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He'll break.

The hen snorted. The words... Break. He'll break. Not her. He will. The stud. Synapses were firing again, but they felt different. A whole new set of goals, a whole new entity.

She watched the stud pace, a few steps away from her and her human. He tried to approach, but the sudden rage and need to protect had her snapping at him before she could process what she was doing.

"Turns out cuttin' me was helpful." Michael hummed during a lull in the drakes' back and forth. "How the hell you still recognize my blood is beyond me. But I'll take what I can get." He was still too weak to get up, rubbing the hen's neck as he kept his eyes on the shifting darkness that was the stud.

Spades happened to do that a lot when they were in the treatment cabin. It kept bringing him back to the pits. But every time, she'd lick the cut and coo an apology. Like some sort of twisted exposure therapy. He was always on the brink of panic. She always pulled through though, and let him hold on, something that her other half missed.

Michael's breath had evened out as time passed. Tomorrow comes soon. The first of December, a little over a month since Spades was dropped into the pit.

The Lawmen attacked, swiftly and violently. The Hell's Riders did well to prepare. The battle lasted three days, silence in between where insults were thrown at night. Until the Lawmen were fended off. Each side suffered few casualties, and it was obvious morale in the Lawmen was low. Without Drakehunter, they didn't have a driving force, a tactician, a brutal shell of violence.

It was a short victory. They came back a week later, as the temperature dropped. The Hell's Riders were forced into their second option, immediately after the few scouts they had reported a squad of Lawmen in town. Chief used the sigil.

The drakes were slow on the rollout. The Lich rose.

A few of them were taken down, along with their riders. But luck broke when Michael directed them off the path to Hen House and toward the pit they'd put the hen in. He stayed behind to cover their tracks. Alone. They set up camp there for two weeks while Michael watched the Lawmen lose the scent.

During this whole month, Chief and Michael argued. Fought over their decisions. Morale was low. Resolve was breaking. Friendships were questioned. Coming to the pit with Chief staring daggers into him felt like coming home to fire and brimstone. He preferred quietly watching his enemies and starving himself over smelling and seeing the pit, and hearing Chief tear into him again.

The final week of their movement saw Michael and Chief going back and forth, while the rest of them moved on to Hen House. Tensions rose.

"Those scars don't make you any better at trainin' these beasts. They made you a pussy, soft spoken. I remember when you weren't. When you were a force 'o' nature that hurled itself wherever it damn well pleased. Where's that Michael? Huh?"

The Doc grit his teeth as the words echoed in his head. His eyes caught the flash of the stud's. The hen kept up a low growl. The human hand brushed along the crease of her neck and shoulder, reminding her to be careful.

"We got no ob-leh-gay-shin to treat the beasts any better. I don't care if they got the soul of your favorite hottie. We need to save resources, we need to make them understand that we are their masters. Not their personal playthings and infinite food source." Chief got in his face in that moment, and all he saw was the hen that clawed him half to death.

"Break him." Michael growled, and the hen shuddered. Half-broken himself, tired, pained, and angry, he knew he had to fight out of this pit if he hoped to see the light of day. And that meant facing the stud soon. One foot slid up, and he braced himself against the strut.

"Oh I know what it is!" Chief continued on another day, "you're afraid of bein' the food ain't ya? That's why you've always got some close. 'Fraid of bein' the snack. 'Fraid o' them smellin' yer blood and snappin' ya up."

"Break him." Mike repeated, sliding up the strut and his hand off the hen. He knew there were things down here he could use. The pit ate up a lot of resources, especially if they were late to put a hen in.

Why Chief had all these hangups escaped Mike. He did his job, he did it well. He did it without complaint, even as his body shook and his chest stung with a pressure only a deadman would feel. What'd he want? A drinkin' buddy? And why, why Lord Almighty, was he so dead-set on doing this during a winter attack? It made no damn sense. Unless Chief himself was scared.

The hen moved with the human, circling around him and keeping the stud at bay while he stumbled and trudged toward the fallen steel lid.

He came to the light of the hole. It was sprinkling, rainwater dripping off the edges of the hole. He heard voices above, but nothing that suggested he'd be saved anytime soon. The chain the big boss climbed up on was already pulled up, likely to begin working on repairs.

He knelt into a puddle, and sifted. Pushing dirt, dust, bones, human and beast alike away. Until his hands came upon the tools he needed. Once he had them in his hands, he took a moment to pray. And deliberate.

"The only constant in this world," Chief told him from the past, "is instinct. E'rything else is all fluff. So why not fight for absolute freedom?"

From the dust, he unearthed a friend's old knife, and reins attached to a loop of leather carved with runes to form a sigil of control. The rain began in earnest, pouring over him while he thought about these items. The last time he used magic to tame a drake, and the knife Chief lost to an unbreakable.

When he stood, a second wind was helped along by a hen that nuzzled under his arm. He's got help this time, and at least it's not a hen at his throat. He fed the knife to his belt and wrapped the cracked leather reins around his hand.

The stud snarled at the sight, and Mike turned on him. "You thought you had us, huh Drakehunter?" He snapped and hissed under his breath at the beast. "Thought you could slip by and steal our hen while we weren't lookin'. Oh, but I saw it. I thought we could break you before then. I thought we did. In one day." He walked out of the rain, joining the stud in the darkness. "'Spose that's my fault for thinkin' that was normal. You're a clever boy, Mister Drakehunter"

The stud responded with an equal amount of loud indignance, but of course had no words for the human. He was, after all, a beast. The hen was starting to snarl again, pacing behind Mike. "But I'm gonna break you. I'm gonna climb out of this damn hole, again, and then I'm going to ride you every day for the rest of your damn life." His voice remained quiet. "And unlike Chief, I'm gonna do it without magic."

The reins slipped off his hand, whipped and cracked the air.

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The first order of business was camping the food source. The water could be contested, but food was most important to drive home the need to listen. Mike set up a new nest closer to the hole, and moved the hen there. She was quick to take to it. Over the next week, Mike had control of the food. Chopped up pigs lately, barely enough for two drakes.

While the hen ate, Mike fought. The stud did not appreciate being cut off. Once dominance in that field was established though- the stud realized the futility of fighting a man without much to lose and plenty to gain by maintaining the food source- the beast kept his distance. And finally, Mike could use his matches. He started up small fires with what he could, and cooked what wasn't human to keep his own strength up. The hen kept by his side when she wasn't eating or needing rest.

He'd given up on calling her Spades, she simply didn't respond to that. Tongue clicking and soft finger snapping did give him some attention, so he used that to keep her vigilant on other things besides the stud. She'd almost given in to the cooing and needy clicking from the stud, but Mike was quick to stop that, even being awoken from sleep by the hen's needy shifting.

He was smarter than that, to let that happen freely. Breeding was the reward for being a good drake. However, telling the beast to "sit" and "lay" and "bow" wouldn't work. Drakehunter was well aware that if all he had to follow were simple commands, he could fake through it. He willingly became this after all, and had no qualms with pretending to be good. That however, won't last him long when there was no food.

Mike was smarter than that beast. He didn't even try simple commands, nor capturing and pinning the beast. He just kept the Drakehunter busy, pacing around and establishing territory until he controlled most of the pit. The beast was relegated to the shadows, while the hen got to enjoy the spoils from Mike's lesser need for food.

At the start of the second week, the stud was getting serious. Pushing the boundaries more. Taking longer at the water trough before getting scared off by Mike. The human knew they were about to reach a midpoint. This was what he was waiting for.

If the stud goes on the offensive, Mike had plenty of tricks himself to take care of the unruliness. The knife and improvised whip were always on him. Always ready.

That's when the insults started up. The male drake barking from across the pit to wake the human up. Mike knew it was to rile him up. He knew that he was getting into the "pettiness" bit of two males fighting over territory. So he barked back, mocking the beast for having no words to share. He didn't need to say much at all too, just bark and laugh.

The third week started. Mike was low on matches, and firewood. Never cold though, even as winter cut through the hole and snowed. He always had his hen to keep him warm. He knew that was getting to the stud too. But without those matches, he couldn't risk eating raw meat. Not when it's mostly pig, and definitely not if it's human.

Physical altercations were more common, with Mike and the stud actively standing against each other, baring teeth and blade. They danced around each other, but Mike never stood down. No matter how tired he was, how cold his feet became. He always had the hen behind him, backing him up. No blows were traded. But it was always the stud that backed down.

Midway through the third week, the territory disputes started in earnest. The stud had taken to marking, and the stench definitely angered Mike, even though he expected it. He started gathering snow with old fabrics to throw it on marks that did not belong near him or his hen, then hurled insults at the stud for being a nasty little piece of shit. A worthless shitstain on society.

Then started laughing the more it happened. It really was ridiculous, that the Drakehunter wanted to be this and yet can't keep his damn bladder in check.

That's when Mike snuck up on Drakehunter trying to do it again, and whipped his sack hard.

The resulting yelp and fight was quick and loud, with Mike deflecting the blows until the beast backed off with his tail between his legs and a whimper. He didn't push his markings much further than Mike's territory after that.

They were getting into each other's faces more often. The stud's hunger was starting to show in the way he growled and panted. He'd been too well fed before, when the body didn't have a human soul, and now that he was feeling the hunger, he really felt it.

Every time he tried to push, and growl at Mike, the whip came out. Every time he tried to sneak, the knife rubbed against leather. Every time he tried to rush, the hen was there.

At one point an altercation started between the hen and the stud, completely escaping Mike, even as he backed her up.

To the two beasts though, it was an argument over her allegiances. Beasts, or men. And she responded with "shut the fuck up", she liked the human. She liked the pets, the calm, the equality. She liked smelling him and hearing him, more than a filthy drake that only told her to be quiet and fucked her ruthlessly. She remembered what it was like to be free, to ask for it instead of being forced down. And she liked that.

The Drakehunter didn't try again after that. He was getting desperate now. Without the hen on his side, no food, only a little water, he needed to make a move. To fight.

At the start of the fourth week, Mike got no sleep. Had no matches.

And the food was all human.

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"I miss you, Spades." Mike whispered to the hen as they were curled up against the tip of the strut, their little spot away from the light of the hole, close enough to snatch the food. "I wish we were back on the porch, reading a book. Wish I could feed you treats." She twitched, cooed... But didn't seem to ask for them. "I don't care that you used to be a man. You were the best little drake I'd ever met." He hummed, his hand brushing her cheek and pushing against her ear. "I'm sorry for everything we put you through. I'm sorry, so sorry. It's not fair. You're so strong. We don't deserve you." His head started to tilt and bounce.

He'd been up so long, watching the stud stalk them in Mike's territory. Drakehunter was getting braver by night.

"You... You deserve everything good. A nice place to live, good little whelps. A free-range to run and do as you please... Make up for everything. Give... everything." He was getting out there, trying to keep himself awake and lucid. Then his stomach growled.

And her ears perked up. That's... hunger. That's not good. No matter how bestial she was, that sounded bad. He slid, and plopped into the nest.

She froze for a moment, snuffling around him. He's alive, just fallen asleep.

Her ears picked up movement. The stud. She could smell his desperation, his hunger. He was salivating too, if the sound of dripping was any indication. Her human did so much... She wouldn't let it end here. She nudged him up against the strut and covered him in the musty fabrics, then sat at vigil.

She'd rebuilt a lot of her understanding over the weeks. She remembered hazy things, they all blended together. She remembered a human that killed, a human that was loud, and a human that was soft and nice. She knew the last one as the man she now stood to protect. All synapses fired off for him, and it meant she wanted him to live. She had to protect.

Even as her body began to weigh with eggs, and her teats leaking, she had to. Protect.

The stud started on his way, expressing his anger and hunger with a low growl. Nothing like the hen could make, at the height of her estrus. She wasn't afraid of him. Even if he was sure he could make her afraid.

He was closer now, thinking about his plan. He needed to eat. And he'd start with this human, if he could get past the hen. Can't kill her, cannot. He needed her to be crowned as a hero for the Lawmen. But she was on the human's side. He gulped down saliva, breathing hard and continuing his growl. Nothing for three weeks. Nothing... Nothing.

He stepped even closer, and the hen's growl started. The human remained asleep... It'd just be her. Closer. The growling got louder. She bristled and bared her teeth, giving him a warning bark. He still moved closer. She stood on all fours, belly shifting and throwing her off balance for a moment.

He saw it. Then approached, low. He snapped at her. She jumped a little, but pressed forward, keeping herself between the stud and the human. It was a battle of who could be more menacing for a moment, the stud trying to circle around her and get to his food. But she was on him, not a single moment of lagging behind.

Then he jumped, and they turned into a flurry of claws and teeth and tails. Making sense of this battle would be folly. It was a beast fighting for his life and a hen fighting to save another, that is the description.

The beast ended up on top though, his teeth around her neck again. She was kicking at him and squealing, trying to latch on back, but he had her forepaws pinned and her head smashed into the dirt. He was going to keep her here until she submitted again, squeezing softly and slobbering all over her.

Her fight started to slow down, realizing that he wasn't going to snap her. Her squeals turned into quiet whimpers.

And his cock started to react. Oh he felt good about this. Dominating her. The human was sleeping, he had time. He kept her pinned while his mouth moved off, snuffling her neck and the blood he produced from her. He licked that too, enjoying his first win in almost a month. As he shifted around, he kept her head in the dirt, moving down and licking her teats as he marked his territory again to send a message.

She was horrified, of course, Then he started to nip her, and nudge her, and force her onto her feet. He was going to fuck the last light out of this bitch if it meant rubbing it in her face that he was going to take it all. He rumbled as he mounted, and her futile attempts to bite and claw were quickly replaced with a whimpering and wailing, as he made her take it in. He relished every bit like the beast he was, eyes closed and breath fast.

Then he released, and collapsed on top of her. Satisfied. She squirmed beneath him as he licked her ear.

A sharp pain entered his shoulder. Something wrapped around his muzzle. And the most ungodly roar hit his ears. Fire and brimstone, confusion, pain, anger. He was led away from the hen.

There were no words from the frenzied man, just an unending roar of pain and frustration, riding the stud into the darkness with one hand wrenching the knife and the other steering the reins. The rodeo lasted for a good few minutes until the pain started to make its way into the simpler bits of that lizard brain. Listen to the reins, and less pain will happen. He listened, he steered himself in the right directions. He ended up under the night sky, full moon above.

He collapsed when the reins loosened for a moment, and the knife was removed. Then the reins tightened again, and the human straddled his neck.

The beating that happened was in complete silence. Fist after fist into the stud's face, every single impact a fireball of hatred and rage. Then it stopped, and his face was pressed into the bones and dirt.

"Don't you ever touch her again." Michael hissed quietly into the stud's ear. "You were not given permission. Beast."

He left the reins on, briefly pointing the knife at the drake while he stepped away. But the stud was tired, scared. Scared.

He'd never been scared. Not like that.

Mike gathered snow, took off his shirt, and turned both into a wet rag, kneeling at the hen to wash her neck and chest. He was quietly cooing to her, telling her everything's okay. He urged her back into the nest, even as she seemed defeated and shaking. His voice continued to be soothing, though, and soon they were back to resting in the nest, his hand petting and brushing.

The drake dropped the reins in his mouth and backed off, limping, and ashamed. That was the first ride he did not allow. He wasn't in control. He was always in control. He had to be in control. He was the beast, he was stronger, he was... He... His belly rumbled, and he shook as the cold settled into his bones.

He had to get food.

|={_}=|

The next day was dark. A blizzard outside. Mike shivered. Cold now. Hungry. The hen's head wasn't unappreciated, her breath was nice and warm... for a second, before the cold got to it. He needed to get warmer. The fabric they were laying on wasn't going to work. And with his shirt smelling like the stud- he'd thrown it in the middle when he gathered the reins- he wasn't going to be using that either.

The hen knew it was getting rough for her human... But she couldn't figure out what to do for him. No food came that day. And while the hen would've wished for something, she understood why.

She lay there, thinking about it. Thinking. He was hungry. His stomach was painfully grumbling. Think. Think. Help the human. Help with what? Hunger. What does hunger mean? Needs food. What food can she provide?

Her shifting hinds suddenly pushed the final piece into place. She picked her head up, licking the air for the stud. He was off behind the big metal lid, likely tending to his wound still. And hurt ego. Serves him right... She could do this without ridicule from him. Wait, why did she care about that?

She picked herself up off the nest, and her human shuddered. She quickly worked the nest up and around the edge, tugging the human into the slight corner of the strut, and curled around him tightly, nudging his half-awake self down into her belly and legs. He tried to resist, of course, but that was shot down with little hisses and coos.

There, warmer. Her estrus was still somewhat affecting her body heat, though the dousing she received from the stud certainly settled that down a little more. She nuzzled her human softly, tucking her tail in.

Then licked his mouth, causing him to sputter and squirm. She did it again. And again.

"What... ?" Again. He tried to raise his head, but she nudged it back down. His stomach growled, she heard it. She growled.

The pieces she put together seemed to hit him. "No, girl." He hummed, putting a hand on her belly, rubbing it. "I'll be fine."

She hissed and nipped him, he froze up. Then she pushed his head down between her legs, rumbling angrily.

"Fuck... Fuck..." Mike shuddered, then took deep breaths. It's okay. She's just... She... Cares. She cares. That's all. She hissed a little louder with bared teeth, as if threatening to eat him if he did not nurse now.

He did it. And that settled it. She felt a deep calm, her tail wrapping around them. That was a kind of peace she didn't know she wanted. Even with her mind putting up connections, remembering things vaguely, she never remembered what it was she wanted. But this... This was nice. Practice, for the whelps. She was going to have whelps! From eggs! Something said she might not have ever had that ability, but that's ridiculous. She's a hen. She breathed her hot breath against her wh- human! Human, and it retained heat. Better.

They stayed like this during the storm. The hen needed to conserve her own strength if no food was going to come. And she most certainly will not eat her whel- human. Human, human. Her favorite human. Human! Human.

She growled when he detached, and his stomach rumbled. Whelp.

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The morning of the next day still retained the maelstrom. It was worse. No food came. She weathered it, pressing into her human tightly, sharing their body heat. She continued to lick him when his stomach growled, and he obeyed. Like a good whelp.

Finally, when the sun came... It came in full force. Winter wasn't over yet, but the storm had passed.

The warmth spread up her back, and she took a deep breath, uncoiling from her whelp. He gasped and crawled out a bit, sweating. "Jesus. You could have at least lessened up on th-" He was stopped with a gentle nudge, the hen cooing.

He huffed a little and rolled his eyes, straightening himself up and brushing himself off. Then wiped his mouth clean. It wasn't... really the best tasting 'meal' he'd had. But it was something. He felt new, certainly slimy with his sweat and her licking. But that was that. Now to find the stud.

He was still limping, but at the edge of light. He was watching Mike with wild eyes- and a wild tongue that kept him updated on the human's whereabouts- and didn't seem to care too much about how much he smelled like the hen... and her milk.

They eyed each other for a while. The stud wasn't broken yet. But he was getting there. Mike softly flicked his fingers, and she came to her whelp's side, nosing his back and flank softly. She sensed the stud, but she wasn't afraid of him. After her whelp took him for a ride, she was finding more of her own courage... Plus, with her belly beginning to distend, the other drake better start thinking about the whelps. Or else.

The stud disappeared behind the plate. "Hey." Mike growled. "Get your ass back over here."

No response. "Now." He added.

There was an eye that flashed around the edge. "I see you."

The stud rounded the edge again, foreleg up and tail tucked. Absolutely pathetic. He whimpered, and cooed. Then meat hit the plate. Mike motioned for the hen to grab it, then wait. She was quick about it, rounding around the stud.

"You want some of this food?" Mike hummed quietly.

The stud whimpered. The human picked it up... The slight sound of something else.

He turned his back and shook his head. Then pointed to the hen. She ate it all.

The stud roared, cutting it short and huffing sporadically. He was panicking now, his head swaying and twitching.

"Do you know what you did?" Mike rumbled, his fists made and his chest boiling. "Do you know what that means?"

The drake backed up, shaking his head in fear. "It means no food." The drake's next roar was quick, pitiful, painful, strained and frenzied, but with no anger behind it.

Mike was advancing on him now. "You fucked my hen without permission. You came to my territory and marked it. You know why that's bad. It's mine. And you defiled it." His voice was raising, and the hen took that to mean to get up- even as her ears folded back.

"You are a pitiful disgrace of a beast. It's no wonder you were such a shit human. You have no redeeming qualities, not a single speck of respect for those around you. But you already know that. That's why you were so eager to hop into that body." Mike's teeth were bared now, "you couldn't wait to leave it all behind and start living the life you wanted, as a beast. So let me lay this out for you."

Mike was closer now, and the stud had shrunken into himself. "As a beast, you don't get to have anything. Not while I live. Not while you still fuck with me and my territory. If you really want everything you can have. Come kill me. Come eat me. Come bite me. Come take my territory. Now."

The stud seemed about ready to run. But which direction, he couldn't decide. His ears flicked up and down, his forepaw touching the ground. "You know what happens if you don't do that," Mike added, "they're going to pick us up, I will be riding you, and you will be taken with us to live the rest of your life as our obedient stud-drake. No going home. No victory for the Lawmen. No fucking hens whenever you want." The stud froze. Had he really fucked up this hard? Mike's lips twitched into a smile. He'd hit the nail on the head. "That's right. You sit there. And you cower. A weakling. A whelp. You're no beast. You're a pussy. A man with no honor. You couldn't beat me. A man nine times smaller than you. So give it the fuck up, and obey. And maybe we'll let you have a hen every once in a while. I know there's one that's caught your eye."

The stud roared and launched. In the span of a second, what felt like a minute, the knife was out.

And a hen barrelled into the stud, with a roar a multitude times more powerful than the other beast's. He kicked her off, and continued onward to try his luck at the man.

Mike didn't play any games. The knife stuck into a paw, and he twisted it as the force of the incoming attack almost drove him onto his back. He kept his balance even as he lost his knife.

The stud squirmed, gasping and barking out short insults. He tried to bite the knife out a few times before successfully grabbing on, but by that time, the hen was on his tail, and he had to kick while dropping the knife for the human to take. Mike clicked his tongue to call the hen off, the stud could stand, but only just barely, now leaning on his bad shoulder for the new wound to be licked. He was backing away on his hinds, scanning the other two wildly.

"This is the part where I back you into a corner." Mike rumbled. "I did it with Spades, verbally. But for you... I'm going to give you a choice." He started, a strong stride as the stud backed up closer to the strut they'd ended up at. "I'm going to offer you my arm. If you bite it, we go for another ride. I'll stick the knife in your neck, and you'll go hungry for the rest of your fucking life. If you don't, you go hungry for another two or three days, depending on my mood. And you get to live, and fuck, and be a good little stud for the Outlaws you've fought your whole life. The Lawmen will never find your body, obviously," He chuckled, "and you'll get to live an acceptable life as my mount in the drake pens."

The stud's eyes had fallen. They shook with the activity of thought. He... He couldn't lose like this. Not like this. He had to kill the man. Had to. It was the only real way out. His eyes flicked up again, focusing on the man.

"Oh, and if you're thinking of a kill bite, I've got one extra surprise for you." Mike leaned in, whispering quietly into the drake's ear. "You won't make it out and win. The hen will fight you. You will be tired. You'll be hungry. The Riders will take you, and ride you to exhaustion. You'll go on to be broken by someone else. No matter what you do, you lose." His hand came up and brushed the stud's chin softly, "why else would I refuse you food? To be mean to you? No, your little lizard brain is already working against you. It's in a beast's nature to do the good things that give it food. Only helped along by the sapience you now hold, until you're comfortable and happy. You have no path at this point that sets you free, that will lead you back to the Lawmen." The hand pressed into the stud's cheek, tucking his opposite cheek into Mike's neck, "so it's either you do one good thing for once in your Goddamn life, and go on to live modestly as my mount, or try to kill me and suffer."

Then he backed away, his bare arm soon pressing up to the stud's lips. "Go on. Bite me." He leaned in, his eyes clearly coming into the stud's view. "Eat me."

|={_}=|

The hole was plugged momentarily. Then the sounds of chains clanking signalled the descent of the new steel plate. As light poured in, the sight of two drakes curled up with each other met the riders. It seems it was a successful mating, though a melancholy air was about them. They rode up, waking the hen and the stud.

The stud almost had a panic attack, standing over the hen but keeping quiet. Meanwhile, something moved.

"Come on." One of the riders clicked his tongue, a control loop and pole ready. The other had reins.

"Hope you don't mind if I ride this one, fellas."

The riders reeled, looking around before their eyes keyed in on the source. Michael Jett Coheed, in the motherfucking flesh. And on top of the stud. Shirtless, and sweaty, but alive. "How did you... What... You, but... Holy crap, Mike!"

It was Tayler and another rider, who continued his previous sentiment. "Wait, so that means Chief lied to us?"

Mike grinned, "he left me in a pit with a barely trained stud," He pat the stud's neck, who looked rather ashamed for a moment, "and a hen in heat. I don't fault him for thinkin' me a deadman." He then settled in the crook of the stud's neck, and leaned forward, having the stud lower his head so the man could see the others. "I do fault him for thinkin' he's some sort of hotshot. Whaddya guys think about putting him in the sty today?" He grinned.

The other two riders shrugged. "He's been drinkin' hard since that day, boss. I don't think he's in the right mood for a friendly spar." Tayler mused. Mike chuffed, "we'll see about that. Either of you got a coat?"

His stomach rumbled, riling up the hen and causing her to bounce. "And a bottle 'o' whiskey?"

Once Michael was properly ready to handle the weather, the three of them rode, the hen being led by reins in Tayler's hands. Even if she was infinitely more docile, still gotta keep her close.

"We got a new farm a lil' more NorthWest." the rider ahead shouted back. "South Farm's all sorts of riddled with holes, and the Lich Chief summoned still hasn't dissolved yet, last I heard. "This'n's been abandoned a while, probably cuz o' our territory."

Mike listened, but was feeling the gloomy sunlight with new eyes and a new soul. Too engaged was he with the life around him, he couldn't care less about some dumb ol' farm. He was alive.

Alive!

A dumb grin spread across his slightly-overgrown face, taking a healthy swig from the bottle. He did check his bullet hole wounds a few times.

He'll... He'll deal with those in a bit.

The new farm had plenty of trees for shade, a bigger main house, and a big shed that they'd already set up as a care center. There were significantly more workers than before. Hen House must have sent them help. A favor for a favor, he supposed. He drank again...

And people gasped. They whispered, some ran into the house, some had to back away and find a quiet place to right themselves, some crossed their bodies and said a hail mary. A ghost... In their farm. Riding bareback on a stallion that they all feared breaking at one point.

"Michael!" It was Stankyleg, calling from the porch, "Hey! You hungry?"

Mike rose his bottle in response. Stankyleg got it.

"Hey... Tayler..." Michael slurred a little. "Let her off."

"What why?" The rider blinked, then acquiesced after a nod and point from the older man. Once she was off, she started to circle around their little caravan, sniffing around and acclimating herself to the land. It felt nice to be let off and roam. But she stayed close to her stud and whelp.

That was when Chief slinked out of the front door, stumbled, fell into the dirt at the stairs, and got up. His eyes were wide, dead but alive at the same time. Everything was blurry for him. "Micchgggal." He choked. "Mike."

The stud let Mike off, and the man pat and whispered something to him, to lay and wait most likely.

The two men walked at each other, one more messed up than the other. Then they met chests and threw their arms around each other. "Miiiiike. I'm so fuchking sorry. This is a dr- dream. This is a fucking dream. I'm sorry. I was wrong. You're my best friend. I'm sorry I killed you. It's all my fault." He started bawling in front of the whole class. Mike did feel rather vindicated, but a whole month in the pit did leave a bit of a beast in him.

"I know. I know. Let it go." Mike shushed the others. "It was quick and painless, boss."

Chief wailed, spooking the hen and causing her to come up and lick the crying whelp. He sputtered as he dropped his liquor. "I'm ch-gonna take Spades, I'm gonna treat 'er right, bud. You'll see. I'll chhhuuuhh- I'll make 'er bed outta fluffy shit, feed 'er e'ry day."

"Good. I'll be watching." Mike grinned, then Chief snuffled as he pushed the other man off him, holding his shoulders.

"Rest eashy, Dock." Chief choked up. But when Michael didn't disappear, and just smiled at him, his hands started squeezing, feeling. Then he put one on the Doc's face, feeling it. "Oh fuck."

The riders all dispersed, sharing laughs and shouting to their boss about him bein' a big wuss or something, didn't quite matter. The hen continued to lick at the sniffling man, who gently bat her nose down to actually see Michael, the very clear and living man grinned and confirmed his status with a simple line;

"I'm gonna kick your ass, Chief."

The laughter roared up again, even Chief's lips turned up. "We'll see abou' that." He shook the other man, then gave him a much larger, stronger hug.

|=====|

This new place smelled nice. Felt nice, even though it was winter. After she tended to the whelps, who seemed to be handling themselves just fine, the hen was led to a new, warmer place. It was more tightly packed than her old nest, but that meant more warmth. She was wrapped in something, and she cooed in appreciation. Then she called for her stud, who was being led into another tight nest... Until her whelp stopped that.

She was really happy to have a stud that was more gentle. The same stud, of course, but after what happened... Well, she was glad for it. With her belly getting larger, she really appreciated the extra security.

She ate what was in the trough with her stud, they slept, and they traded affection. He was starting to seem a little down as the hours dragged on, but she was there to nibble his neck and keep him in the now.

Things outside seemed to settle, and her whelp reappeared with a hefty treat, splitting it for both her and her stud.

"I'll be back a little later, you two. Scores to settle and all that. Then tomorrow you and I are training." He firmly pointed at her stud, who gently nodded. "I saw you lookin' at the handlers with disdain. You will be nice to them, you get me?" He rumbled, and the stud huffed.

"Desmond if you don't listen, treats like the one I just gave you won't be comin'." The stud nodded profusely, then curled up on his hen, trying to escape any further threats... Like the knife. "Good boy."

"As for you..." Michael hummed, crouching low and rubbing both his hands on the hen's cheeks. He hummed softly, tilting her head this way and that, prompting a bit of a lick from her. "Momma. At least until you respond to Spades again. What do ya think of that, Momma?"

She... Didn't get it. "Ah, alright. We'll work on both." He chuckled, then rubbed her head. She reached up and licked his face, quite obviously pleased with herself that her whelp wasn't sad or upset with her. He gave her more rubs, then shot back up and started on his way out. "You two play nice. No shenanigans. Desmond." The beast shrunk a little.

He was gone, for the time being. So the hen looked up to her stud, he looked down to her, and then lay across her neck, huffing softly. Might as well get used to being affectionate like this... It did make his tail flick happily when her licks came though, as genuine affection.

|=====|

The following months were full of life. Quite literally. Michael got his revenge by beating the crap out of Chief, Stankyleg was reunited with his Momma- whose new name became official when people started suspecting something was up with her and Mike- and she started bursting at the seams with eggs. Figuratively. She was the very picture of drake fertility by the time the second third of her pregnancy rolled by.

The new farm was staffed well, the handlers were made a little more easy on the whole "food as a method of training" thing- only if the beasts got particularly unruly- and more hens on the farm meant less of the males harassing Momma.

A problem at first, because she was allowed to roam. Especially when spring came, and her waddling form became a regular and happy sight around. While the battles raged on in the distance, this farm was a well oiled and regulated machine, kept happy by Michael's strict policies.

Momma loved it, and visiting her whelps, and fussing over the one that got hurt a lifetime ago- another reason to call her Momma- she was the highlight of everyone's day. And that was rare in this world.

She soon came to the point of immobility though, preferring to lay in her nest and eat, as her belly became too heavy.

On the day of her laying, it was helped along by Mike. Anyone else got viciously growled at, even Desmond. The human kept her calm on delivery, humming to her while she worked through.

When she awoke, six eggs were at her belly. Michael was sat aside with a rag, cleaning his violently messy arms and face, and Desmond was allowed back in. The stallion was stunned, and this sparked something in the hen. Seeing him stand there in dumbfounded wonder. She cooed to him to come closer.

He did.

She tried to get him to come closer and lick her. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the eggs. Something about them hit something home deep in his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. A desire to protect, and love, and be something more than a killer- or a mount in this case- he was in love. There was no beating around the bush. His irises grew to the size of dinner plates.

That swelled something in the hen. Something deep, something unfamiliar. Smelling him emit all these confusing and yet very simple scents. It was lovely. She reached over to offer her nose anyways, and Desmond took it.

Michael's shoulders dropped and he leaned back in the pen, sharing vibrations with some other human as the two drakes seemed to truly bond over this.

When Momma looked over though, she jumped. Michael got up, wondering what was happening- She'd just caught his eyes.

Momma's eyes narrowed at the man... Then when Desmond nuzzled under her chin, crawling on his belly on the floor, she seemed to drift off, cooing from the affection.

After that, Michael kept his distance and let the stud and hen have their space... Even if she wanted him close and always cooed when he came around. Whelps grow up so fast.

She was allowed as a mount after that, to work off some of that egg fat. But not too long, and not too hard- those teats were rather massive for a small hen like her, and will cause problems. She liked having a rider again, getting to have a direction to go, and nice places to stop and drink cool water. It was never her whelp, which did sink her heart a little- for whatever reason. But still nice.

Then came time for the eggs to hatch. No other important event mattered then. Even Chief was there, looking over the gate. Everyone heard them cracking and tumbling. Six healthy whelps of varying shades between their Momma and papa hatched. Only one runt, but Tayler was quick to take that one and start a feeding regimen that'd bring it up to speed, and likely become a good hunting drake if it turned out smaller than normal.

She started nursing instantly, the signals of motherhood pleasing her as much as it pleased Desmond to watch her be this... Absolute icon of purity and devotion. He swore he could feel himself slipping. Such simple pleasures, such simple things... But so bright, and happy.

He held on of course, it was him that wanted to be a beast. Not the beast he could become. So he took a deep breath and revelled in it. That was his hen, and his brood she was nursing. He did wonder though... Why was he so attached to her? Did they have a past? He couldn't quite remember. Whatever the case, what she was now was something he absolutely must be near at all times. Or, most of the time.

It was well into the first month of summer, while Momma was breastfeeding, that Michael came by, having already put Desmond in his own pen. He was here to do her claws, dull them, since she was around her whelps nearly all the time. Any accidental clawings had to be mitigated.

She watched him with wide eyes, breathing easy since her favorite human was here. He finished her front claws, and was about to sidle around the whelps before she cooed for his attention. He sighed and set the stool down, stepping back over to her head to grab her cheeks. "I'm right here, Momma. You've been very good, I'm sorry I don't have any treats-"

His tirade stopped when he felt something press into his throat, right at the crease to his chin.

A single dulled claw.