Work Text:
It was hard to focus.
His mother was panicked, her claws digging painfully into his shoulders. Had she been on land, Eel was sure she’d be breathing heavily. Instead, though, she just rapidly ran water through her gills, her mouth perpetually partly open. He was trying to focus so bad, but it was hard, especially when she flashed her scales a mile a minute. The dragonet peeked around her, staring at the closed door. There were noises coming from the other room, thumps and muffled hisses and shouts, sounds strangled by the water.
It was only… what, a minute ago? A minute or so ago that his father rushed into the home, bleeding, looking at his wife and child with nothing but panic and fear. Eel had tried to catch what he’d said, but soon his mother had dragged him into the work room and shut the door. Now she was speaking to him with the greatest sense of panic that aquatic could give, while the faint taste of bloodied water drifted in from beneath the door.
She glanced back at the door, following her child’s gaze, before closing her eyes a moment to calm herself. She finally released his shoulders, freeing her talons for signing, and tried to slow her speech. Still, it was hard for Eel to process. It was all too fast. No, not the aquatic, he could easily read it had it been a normal day. It was everything else, everything that had happened. One moment he was practicing his reading, the next it was chaos. Still, he tried to read it the best he could through his stress.
The one phrase that seemed to repeat the most was running. Or, the general term. Really, it translated more to “fleeing”, but still. Something about the Skywing Empire, something about a scroll. Something about Animi. Eel knew about Animi, how could he not? His parents had drilled it in well. That Animi were dangerous, that they were monsters to never be trusted. That they’d kill him the moment they had a chance. The very word, spoken or flashed, made him fearful. And here it was being flashed plenty.
Another loud thump. Red slowly drifting beneath the door.
His mother stared at the red for a moment in shock, before suddenly grabbing a pouch and a scroll. He recognized them both. The pouch was his “emergency” pouch, full of preserved food, some water in a small canteen, and a map. He knew what it meant but he still didn’t like it. He didn’t want to know what it meant. He knew what the scroll meant, too. His parents always told him how very important it was. It looked ordinary, blending in with any other scroll, a purposeful disguise. He didn’t know exactly what was written on it, only that it was important, beyond important, and that his parents said they’d give it to the Skywings soon.
He wasn’t supposed to touch it. His claws might tear it, after all. He knew what it meant to have it shoved in his pouch, the pouch shoved into his talons. He stared at the pouch a moment, then at his mother. He stared when she hugged him, wings and all, and kissed him on the forehead. He stared when she told him to go, told him that it would be a long journey but that she believed in him. Stared as she began to shove him out the window.
Stared as the door broke open.
He floated outside the window, unable to will himself to swim. He watched as his mother turned to the doorway, watched as murky water quickly flooded in. It was messy, full of mixed up sediment and blood. He could taste it from here. A shape came through, dragging the murky water with them like a cloak. He watched as it enveloped his mother. He watched as there were flashes through the murk, illuminating two figures, tangled up with claws and teeth. He was pretty sure many of the flashes were words he wasn’t supposed to repeat.
He watched as, just as suddenly as it began, the chaos ebbed. The water stopped whirling about, the flashes stopped going off. The water began to settle, but ever so slowly, now even thicker with blood. He needed to go. But he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t help himself as he hoped that maybe, just maybe that faint figure standing there was his mother, that maybe she had won. Couldn’t help himself as he flashed out.
It was a simple phrase, really. Only two words. “How?” and “Mother”. A question, an inquiry onto her state of being. A direct translation would be even simpler.
“Mother?”
It wasn’t his mother who turned to him. It wasn’t his mother that only now noticed him floating there. It wasn’t his mother that peered at him through the murk. His mother wasn’t so lithe. His mother did not wear a skull. His mother did not stare with such intensity. His mother was visible as a shape on the floor.
It was a blur of tan, green, and blue that came at him, teeth and claws bearing down. Those orange eyes stared with what seemed to be hatred, hatred as Eel turned and swam. Bubbles fled his jaws as he opened his mouth to scream, two talons digging into his tail, tearing across scales and membrane and spine. He felt as it tried to pull him closer, like a great monster dragging him into its maws.
He felt as he kicked out and his foot made contact with snout, hitting as hard as he possibly could. He heard the thing shout and felt the claws slip free, dragging across his tail and tearing as they did. He risked a glance back as he fled, seeing a barely identifiable figure gripping their snout and glaring, blood seeping out through the skull from the impact. He didn’t look for any more than that glance.
The rest was a blur, adrenaline fueling his movements. At some point he remembered hiding within some rocks in case he was searched for, and at another point he crawled from the sea onto the sandy shores of the desert. He remembered walking in the sand, choking and sobbing, his tail dragging pathetically and leaving bloody trails behind it. He remembered being unable to cry anymore, but still thinking of that shape on the floor. He remembered collapsing, giving in to the heat and thirst.
And he remembered a figure standing over him.