i.
There is no kindness where he grows, no seeds planted but that of clawed prints in the fresh mud plains, the red-marked snow, the heated brittle rock, the wet grass that tickles, the timber and collapse of another's abode. There is no one "home", but there is only one Clan, and the Daggerbacks teach him quickly: nothing is ever owed to you—not your meal, not your possessions, not even your own life if you're so unfortunate. Only that which you win with strength is respected.
And as a twin, this matters moreso. All things are considered shared between them: food especially. The brute wyverns are always hungry, and more often than not it's their stomachs that dictate the day. And the more the sun and moon run across the sky, the more obvious it becomes: even in the so-called equality of twins, there is one lesser and one greater.
They impress upon him that it's only a matter of time before Brute decides to eat him and end their collective misery--one less stomach to consider in a mob of ever-open jaws.
THIS IS HALLOWEEN
WHERE IT IS ALWAYS HALLOWEEN (and sometimes exams)
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