seemed down, and Myra had never even seen her yawn before. She was one of the toughest in the entire slave group.

Though incredibly stiff and sore, Myra forced herself to her feet and headed over to Aida and slumped down beside her.

"The wheels are in motion," Aida grunted. "Really think this'll work?"

Myra paused in thought.

"If...if we keep up the ruse, we should be home free. The only problem is keeping it out of the eyes of the overseers."

"Puh," Aida scoffed. "Falskin are as dum..."

She paused and looked over at Myra guiltily.

"Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Myra cut her off. Though slightly hurt by the racial slur, the last thing they needed were divisions and grudges at a time as crucial as this. Nothing else mattered to Myra now, besides escaping here alive, with her friends and brother.

Aida simply looked at Myra, before huffing and resting her head on her knees. She appeared beat.

"There is so much potential for our death. At this point, it seems that it would be easier to just run for the wall and see how far we get. And my pack..."

She looks over the other wolves.

"We'll be hard to hide. There are eleven of us. That's a large number to try and hide all the way to Arlea. How are we going to accomplish that?"

The wolves turned to look at Myra, at least, those that were awake. The Falskin hesitated, not sure what to tell them. They looked to her for answers, and she had none. What could she tell them?

"I...I don't know," Myra finally sighed. "But I do know this: more impossible things have happened. This is a tipping point for the future. If we don't seize this opportunity by the throat, we're just going to be stuck. We've got our tunnel started. Now is not the time to give up. We've got...a fighting chance here at least. We'll worry about other details as they hit us. Then everything else."

The wolves looked at her, and Myra caught a few tails as they half-wagged.

"You're good with words, you know that?" a wolf complimented, smiling slightly.

"I didn't, no," Myra said. Though, it was technically a lie. As a daughter to a Falskin Warlord's steward, she has access to the best tutors and the greatest of instructors. One of the courses she and her brother had been drilled on was public speaking.

"Take it as you will then. I agree. We must keep hope. I'm not ready to die in this hole."

Aryn sat nearby, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the ground. He appeared deep in thought, before straightening his back and looking at the others.

"You know, I'd been doubtful of our chances. But now...now I'm willing to take the risk. I don't care if it kills me, I want out of here."

"That's the spirit!" Aida said happily, patting Aryn on the back. "Keep working like that, and we'll be out of here in no time."

She yawned at the end of that statement, then shrugged sheepishly.

"But for now, it is late. We must get some rest."

"Right," Myra agreed, yawning as well. "Rest. We want to have energy for the morning."

The slaves were on route for the mines when they were halted by their new, one-eyed driver. He kept them in a line and looked at each one individually.

"Lordlings," he bellowed, gesturing to Aryn and Myra. "Come with me. The Master wants to see you."

Not daring to question the Driver's orders, Myra and Aryn stepped out of line to move over close to him. Aida shifted like she wanted to follow, but one threatening raise of the Driver's weapon stilled her ambition.

When he was satisfied, the Driver let the slaves proceed into the mines, where the other drivers would take over. Meanwhile, he took the two of them up towards the mansion on the hilltop. The one place they were never supposed to go.

Myra felt like squirming out of her skin, but she didn't dare flinch, lest she catch the Driver's eye. They passed the forge, where Grey was leaning outside the door. He sneered at her, and Myra scowled back. Luckily, the Driver didn't seem to care.

He led them straight up to the front door, pushing it open with a shoulder and pushing them inside, slamming it shut behind them.

The ugly yellow-tinged Falskin from their first day sat behind the desk, and he looked up at them as they entered.

"Ah, if it isn't the ex-nobles. Welcome to my humble abode. I see you're fitting in well."

He sneered, looking at their haggard appearance.

"I will not deter you here long. Someone wishes to speak with you."

Myra and Aryn both felt chills run up their spine at those words. According to their Driver from earlier, the Master himself wished to speak with them. And the Master signaling out certain slaves...that never boded well for anyone.

The door behind the yellowish Falskin opened, revealing a tall and familiar form.

"Hello children."

"Father," Myra scowled.

"Leave us," Sanvar said, turning to the yellow Falskin. "I wish to speak to them in private."

The yellow Falskin got up and left without another word, heading through a different door in the back. Sanvar sat down and looked at the two reptilians.

"Children, I must say it is good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same to you," Myra scowled. "What do you want?"

"Why, merely to see my children of course. Isn't a father allowed to do even that?"

"Well, most fathers don't sell their children into slavery for upsetting their 'honour'. Or, at least, what you pass for it."

"You'd be surprised," Sanvar countered. "Many parents have sold their children into slavery. It's a good way of absolving a slight against you, and making some money on the side. What do you think happened to Lita?"

Myra felt a chill run up her spine. Lita was an old friend of Myra's, back when they were kids. Though rebellious, Lita was a lot of fun, and would often sneak off with Myra to go play by the river, or visit town. Then, one day, Lita just disappeared. She was gone for months, before she returned.

Only, the Lita that returned was much different than the Lita that had left. This new Lita was quiet and sullen, seeming withdrawn. She was changed.

"You mean..."

"Yes," Sanvar confirmed. "Her father sold her into slavery for a few months, to teach her a lesson in behaviour. And you know what? It worked! Lita was smart enough to learn from her punishment."

Myra and Aryn both glared at their father, who cleared his throat.

"I'm taking you two back home. You've spent enough time here, I say. Forget the animals and rejoin your father!"

Myra hadn't expected an offer like this and, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she was tempted. To simply be gone from the mine? From hard labour, abuse, beatings, and starvation? Why not?

But she had friends here. She had friends on the outside. She couldn't just...turn her back! Turn traitor on the first people besides her brother who actually meant something to her.

"You can take your offer and use it to shine Drysenn's boots," Aryn snarled, speaking before Myra had her chance to reject his offer. "I hope one day that Justice comes to you and you get what you deserve."

"What he says," Myra growled, her fists clenched. "You may be our father, but you'll never be our dad. You're a monster!"

"Incredible," Sanvar said, a hurt look coming to his face. "You'd...you'd rather throw yourselves away...to join with animals...than join your own family!"

His brow creased in anger, and he stood up.

"You drag your own honour through the dirt and stand willing to dig all day, just for the sake of some damn beasts that don't even know true honour! Animals that want nothing more than to chew on your hide!"

"You're wrong!" Myra seethed, stepping forwards. "Those beasts, as you call them, are more person than you!"

"How dare you!?"

"No," Myra countered, jabbing a finger at Sanvar. "How dare you? We made our choice, and you could've merely disowned us as your children! Instead, you hunt us down, and try to kill our friends. You killed Kar'na! I hate you!"

Sanvar stood there in stony silence.

"Fine," he bit out after a while. "You love these animals so much? You'll be among them until you die. You'll remain here. I give you my hand, and you bite it like these furred freaks bite on the teats of their mother! You are no better than them! Henceforth, I disown you!"

Myra expected the words to ping off the iron fortitude of her will, but she still felt the sting. No matter how terrible he was, Sanvar was still their father. Their own flesh and blood.

Then the sting of Sanvar's rejection from house wore off, and Myra felt her cold blood heat to a boil.

"And I accept your rejection! It is better to die nameless than to bear the name Sanvar'a!"

Sanvar took a giant step forwards and backhanded Myra to the ground. She cried out in pain, hitting the ground hard. Sanvar looked down on her in disgust, his anger sitting plain on his face. Aryn's face registered total shock at what his father had just done.

"And you boy?" Sanvar said coldly, turning to look at Aryn. "Is this your path too?"

Aryn looked down at Myra, who was desperately trying to hold back tears, determined not to give her father the satisfaction.

Steeling his nerves, Aryn looked his father right in the eye and spat on his shoes. "To hell with you, father. May you meet your end at the hand of a Ch'kiliil's blade!"

Sanvar raised his hand to backhand the boy, but stilled at the fierceness of Aryn's gaze. Before, back when Aryn was still in his household, he'd been a quim with no spine. A disgrace to a warrior house.

But the fire in his eyes now, the anger with which he stared at his father, struck a nerve with Sanvar. Aryn wasn't afraid. He was angry. Angrier than Sanvar himself was.

Drysenn's steward let his hand fall to his side.

"Then suffer and die in here, boy. You are not my son. I disown you."

With that, he stepped over Myra and headed out the door. There, the slave driver waited and, at their father's command, stepped back into the room. He growled at Myra on the floor.

"Up," he said. "You are going back to work."

Myra forced herself to her feet, Aryn supporting her, and headed out the door. Back to the mines. Where they would probably die, all as a result of her father's narcissism and their determination to stand by their friends, no matter the trial.

They watched their father get into his carriage, not looking back, and briefly wondered if they'd made the right choice. Then they steeled their nerves.

They had.

Sanvar stepped into his carriage, shutting the door behind him. His driver sat up top and to the front, out of sight of the powerful Falskin within.

"Driver," Sanvar ordered. "Take me home."

"Yes sir. What of your children?"

"Drive, damn you!"

The carriage began moving, and Sanvar looked out the window to see his children, the last two things he had left for him in the world, being led down the hill by the massive brute of a slave driver. Returning to the mines. In here, they would die. In here, their bodies would be buried.

In here, they would be forgotten.

But not to Sanvar. Though they may have disgraced him and brought shame to the family name, they were still his children. They would always be his children. True blood came before house and society.

But between blood and status, only status was worth preserving. With great strength came great power. And with great power, the world could be bent to your mold.

Drysenn knew power, wielding more in his finger than a volcano in a village. There was no better person to serve. Service to Drysenn superseded the desires of family.

But...

Sanvar looked back again at the mines, watching as the massive driver clubbed his daughter over the head with the butt of his whip. At any other time, he'd have ordered that thug's execution. But now...they were no longer his children.

Sanvar thought he'd feel better, with the expulsion of his children. Instead, all he felt was empty. As if he'd just lost the last remaining vestige of his wife. And once again, it was his fault.

A hiccupping cough caught in Sanvar's throat as the gates to the compound shut behind his carriage, blocking his view of his kids. Was this all really worth it? In service to Drysenn, one must be willing to make sacrifices. But the sacrifice of his own kids?

Sanvar straightened his shoulders, pushing the thought to the back of his mind. What's done was done. His children were his children no more. He would not take them back. To do so would jeopardize his own position, and they'd made it plenty clear that they hated him. Him! Their own father!

He huffed out a breath of air in a laugh. Why had he cared about them? They didn't care about him, and had been willing to flee to a land of _beasts_to get away from him.

Sanvar frowned. Was it _his_fault then? That his own children had despised him enough that they'd been willing to forsake the company of their own species for animals?

That shook Sanvar slightly, and he sat back. This was something he'd have to consider. Consider it most urgently.

Speech was forbidden in the mines, so it wasn't until they'd retired to their cabins for the night that Aida got to ask them what the conversation was about. She grew worried as Myra and Aryn hesitated to speak.

"Are you..."

"It's fine, Aida," Myra said, cutting the wolfess off. "We're alright, I guess. It was our father. He wanted to speak to us."

"Your father?" Aida echoed. "But...why?"

If she were being honest with herself, Aida had no idea how a father were to act. Her own father had died when she was an infant, leaving her to grow up with just her mother. And then slaves. She had no idea how a true parent should act.

"He...he'd come to take us home. He was going to free us from slavery and take us home again."

Aida's jaw dropped. An offer of that...straight, unadulterated freedom...an offer like that was to die for.

"And did you accept it?" another wolf asked. "Are you going home?"

"No," Aryn said, shaking his head firmly. "We did not accept it. We told him he could stuff himself with his offer."

"But why?" Aida asked incredulously. "You...you had a chance to get out of here! Rejoin your people! Get your old life back!"

"And that's the last thing we want," Myra said, leaning against the wall. "Our father is a monster, our people cruel. Our old life was a delusion, an idiotic dream. There was nothing good in our old life, but we managed to trick ourselves that it was worth living. Here, in the mines, is a preferable life to the one we left behind."

"But weren't you rich?" a third wolf asked. "Weren't your needs met?"

"But we didn't have friends or family. It was always just Aryn and I. Our father hated us, our servants were quiet, and we had no friends. Here, among the lot of you, we feel more at home than we ever did among our own people."

"And the people we left in Arlea," Aryn continued. "Are more family than our own blood. We would stick with your kind through thick and thin, frost and fire. We owe your people. Besides, we really couldn't just leave our friends behind here to die."

"You...consider us friends?" the same wolf asked.

"We do."

Smiles blossomed around the group, Myra and Aryn's words warming their hearts. When they thought about it, they realized that the two Falskin siblings were indeed friends. Something that, before Myra and Aryn, they'd not thought possible. To be a friend with a Falskin.

"You're not too bad yourselves," Aida smiled. "And, on another note, it should only be a week of digging more and we'll hit the surface. The drivers have gotten complacent, though that new guy has me nervous. He's a tough brute."

"He looks like a vicious fiend," Myra agreed, thinking back to the monster. "Do we even have a name?"

"Not yet. So far, he's just "the brute". I think we'll stick with that."

"Agreed," Myra concurs. "The Brute is on to us somewhat. I think he's suspicious of the new tunnel."

"We'll be fine so long as he stays out of the way. Maybe an 'accident' could get him out of the way."

"Yes..." Myra agreed slowly. "That just might do the trick. But what can we do?"

Aida smiled, her tail slowly starting to wag.

"I may have just the idea..."