“Hemlock, you come here right now young grub,” spouted an almost exhausted Wicker. The changeling desperately was flaying his hooves to try and catch the small bundle of wings and scales zipping just out of his reach. Whoever said that parenthood was something blissful, needed to maybe jump in a very cold lake. “You know very well you need to take a bath.”
The particular bundle in question only gave a buzzing laugh of mirth as it easily dodged the older changelings grasp, flicking its long tongue out at Wicker with playful hisses.
“But dad I just learned how to fly, what’s the use of having these wings if I can’t ever stretch them out?” the small changeling replied, now hovering just above Wicker. Like his father he had a mane of dark grey just starting to show across his neck and back, with a pair of cute cropped ears. Where he truly differed from Wicker was his flowing green colored tail, emerald studded eyes, and rippling purple scales across his back and sides.
“Besides, I’m not that dirty,” further reasoned the young changeling. “Juniper dared me that the pit was wet and I said it was dry, so of course I had to prove her wrong.” Hemlock gave a proud smile at the memory of this afternoon, his playtime with his best find Juniper was always the highlight of his daily routines. He had also been right, the mud pit had been dried out, which lead to him receiving a firm caked layer of brown dirt residue over his scales. But it was nothing compared to how dirty he usually got.
Hemlock was about to take off again when he suddenly stopped, a tingling of fear moving though him as he felt the familiar presence of another entering his room. He quickly recognized the scent and feel of his only other parent.
“Mind your father Hemlock.” He stiffened like a board for no one else could ever reach that same commanding tone as his mother, Chrysalis. The changeling queen had entered his private cavern as usual with the grace and atmosphere of a ruler. Even as young as he was Hemlock instinctively knew to respect her and not just because she was his mother. She quickly flashed him that same no-nonsense look of hers that always shut down his fun, making him seize up and nearly plummet out of the air.
Hemlock admirably recovered however, and timidly flashed her back one of his sheepish smiles, his fangs glinting in the light of the caves illumination crystals. He began to lower himself as he watched his mother take her place beside Wicker. Now both of his parents were looking up at him. He shuddered as he couldn’t help but feel that sometimes they could be kind of scary when they got this serious.
Chrysalis tapped her front hooves impatiently while she stared down her young son. Her displeasure with how he was dragging his hooves more than evident. “Come along honey-seed,” she cooed at him, hiding her frustration. “You want to be nice and ready for your uncle Mandrake when he arrives right?” she added winking to Wicker out of the corner of her eye. Her mate gave her a return wink in acknowledgement.
“She’s right son, uncle Mandrake expects a clean and presentable young prince, not a dirty little rapscallion,” chuckled Wicker. His front leg subtly began to nudge forward a small wooden tub of steaming water.
Hemlock froze in the air as he digested their words. Uncle Mandrake was coming! Then they were right, he needed to be cleaned, dried and presentable immediately. Mandrake did not tolerate sloppiness and Hemlock couldn’t stand to disappoint him, not with how much the old changeling praised him as the future of their race.
“Okay okay,” he muttered as he flew down to his parents, dropping onto the cold ground in a cloud of dust in front of them. As he began to make his way forward towards the tub, Chrysalis leaned down to nuzzle affectionately at his cheek, giving him a soft lick.
“There’s my good handsome boy,” she paused her praise only to lick his other cheek. “It won’t be so bad: Remember how regal you stand out after being cleaned?” she spoke softly, giving him a gentle hug. She suddenly gave a neigh of content as she felt the young changeling pushing back into her embrace giving her own cheek an affectionate lick.
“Yes mum,” he replied, pulling away from her. Turning his gaze the young colt looked over at his still stern looking father sheepishly. “Sorry I gave you such trouble da,” he spoke gently.
Wicker gave his son a few more seconds of his look before that stern frown slipped into a knowledgeable smile. Leaning forward he rubbed his own cheek gently across the young colt’s being careful to mind that young twisted horn poking into his eyes. “It’s alright my son. I know flying can be overly exciting when you first learn how.”
Leaning down Wicker gripped his son about the neck with his teeth, lifting the young foal off the ground. Hemlock was familiar enough with this position to curl up, all the while nuzzling his face against the tip of his father’s nostrils as the older changeling led him over to the tub. Dropping Hemlock with a soft plop and splash into the warm mixture, Wicker brought his horn to light as he used it to pick up the nearest bar of soap.
Just across from them Chrysalis made herself comfortable, lying down as she watched her mate bathe their son. ‘ So glad it’s his turn to wash Hemlock, ’ thought the changeling queen to herself. ‘That child practically lives in the dirt and dust. ’
Hemlock spluttered water as he was doused under the waterline. He felt the rough soap bar scratch over his skin, the bubble and squeak dripping down his dark scales and wetting his grey mane. Wicker sat above him chirping along as he washed the dirt and grime off his son’s scales, paying extra attention to that mane. It would indeed be a long one once it had fully grown in.
Hemlock closed his eyes to keep the soap out of them; listening as his father hummed along and his mother gave groans of relaxation. His parents were always trying to keep him clean and tidy. When it wasn’t his dad it was his mother. The young changeling had even memorized his mother’s rant about a clean prince being a respected prince and other such formalities that made a young colt feel trapped and small. His father was way cooler and easier going though. Hemlock could get away with a lot more mischief and fun with Wicker around, however even his dad could turn serious and foreboding.
The only changeling the young colt knew who was open and the same at all times was his uncle Mandrake. Of course Hemlock was no fool, he may be young but he understood quite well that Mandrake was not really his uncle; his half brother Crescendo was an identical copy of the older changeling, just with more limbs. He tried not to focus too much on his mother’s social life however, after all he still wanted to have a life and thinking about what she got up to in the grown-upsense could make him throw himself into a frenzied Maulwurf pit.
That being said, the young prince-ling loved Mandrake as much as he did his own parents. The imposing changeling never had a condescending tone or undeserved word of malice when they talked. Mandrake treated him like a grown up, respected him, and made Hemlock feel like a true prince. His parents as parents go, were great and all, but they often swamped him with what was expected of him. With Mandrake he was allowed to learn for himself what those responsibilities were. The old changeling would take him on walks and mass exodus’s around the Hive letting the young colt explore and ask questions as he saw fit, it was one of the more interesting activities he endured in his training to be King.
“Do you think uncle Mandrake will teach me another lesson today?” asked Hemlock curiously. With his uncle he never knew what their goal for the day would be until they were already about it. Sometimes he would learn a lesson, other times they would just walk around and talk.
“Hmm, I can never tell,” answered Chrysalis dreamily, watching Wicker’s shaking rear end as he moved around the tub. “That old grump doesn’t tell me anything about what you two do together, says I should keep my big nose out if it Mrphh…the nerve.” The changeling queen growled before she took the moment to stretch herself with a fierce yawn. Now lying stretched out even further. Her eyesight perfectly situated to watch Wicker’s back muscles clench as he began to once more scrub the remaining dredges of dirt from Hemlock. ‘Oh yes, queeny likes the view, ’ she thought gleefully, chirping out-loud by accident.
Wicker just rolled his eyes, his wife’s attention having not gone unnoticed. He finished scrubbing his sons’ scales and picked the colt out of the tub. Setting him to the side Wicker nudged the foal onto his back, picking up a towel with his magic. The towel was soft against Hemlock’s scales and he chirped as his father dried him off, nudging him once more to get on all fours as the larger changeling brought out a smooth bone comb from a side shelf.
Pressing the comb to his son’s messy growing mane, Wicker carefully stroked the fur back into place with swift strokes. One hoof on his shoulder holding him steady, the other hoof playfully tickling his son’s now gleaming scales, smiling at the giggle he got in return. “Oh yes there we go, now you look like a prince my boy,” swooned Wicker, trying to make sure his combing wasn’t pulling the young lads hair too hard.
Hemlock beamed as his dad praised him, the swift but elegant comb thrusts through his mane feeling divine. Wicker always was so gentle with him when it came to grooming, while his mother was more intimate. She loved to cuddle him the entire time she would groom his mane, always ready with a soft lick and a friendly nuzzle that put a wonderful full feeling deep inside him. It was slightly unnerving given her usual stoic and imposing demeanour, but at the same time he would never trade it for the world.
“Just a few more minutes Hem and then you will be ready to go,” assured Wicker feeling his sons’ impatience.
“Why do I have to be so clean anyways?” replied the young changeling trying to shake himself dry of the remaining water still clinging to his body.
“Because you want your subjects to respect you as their future king do you not?” followed up Chrysalis admiring his now shinny scales and well brushed mane.
“Why should they think any different...?” answered a cold voice from behind the three changelings, Chrysalis and Wicker’s eyes flashing with surprise, while Hemlocks blazed with excitement.
Standing behind them was an older looking changeling, dark black with a flowing mane, several strands of white and silver contrasted by the flow of grey. He was taller than Wicker but not as tall as Chrysalis, but like the queen he was terribly imposing. The stranger held himself with a fierce grace despite several sickly looking holes in his legs. Even situated in the shadows as he was, the armored breast plate across his chest still glinted from the cavern’s light. A decorated helmet adorned his head, his horn poking out of the open section at the top. Just below the helmet flashed a gold encrusted ruby stud, embedded in his left ear, while his right sported another earring fitted with a blue scale fastened to a single griffin’s feather.
He made quite the sight as he simply stood there in the cavern’s opening, staring down the royal family. Furthermore what appeared most haunting about this elder were his eyes. They were a bright and impacting shade of ice blue...entrancing and glaring all at once. His pupils like etched black pits in deep wells of frozen ice and cold. They were the kind of eyes you feared to look into for long least-ways you drown in them.
“Uncle Mandrake!” cried Hemlock as he raced towards the tall changeling, pressing himself against the elder’s leg. His eyes stared up at Mandrake adoringly while the other changeling gave him a smile of appreciation.
“Once again Mandrake you manage to make quite the entrance,” hissed Chrysalis annoyed with that disappear and reappear act of his. “Nearly scared us out of our wits!” she growled.
“If you recall my queen, it is the nature of my duty to sneak up on others,” replied the elder changeling stoically. He brought one of his hooves to rest on top of Hemlock’s head tussling his mane. “Are you ready for our meeting young prince?”
“Yes sir, I just got finished cleaning up for you,” answered Hemlock with a hint of distaste in his tone. “Mum and dad think I need to be clean to get the hives respect.”
“Like with any substance of value, it is how you gain respect that matters, not what you look like,” hissed Mandrake.
Chrysalis only growled at that. “Appearances are everything Mandrake, if one wants to be a ruler they must look the part,” she finished.
“And sometimes appearances can be deceiving Chrissie, we of all species should know that more than others,” answered the other.
Wicker who till this moment had been silent, made the decision to interject just then. “Well we do really appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule Lord Mandrake,” he nervously stated. As a captain Wicker had substantial rank, but Mandrake was higher up in the alpha food chain then he was. One thing that he had learned as a soldier, flattery of the top brass couldn’t hurt to ease tension. “Hemlock is very excited to be going with you again.”
“As he should, a colt’s desire to learn and experience must be nurtured not avoided,” mentioned Mandrake. “It is no trouble captain, the future of the Hive is the responsibility of all alphas and your son is our future.” Mandrake nudged the young colt hugging his leg to let go before he directed him towards the entrance of the cavern that was Hemlock’s private chamber.
“Make sure you watch out for him Mandrake,” warned Chrysalis a bit of worry clear in her eyes.
“He will be fine dear,” answered Wicker, nodding to Mandrake. Wicker had never been fully trusting of Mandrake, but he knew that the commander of the Insidian Order was devoted to his son and preserving the hive. Like with all alphas his biological imperative was the safety of the race. Thus nothing was more important to Mandrake or the hive then the crown prince.
“Yeah I’ll be fine mom,” followed Hemlock darting between the tall legs of the older changeling who only rolled his eyes.
Chrysalis only gave a small grunt as she resumed her place on her stomach. She gave a swift wave to Mandrake and her son, indicating her blessing. As the elder and youngster left together she watched as Wicker turned back to her, his focus all on his mate. Walking over to Chrysalis he stood above her and gently placed his fore hooves across her shoulders.
“You know they will be fine dear, you worry way too much,” he said as he gently began kneading the tight muscles of her back, grinning as could feel the ripples of her back muscles clenching as she felt the pleasure of his touch.
“I just want him to be safe,” she muttered groaning suddenly as Wicker’s talented hooves found a rather sore spot upon her right shoulder. “He’s the first alpha I’ve had to raise in nearly six years, the last changeling born in our...old home.” Her voice faltered for a minute as she was forced to remember her old hive. Her corrupted, repossessed, and usurped hive.
“Mandrake would rather lose his wings then allow something happen to his prince,” reasoned Wicker. Shifting a bit more weight into his hooves hoping to relax his uptight mate some more before she blew a blood vessel.
“If anything happens to our son, I’ll hold him to that fate.” Chrysalis could only growl, even as Wicker melted the tension and stress from her scales and bones.
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