FSE

Furry search engine

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The beast had time. A whole day, to process what happened. What it felt. It feared going hungry again. The voice inside its head assured they could go quite long without food, so it must have been starved long before... that day. It still hated the sticks, loved the food, the sweet things. It didn't see like before, as if the mental process to 'see' things has started to deteriorate. Faces started making no sense, what were once cohesive living beings were now blobs. No, it tasted the air and could work out where things were based on that, and the motion that it could see. Heat was also a factor in sensing, but it wasn't like seeing or tasting. It was more like feeling but at a distance, and without actually feeling. But if it really, truly, tried to focus, things would take shape and once again look like what they were meant to. However long that could last...

And this was Vincent. Not to the humans, to the humans he was Spades. It was getting harder to ignore that, as well as the increasing recognition that he thought of them as "the humans". That was... No longer a word to describe him. Even though, not even a week ago, he'd been speaking and walking like one, eating like one, being one. But that was torn from him.

A beast in a man's body. Was Chief right? Was that right? Could he prove the man wrong? He thought back to the last three days, while the sun started to rise and shine through the slats in the pen. And it scared him. Everything about those days screamed he had no excuse. How swiftly he took to being taught how to walk like a beast, eat like a beast, drink like a beast, how swiftly hunger absolutely rattled him to his core. How swiftly he broke, like a beast. His jaw trembled. He felt a whine build and squeak through his throat.

He had no excuse. Chief... Chief was right. No! He can't... He can't let him win. That's not fair. He ordered his men to attack, to kill and turn Vince's people into food. He can't win this too.

Activity started up on the fifth day as a beast. How swiftly yesterday came and went, without anything to do but lay down and watch the other drakes come and go. Waiting for commands, like a beast. He barely even had time or drive to make a fuss in the pen.

Still, this meant he no longer had room to think. He watched the handlers hurry around, prepping the other drakes- stop thinking of them as 'other'- for their daily activities. And still, he was alone.

She was alone. That was, until her gate rattled, and she stood, backing into the corner as a man dared enter her pen without a pole around her neck.

Michael.

She could tell by scent who he was, and the mind that forced focus on his face confirmed it. Instantly her back shuddered, and head lowered as the man that broke her came face to face. She felt small, insignificant, after deliberating on him. The day before he did that, he was so nice... then he... he... It didn't make sense.

She shrunk away from his touch, but he was persistent, pressing a palm under her chin. Somehow he knew she wouldn't bite, or fight. And that crushed her further. Why wasn't she fighting back?

The answer came not long after. When a large slab of meat was offered, and her lips wet. She wasn't allowed another meal yesterday. It clicked. She knew he was a good source of food. As long as he liked her, she'd get big treats. Was that... Was that part of this?

He threw it up, and she snapped at it- But it landed on her snout instead. "We'll work on that." He hummed in amusement. Her ears flicked in embarrassment. Why did she care? Her tongue came out and brought the treat into her muzzle- Pure bliss. But she quickly tucked her head back down as the gentle hand continued to pet and rub her muzzle. He wasn't saying anything.

Her heart was pumping quickly, still fresh from the break. What was his deal? Was he the quiet type too? She was completely forgetting how to read people, a skill that is immensely helped by being able to see faces consistently. Her tongue flicked briefly to taste his scent again. He had drakes all over him. Most of them male. "Do you want to go for a walk?" He hummed, and her eyes flicked up to catch what she remembered was a smile on his lips.

Walk? "Yeah, attagirl. Come on, up up." He commanded with a gentle pat to her shoulder.

She shuddered as the command pressed on her. Her legs stiffly and slowly plucked her up off the nest. She kept low, though, head down and tail tucked. She wasn't doing it voluntarily, she was just afraid of rousing anyone's ire. Especially Michael's. Why did she care?

Michael had briefly turned his back to grab something off a strut. It was a bridle, a proper one that fit around the whole head instead of that magical loop of leather that kept her muzzle shut and her head tied to whoever was holding it.

He came up to her and she reeled a little, not sure what any of this meant. Did he actually trust her? Why? She was violent and messy, a beast, she'd killed almost a hundred men before even being given this body and he was just casually holding up a whole loop of leather up to a beast eight times his size, that he knows can go absolutely ballistic at a moment's notice-

Her tongue flicked again. She sensed it now, another layer to this whole ordeal of tasting things to understand them. What was it? What was the word? Right there... "Come on girl. Give me your head."

She'd pinch her brow and rub her chin if she could, but all that amounted to was a paw over her muzzle. "Don't you act that way, missy. This is just going to be a relaxed walk around the farm. If you don't give me your head now, there won't be any treats coming from m-"

The paw slapped back in the nest. No food definitely scared her. Her head tentatively came down, and he fit the bit in before wrapping and tightening the straps. She could watch him, grinning and nodding as the distance closed. "Good girl." Treat?

No, no treat. Once he was done, she lifted her head and shook, trying to fight off the thoughts. If she just kept being good, he'll have to give her something eventually. Right? That's how this worked right? No, don't expect a damn thing. They also starved her for three days, and who knows how long before that.

But that was the problem... She wasn't confident in that answer, because they also fed her when she listened.

Confident. Her eyes flicked up to the human who was now throwing a wool blanket over her back. Her tongue flicked again, and she tasted that emotion dripping off him.

Confidence. There was a little bit of fear there, sure, something easy to figure out. But the overwhelming taste was absolute surety he'd dominated this beast before him. She had no idea how this connection was formed, logically. But the mind of a beast was driven on simple signs. Nobody could poker-face a drake. Not that it mattered, since they couldn't play poker.

And who was she to argue that? Her gaze dropped down to the nest, to the dark brown paws that flexed and curled at her command. Her only bit of freedom left, the little movements. Otherwise, she'd not tried to snap, or hurt, or maim. Her jaw trembled while the tongue tasted at the bit.

The saddle was pulled tight, and she felt him step on and swing into place. He kicked gently, and without hesitation, she stood up straight, then trotted out of the pen, awaiting the next order. With absolute dismay.

Turn left. Trot out. Slow down. Listen to them talk. Her head was pushed forward when she tried to look, and not long after, her head was pulled down gently for blinders to be affixed to the bridle. She didn't complain. Nor did she hear them talk about doing that.

Trot a little further. A familiar voice hit her flicking ears.

"Well well, already on the job?" Chief chuckled.

"Nah, we're just having a little stress-free ride 'round the farm. We'll be in earshot. Be back after lunch. You got a cigar?"

"Fifty cents."

Coin flipped, "Thankye, boss."

Kicked, trot forward. Turn right. Nothing to see but forward. "Easy does it, girl. Not a thing to worry about." He hummed. She heard a match strike, and the smell of tobacco filled the air.

|=====|

It was quite well past lunch when Michael had stopped at a stream, and allowed his mount to dip in for a refreshing drink. He did the same, though for a much shorter time before he stood straight and stretched. Then came something unexpected.

"Chief told me everything you said." Spades stopped, nose still in the stream, as her eyes narrowed and locked on to the human.

It wasn't Spades. Vincent was listening. "Your town, I looked it up. One of the first we took after we'd been given our boons." Michael continued, slipping a piece of jerky out of his pack and chewing on it between puffs of his cigar. "That was years back. Judging by your profile, you were fourteen at the time." He wasn't even looking at the broken drake, though it was picking its face out of the water by then. "The drakes were much more violent then. A horror show. We knew it didn't look good, but at the height of our rebellion, we took what we could get."

Vincent squinted at the man. "Sorry."

The drake huffed and turned away, stepping over rocks and into the water. It felt good, over the sore paws. But it didn't stop, crossing the stream and continuing.

Why was she doing this? Why was he doing this? What was Michael saying? More words came, and for a moment sh- he didn't want to listen.

"Your friends were honored not long after. The guilt in our men was strong. They weren't monsters, they knew what hell they'd brought upon your people. We made a tablet with their names. Put it up in the town. But you didn't see that, did you?"

That stopped the drake. He turned back on two paws, staring absolute daggers into the man across the stream. "It was all we could do. I can't say it helped morale, but it did light the fire under our asses to set things right." He mouthed the last of the jerky and stood, cigar in one hand, the other at his side. "That day is seared into my mind, Vince. As much as it is in yours. We started training them to eat outside of battle, to maim and weaken, but not to kill. We made good progress."

That phrase brought a snarl out of the beast. Good progress.

"I. Made good progress." What? "While Chief put down the iron fist, I put the right pieces in the right place. My name is Doctor Michael Coheed."

The name festered. Images of a man, flipping through. First in the violent anger, then calm, collected calculation. He was always around the town. Always there after the day of blood and bone. He was their veterinarian.

"And I will make things right."

The beast launched at him, and in seconds that felt like a whole minute, the cigar went into his mouth, then a knife was produced.

From there it was a flurry. Michael was slippery, consistent. Vincent still could not get a proper hit on anyone. For a moment, it felt as if he were getting sloppy. But in a burst of rage, he knew it wasn't his fault. This body was still too unfamiliar, and it didn't help that this damn saddle and bridle slowed him down. At one point he had it hooked around his arm, but he snapped it free and continued his assault.

But no matter how hard he tried, Michael answered. First by deflecting, then by grabbing a missed paw and throwing the beast away, then by threats of the knife- pressing on various parts of the beast's body flat, then edge- and when the beast made its final mistake, with the point right up against the crease between its neck and chin. "You weren't the first to try. I don't need no damn magic to know when you'll strike, and I certainly don't need it to show you your place." The beast struggled for a moment before the knife dug in.

Vincent squealed as he returned to being Spades, and listened, still and quiet. "Good. I know this is all a little much to process right now, but I have more." The vet took a deep breath. He didn't even lose his cigar. That scared Spades. "You are not special. You are not a force of nature, contrary to the Chief's opinion of you, so I won't call you a beast. You were scared, confused, alone in your thoughts, and you took it out on us. That is fair. I will miss my friends and my comrades. You did what you had to, for your own peace. But now it is time to put it away. There's no going back, there's nothing you can do to avenge your friends. There's no going home, reporting to your superiors that you'd wiped us out. Nothing but us and this farm. We had to do what we did or else you would have taken everything from us." Spades' eyes flicked around, clearly shaken by this. Then their breathing settled, rider and mount. The knife slowly pulled away.

Spades couldn't say it. But she knew he was right. A paw pushed him away as she rolled onto her belly and huffed. "Putting you in this body was an act of mercy." Michael added, and Spades' head dropped. She listened to him wipe the knife on his coat, and sheath it. "Granted, based on Chief's twisted sense of fate and penchant for apropos endings. But it's given you a chance to understand us without you screamin' in our ears."

He'd approached the drake and was in the process of repairing the reins. He pressed her head into his chest, fiddling with the metal hooks and bending them into shape. "Right?"

She twitched her head down in acknowledgement. "Right." He held the beast's head tight, petting her ear and neck. S-... Soothing. "Right. I know." It was starting to collapse. The rage, the anger, the... Desire to kill, and maim. "I know, I know."

She wailed, a long and drawn out coo that echoed and reverberated against the hills. It picked up, quieted down, then picked up again, as he held her and pet her. "Let it go."

It took quite a long time for the wailing to stop, and by that time the sun was beginning to set. Once it was quiet, Michael let her head go with one more pet and rub on her chin. "C'mon. Let's get you a meal."

The promise of food was strong, but Spades was still weak after all of that. So even after Michael mounted up, it took her a few more moments to get up and start moving. "I am sorry. I always will be. I'll take you home sometime, to see the plaque." He then chuckled and rubbed his moustache. "'Sides, I'm pretty sure you already flayed most of the people in that raid."

That got her up to a trot.

|=====|

On their way back they quickly met a patrol that was late to investigate the source of the wailing. Of course Michael was quick to explain, but Spades wasn't listening to them. She was distinctly aware of the pair of drakes she was lined up with, even if she couldn't see them, and her head was always pulled forward when she tried to look- He could at least stop that if he's so understanding...

But she heard the snuffling, and the hot breath wafting her way. For the first time since her swap, she felt them. Tasted them, and understood them without so many scents overwhelming her senses. But she still had to figure out their emotions. They were different to the porus and obvious scents of fear and confidence in her rider. They were more... robust? Before she could start deciphering, the chat ended and the patrol continued onward.

And she was led back to the farm, on tired feet and a broken heart. Chief was informed of the incident, of course omitting Michael's deliberate role in instigating it since Spades couldn't argue one bit. Despite Chief's obvious desire to punish the drake, Michael still had the messmen prepare a sow. It seemed Michael was more of the expert on drakes. Spades snorted as Michael led her back into the barn. Shows him...

Chief's forwardness and obvious desire to break the beasts was immediately threatening, especially with that large ego bolstered by the magical loop of leather that instantly had any beast at his beck and call. But Michael's cool and firm soothing was infinitely more terrifying. And comforting.

Was she starting to like Michael? What kinda question was that? Of course she... Liked food. From him. Why did she care?

He did all of the dressdown himself. Shooing the handler with the pole.

"What's got you so interested in this one?" The handler asked as he leaned over the railing. He must have missed the last five days.

"None'a yer damn business, son." Michael barked back. That definitely had Spades reeling a little. That's the first time she heard him raise his voice, even after their brawl. "Get the fuck back to work, or do you wanna shovel shit?" That got the young one out, and Michael chuffed.

A trough was quickly filled with water, while the sow was waited on. In the meantime, Michael removed the bridle and hung it up. Then brought in a steaming bucket, and from that a soapy sponge.

Spades could only catch some of the motion, of course the sounds, and really didn't know how to feel about what was happening next. The warm water splashed on her tense back, and Michael got to work scrubbing her down. "Don't get used to this." He grumbled, "it's just a courtesy. For diggin' up the past like that."

She nodded, deciding rather to dip her muzzle into the water to drink instead of standing there like a dope. With the way she's been drinking though, she couldn't breathe through her nose. The need for water was burning into her throat, so she needed to prolong drinking. For a moment she deliberated as she hovered over the water, then started to lap at it. The first few tries weren't too successful. But the faster she went, the more she caught, the more that landed in her muzzle. A small part of her felt satisfaction for getting it right... The rest felt like not caring about it. Or just to forget about it.

Meanwhile, Michael had gone down her entire right side, and was moving to the other. He was quick. Maybe not too thorough, probably just wanted to work the warm water in before it cooled. When he knew she was done with the water, he clicked his tongue to bring her head closer. He scrubbed along her neck and cheeks then, scritching her chin softly. "You've been doing very good for someone who's rather defiant." Michael hummed, "I don't believe that beast bullshit one moment. Something else is goin' on huh?"

Spades' head tilted a little, but that was corrected when the sponge went to the other side. "No, that's right." He dropped the sponge into the pail, his eyes focused on one of hers. She could see his face rather clearly for the low light and her lack of facial recognition. His moustache was pressed in with focus, a brown line of hair fell over one of his eyes while he rubbed along her head. "Do you trust me?"

Spades hesitated. Clearly, he trusted her. Why couldn't she trust him?

Why did she care?

She made an effort to nod very slowly. He nodded back, and let go of her head. She could hear the sow being brought in. It was squealing... Still alive. Something about that thrilled her. Prey. "Stick with me, now." Michael muttered, pulling her back and spooking her with her own thoughts.

He'd moved the steps to her behind. His hand was pressed up on her tail. "Lift it." He commanded. This was taking a turn that Spades did not like... That was not a place she wanted to touch, but she couldn't remember why. She rumbled softly, and he repeated the command; "Lift your tail."

The firmness reminded her where she stood. It twitched, and he slid it up the rest of the way without resistance. She stamped the ground, though, when that hand also came down and pressed right between her haunches, where the soft crease protruded. Her head twisted back, trying to get a read on him, but he was already behind her rump.

She felt his fingers pinch in. A squeal and squeeze of her tail against his other hand was his response. He spread her. He SPREAD her, open and impossibly distressing. Thoughts began to fire off that were not regular. Why? What? No? Yes? Please? She squirmed and a quick warble left her muzzle while the hand pressed a little further in.

Then it was gone. Please? Please? Please? Repeated in her head, the only word that made sense to the lizard brain that was part of this body.

"Chief!!" Michael barked. "Chief!"

Spades' front legs shuddered and pawed at the dirt, still trying to make sense of this. What did all of this mean? The beast panted, then slammed her tail down as Michael stepped just outside the gate. He stopped calling the boss's name. Footsteps were approaching.

"Problem with the girl?" The familiar voice rumbled.

"Chief, what the fuck," Michael took in a deep breath, "do you think you're doing."

"Leading. Why? What's wrong?"

"That hen was just about to go into estrus. And you put a soul in her."

Chief's quick and rather pleased chuckle hit Spades' ear hard. "Hoh shiet- what? Damn. God must have something against 'im. Her."

Michael's frustrated growl quickly produced another response, "I had no idea. Michael, listen, we haven't had a new one to break in a while. I thought a quick one might do our boys well. You saw them all light up when you finally took the ride. But I wasn't aimin' for that kinda quick, honest."

Michael's palms pressed on his face hard. "That kinda stress on our hens is not good for any sort of results. You understand this, we went through this. Back in oh-four. Not to mention the morality of putin' a young man through this kinda hell early."

"Michael, my friend, Spades was no man. That was a devil, that we had the pleasure of reining in." Chief chuckled, likely chugging on a cigar afterward.

"W- I don't care about what you think he was. We need a solution now, otherwise we're lookin' at a painful next few months."

Chief's response was slow to come, likely deliberating and realizing that the good Doc had enough experience to say this. "Well. I haven't had a good stew in a while."

Michael's arms crossed. Spades definitely looked up at that, but didn't move any closer to the open gate. That was a threat. "Had your fun already, did ya?"

The answer was quick this time, and Chief leaned against the pen. "No, no, you're right. How many losses do you think we're gonna get out of this?"

"I'mma be honest with ya, Chief. Considering you put a very dangerous person in her, we're lookin' at something worse than oh-four."

What the hell was the deal?

"Nawh it can't be that bad. You broke her, she'll listen to you. Right?" Chief was as lax as could be, but Michael wasn't having it. "We have not made any sort of headway in the sense of makin' these beasts docile during estrus. We are looking at a good half of our males getting turned into mince-meat 'cause of this oversight right now."

"So we gotta kill her and turn her into stew." Chief shrugged, "I'd've liked a full circle punishment, but if this is how it has to be-"

"Again, being honest with you... We don't have enough hens to do that."

"Why didn't ya say that sooner?"

"Seems like God's playin' a trick on you too, Chief. Yer gonna have to suck up this loss and hope the return is good."

The two men stood in silence. Spades was dumbfounded. How... terrible was this going to be?

"Right then. When the time comes, she goes in the pit and we hope for the best."

The humans parted ways, and Michael closed the gate behind him, reaching up to pat Spades' shoulder and pass her. He waved the handler up on the walkway, motioning for the food. "I am not going to leave anything to interpretation for you." Michael huffed. The pig squealed loud as its hind legs were tied up and lifted by a pulley system, dangling it above the pen.

Spades was entirely too engrossed in the man that just climbed up to the rails and sat. "The pit is where we put hens in estrus. We've tried calming them, keeping them in barns, but every hen I've watched turns the whole place upside down if she's not sated within a few hours of eating, sleeping, or fucking." He nodded as if to say he did not misspeak. "And even then... Apparently, regardless of how long that hen has been alive, estrus is so horribly torturous that it sets them into a violent state." He was rubbing his face, the handler had tied the rope up on the railings and was listening in. "You're going to go feral. And I have no doubt you will be worse than any other female we've handled"

Spades was appalled by this, keeping her eyes on the vet as he spoke. Then she shook her head, refusing to believe such a story. She'd heard nothing like it, and to think this is what they've been dealing with for years? How had he not heard about it beforehand?

"Don't believe me?" Michael sighed. The pig squealed and squirmed, swinging above them. Spades still did not pay attention to it. "Consider how quickly you broke. A record three days. Previous breaks? A little more than a week."

Spades' jaw dropped, and she huffed, walking under the pig as she kept her eyes on Michael. "That's due to the pre-estrus cycle. You have a period of time where you will be easy, quiet, submissive even- if you're not a free soul. And the quieter, the easier a hen is, the more violent she will be in the pit. Chief just unleashed hell on our boys."

She didn't notice it, but he'd begun stripping his shirt and vest. When he was finished, he threw it aside.

Scars all up and down his front, arms, and back. She couldn't quite see them at first, but the shapes were aligning in her mind and his body did not make any sense.

"Uh, Doc? You know, it's not really that necessary to talk to the beasts. They'll figure it out." The handler chuckled.

That's when Michael turned on him. Even from Spades' position, the tension was palpable. There was no way the handler could look at him and think "this guy doesn't know what he's doing". He was in the thick of it, after all. Evidence, all over his body. It was a miracle he was still alive, and still working with drakes.

He turned back to the hen in the pen, and leaned over the rail. "I'm telling you this, because I want you to remember who you are when it's all over. And maybe in the middle. I can't lose half my charges over you."

Spades finally locked on to the pig, the squealing and snorting continued as it swung softly. The reminder of food pressed on her, but the tone Michael had was enough to bring Vincent to the forefront. "There's no beast stronger than a female drake in heat.

"I'm begging you, Vince. Don't give up. For me, at least, if that means anything to you."

The rope was cut, the pig fell and cracked something, but it continued to squirm. Hesitation. Hunger. Spades' lips dripped, but his eyes held something more than beastial examination for once.

Fear. Trepidation. Confusion... Determination.

|=====|

The morning brought with it the now familiar cacophony of men and beasts preparing for the day. Like a hive, well-oiled, disciplined, always looking for more resources for those inside.

Spades was already awake this time, back to one side of the pen, as the other side held a stallion that had begun to annoy her. She heard him snuffling, pushing, rubbing against the pen wall. It was a good trial run for her new senses; what she was smelling was him recognizing her, and needing... And trying to get her to respond.

But Spades and Vincent were together in this moment. Neither wanted anything to do with him. One, the time wasn't right, and two she will break him if he gets near her. That's what Michael specifically said to avoid. And this trial was certainly easy. How hard could estrus be?

Then he was gone. Saddled up and out of the barn without a sound of defiance. That allowed Spades a breath, and some time to think. Because she could for once. Since Michael fought her and comforted her, it felt like this whole situation ended up better than she first expected.

To take it all into consideration, she did in fact think she was going to be thrown into one of those troughs and eaten alive. Or beaten to death first, then chopped up- eugh- and become nothing more than a faceless mess. This outcome was better in some twisted way. She lived, he lived, he could remember... Though that was coming into question now. How long until the height of estrus?

Probably better to leave that be for now. Her eyes trailed down to the remainder of the bones she left behind from the pig. There were some scraps of meat left, but that all was attracting flies. Pig bones were kinda nasty now that she thought about it. And spat one out after some working around her mouth. She'd slept immediately after eating, it was expected. Her thoughts inevitably wandered, just relishing in this revelation that she was still sapient- though very broken and scared... Scared, that was the word. Those drakes from yesterday were scared. They were smaller than the one in the pen next to her, and who knows if they still have free souls in them. Did they know about hens in estrus? Either way, it wasn't the same kind of 'fear' Michael sported at nearly all times. It was a little more complicated than that, like a... Drink mix of words and emotions that 'scared' could only describe. Not as final as 'fear'. Anticipation, negative anticipation. Anxiety, positive anxiety.

Her deliberations were cut shorter than expected as a new person entered the pen. It was just one of the other handlers. The pole went back around her neck, and the bridle went on. The... Actual bridle? Not the magical reins? That was odd. But she didn't make a noise. It was a strange feeling of freedom and trust that had her perk up and twitch her tail a little.

They were trusting her to not need it. That's good, right? A light chirr of pleased delight happened to come out, and the handlers seemed rather curious about that. Either way, the one in the pen pet her and put the saddle up afterward.

For a moment, Spades questioned this feeling of soft, warm pride that filled her chest. But all she needed was to remember what Michael said. Pre-estrus was a time when hens are their most submissive. That was a good enough excuse to let it be, regardless of the implications.

Something about today, and getting to deny that stallion, had her more... Bouncy. Once the rider was mounted, she followed orders without a moment of hesitation. This place was... Not the best place to be, but she was getting fed, washed, loved- sometimes- and that was great. The past didn't matter. What mattered was now, the moment, all the scents of the day, wherever she was going didn't matter. Just being alive felt great. Much much better than being dead. Yep.

Was that Michael? Her steps sped up, and the rider tugged on the reins, "whoa, girl!"

But she didn't listen. The trot hastened until she was right at the steps to the porch Michael was standing on, her muzzle poking over the rails and pushing out quick and quiet sounds of quirky happiness.

Michael was... Hesitant to respond, which did give her a brief moment of confusion. But his hand met her nose and everything was okay! She licked the hand, cooing now more fervently. "Come on girl, we got some rounds to make before he checks on ya."

She understood... But also pressed her nose to Michael's chest before she was ordered off. She registered that he was talking about something that wasn't good, but the words kinda didn't matter. Why should she care? She doesn't!

The farm started to disappear behind them, not that she could see. The blinders kept her nice and focused on the road ahead. For a while there was nothing but her, her rider, and two other drakes with riders. Something rather apparent started to boil though. Embarrassment. But why?

Oh. Vincent. Why did that name matter? Well, he was watching. W- Well, he was her. They were... Yes they. They were embarrassed. This riding off, as one of the beasts, with a man who didn't quite matter to her on her back. Their back! They chewed on the bit, huffing as the two of them fought about whether to feel good, indecisive, or indignant.

But that kept them occupied on their long stretch to town, where they were tied up in front of... whatever human building. A store! And left with the other two drakes to sniff at the big bucket of nasty water. The farm had much better, clean water. They weren't even going to touch this. Instead, they stood vigilantly. Swinging their tail, as the embarrassment mounted. Time passed, their riders left the store... But went off somewhere else. They must've been running some quick errands.

The boys on either side of them started getting antsy though. They obviously had less training- and none of this sweet pre- uh... whatever- running in their heads. So the hen shot them looks, and barked at them to shut up.

Oh they were scared, alright. And quiet, now. They were the big one in this house. They knew what the rest of them did not. They were the only hen. She was the only hen. Michael was right, they had very few females.

Only one. She could smell it all over the farm. Every scent. The female ones were too old to track. Only hers was strong.

That means that Chief knew exactly what he was doing. The pride and delight from figuring this out, that drowned all other feelings, rose and crashed into her body, and her backside felt different. Their body. Their backside. Vincent was still here, unfortunately. Then she calmed, taking deep breaths as something took the pressure off, and she went back to idly taking in the scents and sounds.

Embarrassment returned, Vincent having pushed back up and demanded they look around. There was nothing to see, obviously. Just some humans walking around. Buildings like barns but not- just buildings- oh! There was a dog. That was something she was sensing before it passed in front of her. Them. They leaned in and sniffed at it, it sniffed back, then ran off after some shouting human.

Cute. But what town is this? Why did it matter? Everything was fine. Just wait for the humans to come back, saddle up, and get home. Simple. But the voice kept being incessant. Poking, prodding, searching for an in. She barked again, the other drakes shying away at the outburst.

The voice went quiet. Still there, holding right on. They were the boss.

Spades shimmied in delight, shaking and twitching her tail to scare off the flies.

This... Was frightening.

|=====|

It was taking hours. The drakes were restless again, even Spades was starting to feel a little antsy. But they stayed quiet, and that kept the hen placated. At some point too, she just kinda shut off. Eyes open, standing, tail flicking occasionally. Indiscernible from the rest of the beasts.

Then a commotion started. A little after noon. The drakes started shifting restlessly.

Bang, bang!

Gunfire. The hen's ears flicked up, and she tugged on the reins. Too loud. Too sudden. Even estrus couldn't soothe a beast spooked like that. She reared and hissed while the drakes moved and tugged, but they were on magical reins. They weren't going to break a damn thing. Nothing could be seen among the three of them, but the sounds started to come through.

Horses, men shouting, more gunfire. It went on for minutes at a time. It concentrated on a building far from where they were pinned, so that was good.

Vincent was taking up the mind now, listening hard. That's when footsteps came up behind them. "Should we kill'em?"

"Nah, leave em. If the riders come, we can track 'em to their hole. 'Sides, I always wanted a drake 'o' my own."

Vincent's eyes burst wide open. He pressed against one of the drakes, trying to turn his head far enough to see. But the figure just moved out. He pressed the other way. That voice...

He couldn't quite place the name, but he knew... He knew that was someone. He let out a strained bark. Maybe... Maybe he can get the man's attention? No, wait...

He's already gone. Vincent wailed, the thoughts riling up and putting Spades back. Those were his old comrades. They had to know he was gone, what happened to him. Right? It's not some kind of secret the Hell's Riders were turning people into beasts, right? The hen bucked and tried to pull the rein out- but there was no give, and no room to really put her all into it. This... Fucking... Bullshit!

She called out again, but that was it. The gunfire continued, but the streets around Vincent and the other drakes were clear. Then two of the riders showed up. They were whispering quickly, ducking and making their way to the post. They were up, and unhooked all three of them. The one with the male took the other male.

Spades' rider was up. Kicked, turned, "Hup!" He shouted, getting her up to speed. Vincent fought back though, slowing them down. No. He had to let his people know... Regardless of their boss. Regardless of everything, they had to know that they could become this. A beast.

"Michael warned us not to come here." The rider on the male hissed, "of course. Of fucking course."

Spades' rider was quiet, but breathing quickly. He was saturated in fear. Probably from all the sorts of trouble he was in now, and about to be in... if he even makes it.

They were out of the town in a flash, but slow. Leading one and another lagging behind did not help. Spades' rider kicked, cursing, trying.

But Vincent was intent on seeing his old comrades again.

"Shit!" The other rider shouted. "They're following us!"

Vincent could hear the hooves, a thunderous rapport just barely behind. In some sense.

"What do we do!?" Spades' rider called back.

"We can't lead them home! Split! Regroup in Venburg."

Spades was led away from the other two drakes. Most of the menagerie followed the two drakes and the rider.

But one was hot on Spades' trail.

Vincent could feel his heart pounding, his legs burned, his hindside blazing hot as he worked up a storm to fight both Spades, the Rider, and the urge to collapse all in one. The chase went on for a little bit longer.

Then the dumbass in the saddle thought it'd be a great idea to pull a revolver. Vincent heard it click.

Bang.

The response was quick. Four rapid bullets in their direction. Vince thought for a moment he could count his lucky stars. Good, reloading during a chase was a pain.

Then he felt his hind leg explode. He landed on it, but it gave in. His scream was a roar. He felt all of his dysphoria hit him at once, and he cursed everything. The dumbass that was flying off him, the Lawman, the horse, himself and his desperate need to be touched and held... Everything fell on him as he fell, and ate dirt.

God it hurt. He wailed, rolling off of the offending leg and scrabbling to find some cover. He's been shot before. It's fine... It's fine!

It's not fine. He knows those bullets. Calibur built to take down drakes. He wailed again, shuddering and biting back the pain as much as he could. It was too much though. He kept wailing, it was the only way to work through the pain.

Until the man with the gun approached. Then the absolute terror of being helpless rippled through him. His mouth shut, and he watched the man crouch at his hinds, then lift the bleeding leg with the sizzling end of the gun. "Oh... You're a pretty girl."

That's when the voice clicked. Drakehunter. Desmond. They, Vincent and Desmond, fought alongside each other.

At Yaleford. And more. He'd be questioning a lot more about this revelation, but his leg dropping down and the resulting pain had him yelp again.

Drakehunter slowly turned his attention to the rider. The kid's leg was bent out of shape, and he was praying.

"Hey fella, I got one more bullet. Why don't ya start considerin' bein' quiet like your girl here?"

The praying stopped. "Attaboy."

He continued examining his catch.

Vincent. Spades.

"What's her name?"

Still quiet.

"I asked you a question."

"Sh-hhshsh- She- Spades!"

That gave the Drakehunter pause. "Spades." He rolled it over his tongue. Something about that punctured something in her stomach. Like he was mulling over how it would sound on a plaque, beneath... The head of a beast.

No, he was Vincent. He hissed, staring intently at the blob of a dark coat in front of him. Focus... see him.

And taste him.

"Well, looks like it's your lucky day, Spades. You get to live. For now." Desmond got up, took a deep breath, and started on his long stroll over to the rider. The praying started up again.

"Tell me, friend." Desmond rattled out, "for what reason... Is your lovely little hen over there named Spades?"

Begging for mercy. Cracking. He was twisting the leg. "Huh?" Desmond growled. "What did you do?"

Vincent recognized the familiar brutality of the Drakehunter. It was... Satisfying. For a moment. Then the rider started crying. And Spades heard it. No, no... That's not nice. More cracking, more twisting. Vincent felt it now. His heart lurching as the man that hurt her was now working on her rider.

"Why. Is. She. Named. Spades?"

The begging stopped, and through crying and shuddering pain; "It's him! He's her! We- Chief-" More twisting and more crunching.

"THREE." Desmond shouted, kicking the leg. "THREE TIMES. Fool me once, shame on me! Fool me twice, shame on you. FOol me THREE TIMES, AND I fucking make you pay!"

The begging and crying continued. Spades crawled forward, and a muscle tensed, shooting pain through her leg and up her back. Vincent bit back the cry, not daring to make a sound when the Drakehunter was at work.

"Three times, I've heard this tall tale about drakes is people, and people is drakes."

Something wasn't right. Desmond... Wasn't this unhinged, not to this degree, not before.

"And that just does not do well for the old mind, does it, friend?"

"No, no no... no no." The rider begged, whimpering like a dog.

"You know what else doesn't help the mind?"

The praying got louder.

"Fourty- D H R. The biggest, meanest bullet ever to be made for man's loudest tool."

Spades roared. They were up on their feet. Three of them, at least.

The praying stopped, but the bullet never left the cylinder.

"You got a problem, missy?" Drakehunter responded instantly. "You dumb beast. Start runnin'! Go on! Git! I'll catch up to ya."

Spades and Vincent stood their ground. Conflicting emotions tearing at their control. But both wanted the same thing. To have the Drakehunter's attention. However, Vincent was the stronger one in this instance.

So when that final bullet flew into the air, he did not flinch. He hobbled closer.

This caught Desmond well off guard. But he feared no dumb beast, and sighed as he stood straight, hands out. "You ain't like the other hens, are ya?" He chuckled, and holstered his magnum, "come on then! Come eat me. Come!" He clicked his tongue, and laughed, mocking the beast's limp. Until they were close.

The rider started to crawl away.

But Vincent was in no mood to bite, fight, or claw. Instead, he did the only thing that would ruin this new Drakehunter worse than a cut.

He bowed his head. Closed his eyes. And waited. The shuffling and mocking stopped.

A knife was unsheathed, and in an instant, cold steel was against Vincent's throat. "You think... You're people? Beast?" Drakehunter snarled. "You're not people. You was taught this. Bow to your superiors. Right? You're a beast. Not a thought in that head. Just learned 'cuz a treats and sticks. You're nothing but a tool. That's what you are. Go on, prove it. Bite me. You're hungry aren't ya? You want a taste of Desmond? I'm right here." The steel flashed away, and the scent of blood formed. He'd cut his own hand. And then slapped it on the sandy scaled nose, rubbed it in, pushed her head down. "Bite me. Bite me, bitch. Eat me." He laughed, looking down to the rider, fully expecting to have his arm in a mouth.

But that didn't happen. The sun burned brightest in its falling state. The heat cooked that blood. Desmond's laugh died. "Bite me. BITE ME. You don't know mercy! You eat and you fuck and you sleep! You are not a person!"

Silence befell them. Vincent had to recall a time when Desmond was a good friend. His only friend, perhaps. In the suffering and misery. They knew each other quite well, in fact. If only because they fought like beasts, and always argued.

But that's what made it all... Good fun. Not to Spades.

Vincent lifted a paw. Desmond twitched, but all that happened was a claw pressed gently up to the Drakehunter's neck.

The resulting catastrophic breakdown of all known laws of the land were not seen outside Desmond's head. The knife fell, the bloodied hand slipped away.

And for the first time since his own day of reckoning, Drakehunter fell to his knees.

"Bite me. Eat me. Bite me. Eat me."

Vincent hobbled past him, and picked up the half-awake rider by his belt with teeth.

The last thing he heard from Drakehunter seared into his mind.

"Drakes is people is drakes is people is drakes is people is drakes is people..."

|=====|

It was late night by the time Vincent arrived at the farm gate.

He'd done it. He shuddered and let the man in his teeth go gently onto the ground. Then furiously licked the blood on his nose. Her nose. Fuck, Fuck... FUCK!

She shuddered and heaved, focus fading as scents started taking the forefront. Prey, lovely things to eat.

No, no. No, that's over. That's done. Her open maw drooled. Shouting from familiar and meaningless voices only drawing her from the deep well of hunger when Michael's rose above the rest. She didn't care about the words, just the sound of it was comforting. Angry, yet firm... Dominant. She was drawn to it, limping.

She was quickly led into a new place. Full of tools, and glass, and lights. She had blinders put on, but she wasn't fussing. Michael's scent was close. And while it hurt an ungodly amount for him to be rooting around her muscles, none of it compared to the absolute devastation that she'd just endured.

The need... To feed off that blood was stronger than ever. She needed. She had to have it, to devour and leave no trace. But Vincent was stronger. The battle ensued, starting with the bad man and his loud metal. Vince won. Then the blood on their nose. And the weak man in their lips.

He won those too.

Then the smaller prey on their way. No matter how much reasoning. Vincent won. Won. Won! A light hiss spooked some of the handlers, but she didn't care.

He proved he was strong. Very strong. She was strong. They were strong.