A while later, Coal found himself in his room, trying not to wince as he stitched up his wounds. This was the hardest part of beatings- having to pick himself back together. He didn't have bandages to cover the claw marks, but he was able to stitch the deeper cuts together with thread. He glanced down at the scratches and sighed, counting them.

"Seven more scars," he commented, knowing that although the wounds would heal, their mark would be forever imprinted on his scales.

Coal didn't mind his scars though. To him, they were reminders. Reminders of what he had done wrong, and one day, reminders of a life he wished he could forget.

Screams started to echo from the cells down the hall. Coal ignored them, knowing what was happening. His father's life goal was to murder every dragon in their rival gang- The Claw. There were about eighty to a hundred dragons in it. Well, there used to be.

Now there were five. 

An ear splitting scream stopped midway and Coal silently corrected himself.

Now there were four.

The leader of the claw was still alive, but his entire family and nearly all of his friends were dead. Drought personally killed every member, although Coal wasn't sure why. His father wasn't very fond of killing. The Sting was dedicated to power, to being able to run things in the dark. They solely controlled nearly every black market and shady business operation that went down in the entire kingdom and beyond. The Sting was an empire-a business. There were only three times when dragons were killed. 

If you were a spy,

If you deserved it,

Or if you killed a member of The Sting.

The last one was the biggest. Drought didn't let a single one of his men die without being avenged. The Claw had murdered someone of great importance to the group the last time they had attacked, that Coal knew. That was why the Claw had to die. It made sense if you asked him. The second reason confused him. What did he mean by deserving to be killed? It seemed more like a catchall than anything else. 

The sound of footsteps jolted Coal away from his thoughts as Drought appeared in the doorway. Coal jumped to his feet and stood up straight, the way he'd been taught. Some of his stitches screamed against the motion, but he hid the pain as best as he could. Drought eyed the stitches carefully, as if he were making sure that Coal had done a good enough job that he wouldn't die from the clawing. He studied his son for a moment.

"You didn't come to inspect the screams." he commented. Coal gulped.

"I know better than to interrupt someone's pain." he recited. Drought narrowed his eyes.

"And what have you pieced together from those screams?"

"That there's only four Claw members left."

"How'd you know he was a Claw?" Coal bit his tongue. He didn't like saying this, not at all, but it was better than being punched until he lost consciousness.

"Because all the Claw's scream like wimps." Drought crossed the room and grabbed him by the ear, pulling on it painfully.

"And what do Sting scream like?" Coal held back a wince.

"Sting don't scream." he whispered, knowing this was happening because of earlier- because he had cried out when he'd been thrown.

"What was that?" Drought yanked harder on his ear and Coal felt his eyes water with pain.

"Sting don't scream." he repeated, louder this time. Drought released him and stormed from the room. 

After he'd gone, Coal quietly shut the door and collapsed onto his bed, finally allowing himself to cry.