“Keras avan, var talas!”

Learning a new language isn't as hard as you think, especially when you figure a few tricks out. People always ask the same questions and say the same things. All you're doing when you try to figure it out is just grasping the finer details of what someone might be saying.

For example, 'keras' is a word I hear when they're angry about something. I can't blame the human for being displeased considering I just maimed his cook and then bit the guard's hand when he tried to pull me off.

'Talas' seems to be the word they use when discussing me, but I think it's a title of what I am to them instead of a specific name since I've heard them use it around the other penned up creatures too. Like I said, it's all just fine tuning once you grasp the general concepts. So I suspect he just said something like, “You'll pay for that, creature!” The flurry of punches and kicks that rain down on me moments after he says it are confirmation enough.

I wake up back in the pen. They put shackles on my wrists and tethered them so close to the floor that I either have to lie down or sit hunched over. My water bowl has been moved out of reach, probably purposely. I may be able to use my foot to drag it over but I don't feel like putting on a show for the guard.

And the ogre's there. He's a human like the rest but I've taken to calling him that since he's almost as wide as he is tall. As far as I can tell his job is to poke and jostle me when it looks like I'm going to fall asleep.

“Heth be vakeras olan?” His words hold mockery. He's probably asking if I had a good nap, or if I like my new bracelets. Can't they ever come up with more than the same old tired lines?

I smile at him, flashing the teeth I bit his master with. I don't feel like giving him another reason to boast at me, so instead of trying to sit with the shackles forcing my body bowed, I tuck an arm under my chin and stretch out. He starts to move his rifle to jab me with it but I make a halfhearted grab for it. My ribs scream in protest but I've learned to hide my pain.

The ogre moves out of view. They have electrified rods that would probably fry me if I tried to touch them, and maybe he's gone to fetch one. But more than likely he's gone to get some food to eat in front of me. I haven't eaten anything but bland scraps and ogre makes a point of eating all his meals in my presence. He's even spit pieces of food into my cage, but when I started throwing them back at him when he looked away he stopped that practice.

Now, if they offered me food I'd probably eat it, but the stuff that seems to pass for food in this place is vile. It reeks of chemicals and preservatives and plastic. My senses refuse to believe that the stuff they're eating is actual food, so the act of consuming it in front of me almost makes me prefer starvation.

Ogre comes back but it isn't with food or a shocker pole. He's holding the hose. “Kre talas, var mola nesseth?” He opens the valve and unleashes a jet of water at me. The pressure against my bruised sides and the sudden chilling cold hits me harder than the shocker would.

There's another universal trait among predators, and that is the fact that we all know that if you show that you're wounded and in pain you leave yourself open as a target. Instinct says to only make noises of pain when someone has taken play too far and it's time to stop. Sometimes it's a sign to let an alpha know that you admit defeat, that he has hurt you and you acknowledge them as your better.

This isn't play, and I don't admit defeat. The water chokes me and I sputter and gag, but I don't scream. I have barely grunted at the pain they've inflicted on me. That's more than likely been another source of frustration for the ogre and his kin. Still, hearing me choke is good enough and I can hear him laughing as he puts the hose away. I lick my arms while he's out of sight and I'm grateful that my fur holds enough moisture for me to quench myself. And at least this means that unless he has the brain of an ogre he won't get the shocker next unless he wants to play with electricity while there's puddles of water around.

And the language lesson continues; 'nesseth' probably means 'drink' or 'water' or maybe 'bath'. Not my preferred way of learning, but it's all I have. I suspect at the rate I'm going I'll have their profanity figured out before I learn how to say hello.

Of course, focusing on the language is simply my way of trying to avoid dwelling on the inevitable. They've invested enough time in me to make me think I'm valuable as some sort of commodity. They haven't judged my strength or fighting prowess, and when they've struck me it's always been in ways that won't permanently mark. When they don't want you to look bad but want you broken, it's usually because they want you as a pet or they want you to make an attractive spectacle. Eventually I'm going to have to either bend a little or expect more extreme measures in the future.

“Talas!” Ogre's voice shakes me from my thoughts as he returns. He stands at the opening of my pen with his hands smugly on his hips. “Var nesseth be vakeras, talas?” Did you like your bath? I move as if struggling to rise, pushing myself up on hands and knees. Ogre leans in closer, smiling at the thought having finally broken me.

His scream of outrage when I shake myself off and drench him makes the agony of my ribs completely worth it.
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4x6 postcard image colored in copic marker and gelpen. Special thanks to  Quantumdragon for letting me write a story in his universe setting.