- Chapter 5 -

The moonlight beamed through the sparsely leaved trees, interrupting our shadows in the mud with jagged and disorderly branches. I hastily planted my feet into the deep mud and thicket, raising my feet up high like a horse trying on polo wraps for the first time. With my hands shoved deep into the pockets of Mark’s heavy trench coat, I looked over to Walt and the blank expression on their face as they stared to the blackened ground. They let their small paws drag through the mud, trailing through the thick woods. My legs kept getting snagged on thistles and buckthorn, making me wince every few steps. It was deathly silent between the two of us, nothing but the bitter wind to keep us company. An uneasy feeling rooted itself in my stomach and a chill ran down my spine. I pinned my ears back and watched the scrawny man plod along broodingly.

“Walt?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. They looked over to me. “I’m sorta creeped out by all of this right now,” I admitted, compacting my stature. They shrugged and looked forward. “Why are we meeting this guy again?”

“I broke jewellery and I need to repay them for it,” They stated flatly. That didn’t sound right.

“You’re paying for jewellery?!” I exclaimed. “Walt, that’s expensive! Do you even have money on you?”

“No. I don’t have money.”

“How are you repaying this?” I asked, growing worried for the guy. I rummaged my hands through the pockets, my fingers interlocking around a leather wallet. I clenched my jaw and contemplated it. That was Mark’s money, he worked hard for it, and it was hard to make a living with the small amount of money he had. I pinned my ears back and shook my head. I couldn’t do that to Marquis… but if it was that dire he would understand. I hoped. Walt shrugged, their tail curling down.

“Who is this guy?” I couldn’t help but ask. Walt was quiet for a solid moment before mumbling something unintelligible. “Pardon?”

“Sir Rosco,” they said under their breath. My heart skipped a beat. I blinked.

“Heh, sorry, what was that? It sounded like you just said Sir Prince Rosco, the fucking prince of all of Deautschria,” I said, my voice squeaking my eyes blinking quickly.

“That’s the guy,” Walt said, scanning their surroundings. My jaw slacked. I turned my head forward. This was a man I’ve heard plenty about on the news. I’d heard terrifying things about this man, knowing he ruled with a brute iron fist. He was not only feared, but respected by all. I don’t think the man knew disrespect.

“You broke a royal’s jewellery?” I asked in shock, not fathoming how one could afford the priceless jewels the higher ups honed. Walt shook their head.

“I didn’t break anyone’s jewelry, that was a lie,” Walt muttered, fear beginning to show in their blue and brown eyes. “I badmouthed him once and he hasn’t left me alone since…” My stomach curled. Here I was with a censorless elfen who had absolutely no issue disrespecting an old lady, who’s now proven they hadn’t enough common sense to shut his mouth in front of a man as powerful and ruthless as Sir Prince Rosco Eberheardt. I swallowed hard on my saliva and took a deep breath of the cold and mouldy air, pulling a cough out of me.

“When is he even showing up??”

“I don’t know!” Walt hissed. “I just have a general idea of when he wants me to meet him, okay!” They snapped. I flinched. “I’m just as scared of him as you are! I'm stressed, I’m really stressed! He’s beaten me up before many times and I don’t want to get beat up again!” They revealed, their ears going back and their face scrunching up in distress as they tensley slouched. “God!” They hissed with a growl, tossing their hand up before balling their fist. “You can walk back if want, I get it. Sir Rosco is scary, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought anyone.” I frowned and looked away for a moment.

“No, I’ll uh… I’ll stay with you,” I said, not believing the words I was saying. My mind was telling me to take that opportunity and run back home and avoid being ripped to shreds. Yet, my heart told me to stay with Walt and suffer through it. It’d be cruel to leave them. That, and I’m positive Marquis would kill me if I let Walt get hurt. “Sir Rosco can’t be that tough,” I laughed, puffing out my chest in a shoddy attempt to boost my confidence. I was a tall guy, with enough dedication it’d be a breeze! At least that’s what I was trying to tell myself. I reckoned deep down I was going to be made into a pulp.

“Thanks…” Walt growled. It was too late to try and fix their mood. It didn’t take much, but once Walt was in a pissy mood they were most likely staying in it. I concluded to myself this was going to be a long night.

After what felt like hours of walking, Walt lead me out to a small stone shed with a long concrete road leading out from the small utility shed into the vast and untouched forests. The wind had diminished by now and everything was still. There remained an insistent hum of machinery hidden in the shed that drowned out the sound of any wildlife that had been lurking around. It felt almost vacant of life on that small stretch of road that Walt and I were standing on. Our shadows on the gritty paving were visible in the moonlight as the trees left a large clearing for just this shed with the grass flooded and murky. I felt as though I was a deer out in the middle of a field in hunting season. My eyes darted around at any unusual sound that hit my ears. I hugged myself, gripping the coarse fabric of Mark’s black coat.

Walt tried to act unbothered. They kept their stern expression and only looked at where he placed his paws. They approached the building and placed their small hand on the stone above their head. I watched in confusion. They pawed their feet on the ground for a moment before compacting their legs. They jumped, planting their paws onto the stone and hoisting themself onto the top of the flat rooftop through their hind end with little to no use of their hand. They slid on the top but quickly regained his balance. My ears lifted.

“Why’d you go up there?” I asked, acting as if I wasn’t impressed by their nonchalant scaling of the shed.

“To see if my stuffs alright,” Walt answered, crouching down to move a black tarpaulin.

“You live here?”

“Sometimes,” they shrugged, peeking under the rustling tarpaulin before springing back up. “Only if I wanna stay near Mark,” they continued, walking to the front and sitting down. I looked over the shoddy building and thought, glancing over the bolted door.

“You can get in there?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“Where do you stay?”

“Sometimes I make a tent out of the tarpaulin,” they shrugged again, hugging their knees to their chest with a deep breath. I frowned seeing their terrible living conditions. No wonder they were always pissy. If I had to live outside like that I’m sure I would be angry and pissy all the time too. “Why don’t you just stay at Mark’s house? We’ve offered to let you stay at our farm a bunch of times…” Walt tilted his head, looking up to the moon, his thin grey tortoiseshell tail tight to his thigh.

“I don’t want too. It’s boring.”

“What?”

“Where’s the fun in being comfortable?” Walt asked. I opened my mouth to speak, rather I was interrupted when a large shadow blocked out the moon light and a thundering clash of wind in the sky. A bitter sprinkling of worry set into my stomach as the muscles in my paws twitch and jittered in preparation to bolt back home. I took in a deep breath, my pupils instinctively going to slits as the sound of the massive beating of wings became closer. A strong and freezing gust of wind smacked me in the back, causing me to trot a few steps forward. I kept my composure as the repeated gust of winds strengthened before coming to a halt. A massive shadow loomed over me. I closed my eyes for a moment, telling myself I was just tired and getting myself worked up. Sir Rosco was just another man, I would be alright, I told myself. I spun around on my paws, tearing some of my wraps.

I froze the second my gaze met dead and glaring practically pigmentless eyes, besides the streaks of brown that interrupted the silvers like cracks in a mirror . I snatched in a sharp breath and my body instinctively went into a display of defense. An elongated and gangly man stood in front of me, the shirt he wore was loose on his scraggly body as he brought his gigantic eagle-like wings up to rouse them. His body moved disjointedly like a broken piece of machinery, his eyes still upon me unmoving as though they looked straight through me. I tried to piece together this man who looked more like a personified ransom note with his crooked nose, two skin tones, feathers aligning his jaw, a mixture of brown in white in the feathers and hair. I couldn’t stop staring at him. A growl arose from my throat and his feathers stood on end, making him appear all the larger.

I hadn’t enough time to react when the switch flicked in his head, his pupils instantly widening before I found myself being lifted up and thrown onto the cold concrete. I let out a winded yelp the moment by shoulder hit solid ground. I groaned, sharp pain going through my shoulders as my tail twitched awkwardly. I was left confused for a moment before I realised what had just happened.

“Who is this?” I heard a deep, yet oddly nasally voice shout.

“A friend of mine,” Walt said timidly from above.

“What's his name?” Sir Rosco asked. My eyes moved to see him standing right next to me, wearing black boots that covered all his paw but with tiny rubber spurs where the claws would be, it was customary for royalty to stay decent. I swallowed hard on my saliva.

“Burton,” Walt answered.

“Last name?”

“Foxford…”

“Oh, that guy…” Sir Rosco said with disgust in his voice. The gangly man crouched down to my level and observed me, his eyes remaining stationary. “He’s not the kind of person I’d expect you to be hanging out with…” The man stated. Walt stayed silent. The claws on my hand released in reaction to the increasing pain going through my back. It came to his attention. He stood up and swung his leg back. Sir Rosco violently thrusted his boot hard onto my side, forcing me to cry out in distress. My tail puffed up and I curled up, holding my side as I groaned.

“I don’t like him much. I wouldn't expect someone as coltish as him to be trying to start shit,” Sir Rosco growled as he stared me down. “He’s got long ass legs just like you do, no muscle whatsoever.” A small smirk emerging on his skeletal face. I groaned and let out a hard huff.

“Oh leave him alone already!” Walt hissed. “He’s just acting how any sane person would do when your freakshow-ass shows up puffing up your wings and all! Give him a break, christ…” They grumbled. Well shit, so much for not getting ripped to shreds. Guess it was time to lose all my limbs too. Sir Rosco froze. He looked up at Walt. He gave me another wallop and made me yelp again, this time kicking me in the arm and breaking skin. I hid my face against the concrete, it was uncomfortable with the hard grains against my face but it was better than looking at that. It was quiet for a moment.

“See, and that’s why you get into so much trouble, Walt,” Sir Rosco stated darkly. “You don’t think right. You just sort of do things without thinking, huh?” He asked with smugness entwining into his voice. I moved my head enough so I could glance up at Walt as they stood on top of their broken down shed, their tail between his knees, yet they maintained a confident posture. “We went over this the last time! What happened then?” Sir Rosco asked. Walt was quiet. “You got beat up and cried like a baby! See this is what I mean, no thought process goes into anything up there! Is there even anything up there?” The prince laughed to himself. “That’s going to get your pretty little self killed, and you know it,” He teased, his tone going cold once more, scrunching up his crooked nose as he taunted Walt. I carefully turned my face against the concrete just enough so I could glance at Sir Rosco’s boots from the corner of my eye. Formal tall boots, but stupid to be wearing in a confrontation like this… there was no way he could catch himself on his own two feet.

Without a second thought I took my arm and swiftly swung my it to his hocks, forcing him to stumble off of his footing. I knew it was time to run. He tripped onto one knee, catching himself from falling any further with his hands. His wings opened up to further catch him. I scrambled to my uneasy feet, cutting down my lips on the concrete. I had no time to react to the blood now going down my beard or the aching through my body, I started to book it. Sir Rosco predicted my next move before I even got off the concrete. I only managed to get in a good few strides before I noticed the gangling man had got a hold of the coat’s pocket. The force of me running and him trying to pull me back caused the coat’s buttons to snap off, freeing the coat from me and forcing me face first into the flooded grass and mud, scraping my hocks on the concrete. I lifted my face, mud now stinging into my wound. When I look back I anticipated Rosco to be right on top of me, but instead he was stuck looking at something else.

I didn’t take time to think over any of it. I got right back to running. I only thought about myself once I started getting caught in the thorn bushes again. I managed to brush off some of the mud from my face, luckily, it was more water than it was liquified dirt. The sting on my lip worsened once I mistakenly tried brushing off blood from my mouth, making the half-scabbed wound open up again. I could do nothing more but wince, no way in hell was I stopping. When I reached the gravel road of my house I was at the point of exhausted running where it’s barely a jog and more of a flimsy bouncy walk with my head tilt back in exhaustion. The type of “good god I am tired as hell” running, like when you tell yourself “I’m going on a run!” but you don’t quite have the physical fitness to run the whole time but you’ve got perseverance. I didn’t have perseverance. I had an intense urge to not become a quadriplegic.

I groaned and broke down to a walk, holding my forearm where Sir Rosco had kicked me. It was cold, but my clothes were covered in mud that had now hardened from all that running. The stiff feeling on my shirt irked me enough to prompt me to quickly pull it off. The “work out” had warmed me up enough that I could go a few minutes shirtless in the cold. I huffed and bundled up the shirt as I continued up the road. I glanced at Marquis’s house in hopes of lights being on so I could go in and get some help, but of course luck was not on my side that night and I had to keep walking. It must’ve been ridiculously late, I thought to myself, Marquis was known to be quite the night-owl. My head dropped low as I made yet another walk of shame to the main house. This time I had no excuse, I was just lousy. The livestock could gossip about it all they want this time.

There was no time for throwing myself onto my bed and passing out, I had injuries to tend to and I could feel the mess of dirt on my face and It was unpleasant as all hell. Into my bathroom I went, flicking on the light and catching a glimpse of the absolute wreck that was Burton Foxford after being a complete wuss. I blinked. Well that’s not a pleasant sight. I began washing myself up, too tired to take a proper shower. That would have to wait till the morning. When I washed my face the wound down my lip opened up again and blood dyed the sink water red. I gasped and tightly placed a warm washcloth on my mouth, holding it tight. The blood was soon to dye the washcloth as well. I cringed and kept it there. Looking over the damage, there was already dark and extensive bruises starting to form. I had done my best to clean up cuts but it was not a pretty sight. With one hand stuck nursing a wound, I struggled into some sleep pants and turned to leave the bathroom.

I was stopped mid yawn as I noticed my mum entering my room. I froze.

“Oh! Burty, you’re back! I didn’t mean to barge in,” She said with an awkward chuckle.

“Uh… hi mum,” I said, I was taken aback by how croaky my voice was. I had a pretty soft voice, (sadly.) it was highly noticeable when I’d busted it. If my mum could tell when the slightest thing was off, this was a very obvious red flag that something was wrong. I might as well had a stamp on my forehead saying “ask me about my night.”

“Are.. are you alright?” She asked hesitantly. I quickly shuffled to the side to put my back against the wall so she couldn’t see the massive bruise on my shoulder blades.

“Yep, yep, all fine here,” I said with a hurried nod.

“I came up here to apologise for what happened earlier, I was worried sick when you left, I thought I’d really struck a nerve!” My mum explained, glancing around my room, as mums do. She looked back at me as I continued to nod as she continued her drawn-out apology.

“It’s fine mum, really, I was just being cocky earlier,” I insisted, trying what I could to get out of this situation. My mum scanned over me, she knew something was wrong. She frowned.

“...Is your mouth bleeding?” She asked once she noticed that the washcloth to my mouth was not the colour it was supposed to be.

“Nothing serious, just bit my lip real bad,” I said timidly.

“Come here, Burty,” She instructed softly.

“I’m alright, don’t worry about it!” She didn’t listen to my instructions and took a step forward, grabbing my injured arm and making me yelp. She flinched.

“Oh I’m sorry! what happened?” She asked, moving my arm from my face, she paused when she noticed the cut. She looked at my arm and noticed more of the damage. Worry grew in her face and her ears pinned back. “Burtybee.. What happened? Why are you so beat up? Look there’s another bruise on your side!”

“Just fell of Thistle earlier today.. No big deal..”

“These are not bruises from a fall Burton, these are new!” I let out a deep sigh.

“I.. I got jumped while I was out in town,” I muttered, hanging my head low.

“By who?” She asked frantically, putting my arm back where it was.

“I have no clue.” She took my shoulder and turned me to look at my back, gasping quietly.

“Good lord, whoever got you got you good… this is horrible!” My mum exclaimed with a frown. “You need to get a lot of rest and take it easy tomorrow. We’ll see if we can find out who did this,” She said with a confident nod to herself whilst petting my shoulder.

“Mum.. it’s alright, really. No need to get worked up.”

“Burton, I’m not going to let someone beat up my only son and get away with it!” She insisted. Then came the worry boiling in my stomach. “We need to get these wounds cleaned up better, come on,” She insisted, leading me back to the bathroom. There was no use in trying to fight with my mum anymore. My mum made sure to tend to every single injury, becoming all the more worrisome when finding the cuts and scrapes on my hocks. Even if I tried to detest, she’d go on a long spiel to shut me up. My parents raised me to always be polite so I would never think of interrupting her. All of that staying up made throwing myself into my bed all the better...

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