Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Be the First to the Feast, Let's Choke on the Past

powerplay with perms for flow of the scene

The boy’s defiance, a flickering ember against the storm of Herod’s wrath, only served to stoke the lion's fury. No, I don't believe you do.

His paw, heavy as iron, pressed down upon Hasdrubal’s skull, forcing his head against the cold stone wall as though to crush the very spirit of rebellion from within. He leaned down, his breath hot and rancid against Hasdrubal’s form. The boy could feel the heat of the lion’s body, the oppressive closeness of his fury as Herod's lips brushed against the muddied fur of his ear. If I tell you to eat what do you say? He waited, yet, the only response was the ragged sound of Hasdrubal’s breath, heavy and uneven, caught somewhere between fear and pain.

Herod’s eyes narrowed. The boy dared defy him still? Such childish insolence would not be tolerated.

What do you say? Herod repeated, his tone a soft hiss, the venom in his voice barely restrained. The question, once more, met no answer, save for the desperate rise and fall of Hasdrubal’s chest. The boy’s silence, whether borne of fear or defiance, was intolerable. Herod’s patience, worn thin, snapped like a brittle twig.

With a guttural growl that rumbled from deep within his chest, Herod snapped his jaws, clamping down on the pearled fur of Hasdrubal’s neck. His teeth, yellowed with age and power, dug into the boy’s flesh. With a savage jerk, Herod dragged Hasdrubal away from the wall, the boy’s body scraping across the stone floor.

There would be no mercy. Not until the lesson was understood.

Answer me, Herod snarled, his teeth tightening their grip, the pressure unbearable, the pain sharp and immediate. The boy’s body writhed beneath him, a pitiful attempt at opposition. He could feel the boy’s resistance faltering, his breath coming in choked gasps as the pressure mounted. Herod’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, for he knew the breaking point was near.

And then, at last, the reply came—broken, choked, but present.
Yes, Abbot, Hasdrubal croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper, the words forced from his throat under the crushing weight of Herod’s command. Herod’s grip loosened slightly, the boy’s compliance soothing the beast’s temper, though not entirely.

Good, Herod purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he released the boy, watching with cold detachment as Hasdrubal gasped for air, his body trembling from the ordeal. If I say jump you say?

Yes, Abbot The answer came quicker this time, though no less strained, the boy’s will faltering. Herod breathed out, his muscles relaxing in contentment as he trailed a golden paw up Hasdrubal's heaving chest.

Now you are beginning to understand, Herod crooned, his voice smooth, almost pleased. This victory, small though it was, tasted sweet. This was the way of things. This was the lesson Hasdrubal had to learn, over and over, until it was seared into his very bones.

Whimper.

As the last vestiges of defiance crumbled, Hasdrubal’s body trembled, a low whine escaping his lips—barely audible, yet enough for Herod to hear. It was the sound of defeat, of submission. It was the sound of a boy who had learned his place.

Herod smiled, taking a step back and straightening his ruffled fur. You will do well not to forget your place, Hasdrubal, he said cooly, turning his back on the crumpled form and taking a step toward the mouth of the cave. Elveera will see you tomorrow, after which you will join me for breakfast.

All was as it should be.