How much had they seen? Had they just witnessed her human transformation? They must have. How had they known to wait for her here, and how had they found out? She’d been so careful.

They would question her and then undoubtedly condemn her. Banishment could be her fate, and then where would she go? Maybe she should just tell the truth. She wanted to be a Stormhorse. Her rule-breaking was in aid of that, and she hadn’t betrayed the herd’s existence. It might be best to say that—right away, in fact? She opened her mouth to speak.

Her mother struck first.

Without a word, Beathag head-butted Hæra in the chest, driving her backward. Then she did it again. Before Hæra could get her bearings, Asgall’s tail slammed against her fins; together, he and their mother sent her tumbling head over tail. Her front legs flailed as she tried to right herself, but then Beathag’s teeth sank into her shoulder.

This was no reproving maternal nip, nor even the more serious bites her mother had given her in times of anger. Her mother tore into her hide, drawing blood while Hæra cried out.

Asgall laughed and slammed his own head into her back, this time pitching her forward so she was forced to look the Sire in the eye.

Hæra tried to say, Wait, but only “whuh” came out before Beathag’s shell-edged hooves cut into the side of her neck, a hot slice of pain. Her wounds were already stinging from the salt.

The Sire did nothing. He watched impassively.

Hæra muffled her pained cries. A beating was preferable to exile, where she’d be vulnerable to predators and famine. This might be Calder’s mercy, perhaps in deference to the memory of her father. If she endured it stoically, then it’d be over.

Along with her dreams. Calder would decree Hæra join the ranks of broodmares posthaste.

“Sire!” she cried pitifully. “Let me explain why⁠—"

“Silence,” Calder said, even as Beathag lunged again. Together, Hæra’s mother and brother kicked and slapped and bit her, again and again until her body no longer felt like a body but a breathless sack of pain. She burned white-hot with agony from muzzle to fin. Her flesh seemed tender enough to be eaten without chewing.

When would it end? When would they be satisfied? She had broken herd law, yes. Her family was not fond of her, yes. But this⁠—

It was only by chance that she rolled upward when Asgall’s tail passed beneath her in a vicious swish, fast and hard enough that it would have snapped her spine if he’d connected.

It was then she realized the beating wouldn’t be over. They wouldn’t be satisfied until they’d torn her to pieces. This wasn’t a reprimand. It was an execution. Her own mother and brother were going to kill her.