beiju

They hadn't been a morning person, before. In a way, it was convenient. They could sneak back into their room before anyone expected them to be up. But it didn't make waking up any easier. The morning sun beat upon their face, even at the bottom of the hole that had melted through the snowdrift. As soon as they were awake enough to move they scooted inelegantly over to the nearest wall of unmelted snow and buried their face in it. For a moment, they could go back to how they used to feel.

But they couldn't stay there too long. For one, it would warm up with the day. But also, arguably more importantly, their absence would be noticed. So they savored the last cool sensation they would feel for the day, then stood up and began walking—

They stopped. Put one hand to the opposite elbow, then slowly slid it upwards. Before moving more than an inch, they felt it. They must have been pricked with some kind of spine overnight. Probably shed a long time ago, and in their sleep they had moved in just the wrong way to get it lodged in their arm. They gritted their teeth and gripped it —— it was in deep, it's surprising it hadn't woken them up — and pulled sharply.

It had been embedded farther than they'd thought. As they pulled it out, they felt it tug so deep inside themselves that it nearly made them retch. Was it a bad sign, that they hadn't woken up while this... quill, or whatever it was, had worked its way into them? Maybe they should bring some canvas with them tomorrow to lay on. It would insulate them from the cold, true, but maybe it would be fine if they put enough snow on top of it first? Or if they wet it, maybe it would still transfer the heat? Or, maybe this was a one-time occasion, and they were being too dramatic. It hadn't left a wound, after all. Just a small circular hole which collapsed when the spine was removed. As if it was meant to be there.

Whatever the answer, they had to get back to their room before the others suspected they were gone.

---

The day ended up being mostly peaceful, which only made things worse. They barely got to let out any heat. By evening it was all they could do not to immolate everyone who walked too slowly across their path. But, they managed to make it home without giving any of their friends anything new to be upset with them about, and retreated to their room with a door slammed only a little bit too loudly. It wasn't until they were out the window and halfway to the forest before they realized they had left before dinner. Oh, well. They were pretty sure none of the others cared enough to break their door down. They could come up with some excuse tomorrow morning.

They ended up walking farther along the main trail than they intended. Distracted by the unsatisfying accomplishments of the day and by the itch above their elbow that even their sharp nails couldn't satisfy. Once they realized how far they'd gone, they diverted into the nearest gap in the trees. Their legs plowed their body through the snow, now waist-deep, until they finally came upon another clearing. Smaller than yesterday's, but with an even bigger snowdrift piled against a particularly thick clump of trees. They collapsed backwards on top of it. Then wriggled their way deeper into the snow. They would have used their arms to sweep the snow on top of themselves, had one not been occupied scratching and the other being scratched.

It took longer to cool down than usual, it seemed, but eventually the heat within them subsided. The rhythmic rake of their fingernails against their skin lulled them to sleep.

---

They were awoken by an unfamiliar sensation against their fingers. Between strips of familiar skin were hard, keratinous surfaces. Ridges, almost. And on the surface of each of those protruded a thin, fibrous line. Their fingers caressed one for a moment. Feeling the fibers lay flat under their touch in one direction, then prick up into their skin in the other. Like thumbing through a stack of papers.

They brought more fingers in to experiencing the sensation. Pushing downwards, feeling the ruffle of the fibers beneath them. There were two lines, it turned out, each opposite the other. And they didn't extend forever. Eventually the keratin surface that carried them burrowed back into their skin.

For a short distance, they could feel those same ridges through the skin, but then the spine buried too deep. They started feeling the other way, looking for that moment when the lines erupted from beneath the skin, turning back into smooth fibers. And, for a moment, they felt it.

Then the fibers started moving with their fingers, and the comparatively light sensation in their fingertips was replaced by one deep in their arm. A tug, a freeing, the ecstatic sensation of extracting something that was never meant to be there. They continued pulling, longer than they thought they would be able, until they felt their skin give up its grasp.

Slowly, they opened their eyes to gaze upon the spine they'd pulled from themselves. It looked like the one from last time, they thought, though perhaps a bit longer. It came to a point at both ends. They hadn't noticed any fibrous ridges on the one from yesterday, but this one certainly had them. Tiny as they were, the ridges' bright red color was unmistakable against the milky white of the spine.

They threw the thing aside and began to get up. They didn't get far. As soon as they moved their arms they became aware of a foreign sensation in both. Starting above the elbow, extending six to eight inches upwards.

Slowly, they moved one hand to the opposite arm. They didn't need to feel around for long. Their fingers quickly grasped another spine. Slowly, deliberately, they dragged this one out too. It felt like — how would they describe this feeling to someone else? It felt like pulling off your own fingernail, if everything in your body was telling you that pulling off your fingernail was the right thing to do. Yeah, that would definitely make them sound sane. If they ever told anyone about this, which they wouldn't. They just needed to bring that canvas with them next time, and they wouldn't need to pull — they had started on another one, so that was at least three — quills out of themselves.

They had to get back to their room, but the sensation of pulling their spines was too... invigorating? intoxicating? orgasmic? to give up, until they'd pulled the last one and their fingers finally gave up scratching around their elbows for more. They could swear they could feel protrusions where more would be coming, but after many failed attempts to dig them out, they had to admit that this was nonsense. The spines were coming from the ground, after all, and though they had gotten buried deep in the skin, there's no way they could've gotten that deep.

They gathered themselves, stuck their face in a snowbank for another minute, then headed home. On the way back they scooped up handfuls of snow to hold against the deep scratches in each arm.

Once they got back, for the first time since they'd used the—

For the first time in a long time, they put on a long-sleeved shirt.

---

They managed to make it through another day. They'd used more fire than they should have, judging by the others' reactions, and they were barely able to hide how much their arms itched, but they managed to make it to their room without anyone intervening. They were out the window and down the street before everyone had made it through the front door. Quickly enough that the hadn't thought to take off their shirt, they realized, but it didn't matter. They had plenty like that one. They could afford to strip it off and leave it in the street. Plus, they weren't sure if they would ever put a shirt on again. It felt so much better without one.

With their shirt out of the way, their itching quickly turned to pulling spines, even before they got out of town. The euphoric tugging sensation deep within them nearly stopped them in their tracks. The ridges seemed to be bigger this time, causing even more gratification as the spines were slowly, teasingly, pulled free.

As their vision refocused after pulling a particularly large one, they realized they were being watched. A few passersby had noticed them and stared on, concerned. One began to step towards them, and instinctively they opened their mouth, allowing a billowing cloud of flame to spew forth. Once they realized they should stop, and allowed the fire to subside, they saw the onlookers on the ground, scrabbling back towards safety. This was the kind of thing they would get in trouble for, a small part of their brain said, while the main part was occupied with the next spine they were pulling.

They found their way to a snowbank, somehow. It didn't really matter how. What mattered was that they kept pulling spines. Once they ran out of the ones above their elbow they found that there were more, albeit smaller and less satisfying, below their elbow. Those were pulled all too quickly. They clawed over their whole body after that, looking for more. There were a few near each shoulder, which were also gone too soon, and then that was it. No more on the surface. But their upper arms were still covered in bumps that they were sure would be spines, if they could just get to them.

They were used to their fingernails being sharp. They tried to hide it from strangers, but their friends were familiar with the effects of their draconic ties. And had accepted them. Which was not an easy feat, because there was plenty they would not have accepted if they knew about. For example, the real consequences of activating that artifact.

Not that that would matter, because that would all be solved before anything bad happened. They were going to make sure of that.

So, they were used to their fingernails being sharp. But this was more than that. Their fingers had become talons, digging deep into their own flesh. There they found nascent spines, so small they could barely be felt from the outside, but the talons could find them. And they could pull, despite how the blood flowed easily around the tiny spines, and as they pulled they could feel that elation for just a second more. And when that was gone, they went digging for another, and another, until their insides finally felt cold and they collapsed upon the red-tinted snowdrift.

---

They still felt cold when they woke up. That was a blessing. They found themselves on the ground, as usual, and amidst the red runoff of a melted snowdrift, but they felt cold. They shivered in the faint sunlight, and relished the sensation.

While they shivered, one of their claw had been working on pulling a spine free. As it finally came loose — they could barely feel it, now — they held it up before their eyes. It was hard to focus on. Anything nearby was hard to focus on, in fact, just a blur of tan and white and red. But with effort, they were able to focus on the spine they held— no. The feather they held at arm's reach. It's obvious that's what it was now. The brilliant red fibrous ridges had grown, and they could see detail in it they never had before. Had never been able to see at this distance before. Red and orange barbules crossed each other, creating an appearance of brilliant fire.

On a whim, they allowed their hand to fill with flame. The heat buffeted their face, which they would have felt was intolerable just days ago, and the already-melted snow retreated several more inches. Yet, when the fire faded, the feather was intact. As they knew it would be. They released it and let it flutter to the ground. Then their talons turned back to the task of plucking more feathers from their arm. They fluttered to the ground, leaving a trail back to town.

---

They ran into their friends before they were able to sneak back into their room. Something inside them said that this was bad, although they couldn't remember why. They fluttered their wings, eager to show off what they had learned about themselves. From the corner of their eye they saw people fleeing in all directions, for some reason. Whatever it was, they and their friends would fix it soon.

They took a step forward, feeling their head move in sync with the motion, and raised their wings. Then opened their beak and let out a caw of greeting. A jet of flame came out with it — embarrassing, but nothing they hadn't done before — and they were about to follow it up with an apologetic call when a bolt of force hit their side. They pitched over, first scrabbling at the dirt, then digging their talons into the earth to right themselves. Their head turned to the group of friends who had been there to greet them, and saw one of them with a hand raised and smoking.

They opened their beak again, intending to call out in appeasement, but flame erupted from them once more. This time, recognizing their mistake, they launched themselves into the air. They could feel the crackle of lightning as it passed just below them.

They paused to think this time. This group was far from powerless against airborne foes, they knew. They were circling erratically, operating on instinct, but that wouldn't be enough to keep them safe for long. This group had identified them as a threat, and when this group identified a threat, it didn't give up until the threat was gone. They knew that somehow. They didn't want to destroy this town, but they had been given no choice.

They banked suddenly and dipped low, opening their beak and spewing fire equally at the enemy and the vulnerable thatched roofing of the little town. The roofing caught much more easily than the adventurers. But one of them either got lucky or could see through their smoke, because its arrow managed hit the meat of one of their wings. They spiraled for a moment, but managed to pull back up, ignoring the pain as best they could.

Once they recovered, they needed barely a moment to survey the surroundings. The entire enemy group was still standing next to each other, as if begging them to end it. They pulled to the left, catching the updraft of one of the burning buildings, and gathered their strength.

One of the tiny figures at the ground sent a projectile whizzing towards them, then another. They dodged both. The insolent creatures would learn their lesson soon enough.

Now, in fact.

They called the flame that was their birthright down from the heavens to land upon the trespassers. At the same time they swooped, fire spewing from their maw, approaching what was soon to be the smoking remains of the last creatures that had dared to—

A cold lance pierced their stomach.

Not long ago, they might have found this sensation pleasant, a part of them thought. The other part of them panicked, as both parts crashed to the ground.

Their great wings beat against the earth, desperately working to right themselves. Their beak spewed fire all the while, against anything that came near while they were vulnerable. And yet, before they were able to get airborne again, their head felt a sharp reverberating pain, one that even stopped their hearing, and they collapsed again.

When they hefted themselves back onto their claws once more it was not to fight, but to flee. Their foes, seeing their quarry nearing escape, jumped at the chance to stop it. Two bodies landed heavily on their neck, and it was all they could do to keep their head pointed to the heavens as their wings tried frantically to beat. Desperately, they craned their neck and tried to get any lift, but the mortals on their back each slid onto a wing and pinned it to the ground.

They struggled against their own body, against the mortals pinning them down, against air itself, desperate till their last gasp to get airborne once more. But eventually, their wings became too heavy for them to lift. Then their legs, then their head.

As their head unwillingly passed its neutral angle they saw it. A face they recognized, deep in the back of their mind. They weren't sure where it came from, but they trusted this face.

And then the face moved. And it spoke! They were so exhausted it took a moment to realize that it had spoken, then another to register what it said.

"Are you still you?"

Of course they were them. What else would they be? They tried to reply with a confirmatory chuff. As usual, though, it came out stronger than they intended. But that's okay, the face in the porthole was smart. At least that's what they seemed to remember. It would have ducked away from their flame, and—

Suddenly their chest felt cold.

—and it would have popped right up again. Right? Any minute now it would...

They felt colder. Cold used to be good, they thought. Not any more. Now cold was cold. Was...

They had to raise their head. They couldn't see their friend any more. Had to raise their head to see. It was cold but they had to...

They rested their head against the wall. Their chest felt empty.

They heard a voice. It felt like a thousand years since they'd heard a voice. They tried to reach for it, but their limbs didn't respond. Nothing responded.

"I'm sorry," the voice said. What did that mean? Did they...

Did they...

It was cold. Colder than they ever knew it could be.