Page 24 of Breed

We are supposed to stay in the nursery for the first fifteen years of our lives. Matron dies when I am five years old. I am six years old when I first run away. I am brought back and beaten. I am ten years old when I run away the second time. This time I am not brought back. They do not look for me. They are relieved that I am gone.

I find myself on the streets of Grave City. I am cold, I am hungry. I scavenge what I can, and I sleep curled up in dry corners that are sometimes warm. Grown saurians do not pay me any attention. They know very well that the young are the responsibility of the nursery. I am not their problem. I am not anybody’s problem. I am happy. The happiest I have been since I last saw matron.

I can find food out here, and though I might be small and strange, nobody seems to feel the urge to point it out. Sometimes they walk through me, stumble over me, sometimes they curse me, but it’s not personal. They swear at me the same way they swear at curbs and each other sometimes. It feels good to be cursed at by someone who doesn’t tell me what a creepy little whelp I am.

I work my way through the city, following my nose for the best food. So much is discarded, more than enough for me to eat. They throw it into the garbage and I take it out again. I am eating better than I have eaten in a long time, and with every day that passes, I get better at finding better food.

I move slowly but steadily from the poorer parts of the city to bigger, fancier houses. Some of these are harder to get food from, though the food is better. They have guards patrolling, and they chase me away if they see me. They also have tall walls and spikes atop them and sometimes they’ll even fire projectiles at intruders.

I don’t worry about getting into the houses. I don’t need to. All I need is the trash, and they don’t defend that. I find the best pickings in the garbage cans outside the alpha’s place. It becomes a matter of habit for me to visit multiple times per day, and the offerings always seem to get better and better. Over a period of days, they throw away more than scraps. They start to throw away what seems to me like entire meals.

I cannot believe my eyes when I sneak into the can and find a wrapped package of freshly roasted meat deposited there. I so rarely get meat, because meat is hardly ever thrown away. I don’t even bother to leave the garbage can. I sit atop all of the other trash and I start tucking into the meal with so much enjoyment I don’t notice that I am not alone.

“Hey!” I growl angrily as a big red hand pulls me out of the garbage can by the scruff of my neck.

“What are you doing, whelpling? Are you lost?”

I bite him. Hard. I have sharp little teeth, and they sink through the flesh on the palm of his hand. He holds me regardless, even as a slow trickle of blood runs down his hand and over his wrist. He does not seem bothered by the injury. For a moment, his eyes seem to twinkle with a sort of indulgent mercy I once saw in the matron’s gaze.

“You’re far too young to be out on your own. How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Ten.”

“Ten!” His brow rises. “You’re going to be huge, aren’t you.”

“I’m already huge,” I say, suddenly proud of myself as a result of the positive inflection in his voice. My size has always been notable. The nurses remarked upon it all my life, but I never thought of it as a good thing until this moment. The saurian speaking to me is the biggest one I have ever seen. His scales gleam red with a golden hue. He is made even more ferocious than I am, but he does not seem apologetic about it in the slightest. I doubt he has ever apologized for anything.

I’ll call the nursery,” he says.

“I’m not going back there! They hate me! And I hate them!”

“And why would they hate you?”

I stab a finger toward my eyes. “Because these are creepy. I’m scary.”

He laughs, a big, masculine sound. I have not been in the presence of a creature like this before. I’ve seen grown saurian males on the streets, but they’ve never stopped to talk to me. They don’t notice me. I’m like an animal scuttling around the feet of giants. I like the way he sounds. I like how nothing seems to be a problem to him.

“Those are your eyes, whelp. And fine eyes they are too, if they spied these leftovers from all the way behind the walls.”

I guess I am somewhat inside the walls, but that’s because the outer perimeter isn’t really guarded all that well.

“I want you to come inside,” he says. “I think you need a proper meal.”

I am curious now. I look up into the massive, predatory saurian’s face and I ask the obvious question.

“Who are you? Do you work for the alpha?”

He chuckles as if the question amuses him and carries me inside the mansion. I like being carried, and I like being fed, and I like this big red saurian who has been so nice to me. Much nicer than anyone else has bothered to be. I have been ignored and neglected for so long that it started to feel like that was just how the world was.

We get inside the big house, and my eyes widen as I see all sorts of signs of wealth and comfort I have never seen before. The air is warm here, warmer than the outside. They can control the temperature, a feat I’ve only seen performed in a hatchery before.

“Sona! Please bring our young guest something nourishing to eat.”

“Of course, Alpha Thorn. At once, Alpha Thorn.”

I sit at a nice, big table and a plate of food is brought for me. I start to eat, filling my face. I realize, of course, that I have been taken in by the alpha, but the excitement of that fact is much less intense than the excitement of eating good food.

While I eat, the alpha sits near me at the table and drinks something that smells rich and tangy. He watches me with indulgent amusement and some curiosity.

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