SHATTERED TIES 6.2

They threw him in like a piece of trash and closed the cell with a bang. Fleas lay on the damp, cold slabs of the dungeon for a while. His fists clenched, his voice cracked. His pants were wet. He thought he had overcome the fear and the anger. Since he had started drawing, he had felt happier, freer. But everything had fallen apart. He was nothing but a filthy flea. Without looking up, he curled up into a small ball and clutched his knees. He didn't want to cry.

In the next cell he heard footsteps. Very soft steps of a small creature. He smelled it, it wasn't human. What was it? Fleas didn't want to see or be seen.

"Are you hurt?" A high, slurred voice asked.

"No," he paused, then added, "Not in body."

"I have never seen such a creature. What are you?"

Fleas refused to see. He still fought back the tears that insisted on escaping his eyes.

"A hyaenid."