"Attention!"
The group of toddlers persisted in their frightened baby babble, each cooing helplessly at the next. Just watching was giving Dorottya a headache. With a snarl, she stomped a paw hard against the stone floor, making the cave echo with her impatience. "Hey, be quiet, all of you hush!"
That got the reaction she'd been looking for. The herd of captured young all stared up at her with sets of watery eyes in all shades of the rainbow, each pleading for a lick of mercy. Dora had become immune to such things long ago, and gazed right back at her students, fixing the particularly spirited ones with a beady-eyed glare. She giggled as a tiny cattaur girl whimpered and began to cry. No matter how vexing it was to teach the baby captives anything, tormenting them was a treat she always indulged in.
With a theatrical sweep of her rosy tail, the wolftaur strutted back and forth in front of her crowd. "At the moment," she boomed, "all of you, and your families, are prisoners. You won't be living in your homes anymore; instead you'll be here, with me." Dora followed this up with a menacing grin, and delighted to see shivers running down the backs of some of the boys. The crying girl began to weep louder. "Now, now, I can be fun, I promise, and nice - but only if you're good." Her grimace transformed into a sweet smile, inviting and benign. "You all know how to be good, right?"
The herd of lambs all nodded, the fools. Not a one were adequately prepared for the kind of proper behavior Dorottya was looking for; Jasper was certain. As the vicious little lady began outlining the expectations each child would be held to - lowered eye contact, swift obedience, and all the rest - he stood awkwardly in the corner, fidgeting with the discipline wand. He'd shadowed Dora to five of these little 'lessons' now, but he wasn't growing any more accustomed to the idea. There was nothing to be proud of in harming a defenseless kid.
That was definitely the minority opinion around here, though, and that truth left an increasingly bitter taste in Jasper's mouth. He tried to focus on what Dorottya was saying, or on the squirming children to see if one stepped out of line, but his mind was miles away; somewhere out of this cave, where the wind smelled like the trees. Sage eyes drifted listlessly, and the thin rod of birch tapped against his palm.
No; this was not the kind of place he wanted to be.
