You know how you sometimes find artists on the internet drawing Blake and Yang as a cat and dragon, respectively?

WELL, CONGRATS, I'VE BEEN INSPIRED.

This story is not edited by Cowjump. It will be several short chapters long, and it is purely me, uncut.

NOW SUFFER WITH ME.

It was a beautiful day, perfect for a visit to the –

Never mind.

If Yang was beginning to think up terrible, excruciating ways of starting a story, she was already screwed. She didn't even like reading. Especially not fiction – not anymore, anyway. Not after this recent, crazy, and incredibly distressing turn her life had taken.

The problem, though, was that she was so thoroughly stuck and so thoroughly hurt – and had been so for the past…what? Two days now? – that her mind had become desperate to at least find a way to entertain itself. Whatever happened, she couldn't let herself succumb to hopelessness. The last thing she needed was a curious Grimm or two coming along to check out the free dinner.

So, yeah, the sky was blue, the grass was green, and the sun was hot – the kind of weather that would have been awesome for all kinds of things. Especially the beach.

Ugh. Despite Yang's best attempts to think of literally anything else, her thoughts returned to her surroundings and situation. This was not the beach at all. It was the anus of a freaking cliff. With murder-y, crumbling rocks and vultures flying in circles overhead, an omen to Yang's impending doom if she ever saw one.

She could have dealt with just a few broken bones. The wounds hurt something awful, sure, and after two days there was a different kind of marrow-deep soreness settling in, but at least Yang could have moved. She could have figured something out to recover, gotten on with this new existence, and found a way to make everything go back to normal.

But, no. Yang was also trapped. There was a huge boulder on her right arm, keeping it pinned to the ground and forcing her body to stay angled awkwardly. She supposed her bone there was at least fractured. Her hand felt numb.

She couldn't use her feet or legs to provide her with any leverage. They were bound together at the calves thanks to a chain bola, and they were kind of under her body sideways. And then, of course, there were her wings – big, leathery, useless things that they were. One of those was broken, too, as she had crash landed on it very wrong on her way down the cliff.

Yang was in the middle of some rocky canyon in Northeast Nowhere, hurt, stuck, and alone, and if she didn't die from all of the many different things that could kill her right now, then the poachers who had thrown the bola in the first place would eventually find her and…well, that would probably be the end for Yang, too.

And here she was, trying to think happy or funny thoughts through the agony. Her breathing was a little uneven, broad chest heaving occasionally, and her serpent-like tail whipped out behind her in frustration.

Only three weeks ago, had someone told Yang that her boyfriend was a magical lunatic and that he would turn her into dragon in a fit of raging jealousy, and then that she would be forced to flee society because of this transformation, she would have laughed in their face. Because that was stupid, right? Dust was a thing, but magic? Uh-huh. And chickens had teeth, too, now, she supposed.

Yang had been compared to a dragon a few times before – because of her semblance and how it made her light up with gold fire at full power, or maybe it was also how her eyes turned red when she was angry. But this new reality was on a whole other level of bonkers.

Actually, it's probably just my name.

The fact that the little detail of Xiao Long had come to her last made Yang wonder if she was starting to become delusional. She hadn't been able to eat or drink, either, in the past two days, after all. She was weakening.

Oh, Yang had grieved, alright. And during that first week, she had spent her time being terrified and panicking over all the consequences of her new appearance. Adam had disappeared, leaving her to fend for herself and making it impossible for her to beg him to turn her back. She couldn't communicate with anyone anymore, anyway. Nobody understood the growls and roars. In fact, people were deathly afraid of her.

It wasn't like she was a very big dragon. Yang didn't think so, anyway. Her body might have been about the size of an elephant…and about three times as long. It was her wings that were so much larger and unwieldy.

But that didn't matter, it seemed. She looked like a monster come to life from a fairy-tale, and when even her very own little sister, Ruby, failed to recognize her and proceeded to fight her away from their dad's cottage on Patch, Yang had truly given up on trying to find an ally. And so, upset and scared, she took to the wilderness.

The second week had been all about figuring out how to survive on her own like this…and learning very quickly to stay away from the people that lived out here. Bandits. Poachers. She could fight off the Grimm that liked to flock to her fairly easily, so that was one advantage of this beastly body, but she didn't know how to handle entire communities who seemed attracted to the idea of killing her for meat, sport, or money. She didn't want to hurt anyone, no matter their intentions.

…Which brought her to the other matter she had a lot of difficulty with, at first. Food. Her appetite was bigger and fiercer, and her reptilian stomach did not like vegetation. Yang had never gone hunting before as a human – she just couldn't imagine ending a poor, cute animal's life just to taste different, wild meat.

Unfortunately, Yang did not want to die. And Yang had to eat. She had no choice. She had started off small – while drinking from a stream, she had spotted fish swimming in the rushing water, and had reluctantly attempted the task of catching one. She didn't use her claws or tail or angular face, though – Yang wasn't willing to act more like a monster than she needed to. Instead, she had found a sturdy branch and sharpened the end into a point. And then she had set about spearing the water.

It was awkward and frustrating, but when she finally did catch one, Yang had watched the fish flop for a moment, both ravenous and disgusted at the sight. Did she really want to eat this thing still alive and raw? Her stomach would probably be fine with it, but her mind definitely was not.

And then it occurred to her – for the hundredth and one time – that she was a dragon now. Maybe she could, like, breathe fire? Yang had to be careful, though – the last thing she wanted was to set the forest aflame. So, she positioned herself over the stream, wriggling fish in front of her snout, and focused. She just wanted a little jet of fire. Just a little one.

But Yang had no idea how this worked. Would there be actual fire coming straight out of her lungs or belly? That seemed…dangerous to her own organs. And impossible. If she remembered well from the movies she had watched, didn't dragons have glands in their jaw somewhere that secreted a highly flammable toxin? And that this toxin was what caught on fire when they breathed out hot air forcefully?

Yang decided that must be it. She had to focus on secreting that toxin.

Two minutes later, lo and behold, Yang had a very charred fish on her stick. So charred, in fact, that it was practically ash in her mouth when she ate it. It tasted nothing like a well-cooked fish, but Yang still found a certain satisfaction in figuring out how part of her dragon anatomy functioned. This encouraged her to catch a few more, and although she burned all of them as well, they each were a little more edible than the last. Practice would make perfect.

Food sounded like such a marvelous luxury right now – burned or not. Her stomach rumbled and squeezed, and her wincing gaze wandered to her pinned, crushed arm. She swallowed hard. If it came down to it, would she be willing to…cut it off? Would she become that desperate? Was it possible that the longer Yang stayed in this form, the less human she became?

Dread settled in Yang's gut, heavy and cold. What had Adam done to her?

A sudden noise brought Yang out of her own head. She craned her neck around, trying to get a glimpse of what it could possibly be. Her heart was thumping harder in her chest. Yang did not want to die.

As fate would have it, though, death seemed very much on her agenda within the next few minutes. A long, chilling howl resonated through the trees, followed by aggressive and excited yapping, and then the sound of dozens of paws running through the underbrush, twigs snapping and bushes rustling.

Yang's eyes widened, panic starting to fill her chest as she glanced from left to right, trying to pinpoint exactly where they were coming from. It was a pack of Beowolves, no doubt about that. They would be smaller than her, but Yang could barely move, let alone defend herself. She hadn't been able to figure out how to use her aura in this form yet, and that was part of the reason why she was in such a dire state to begin with.

God, what am I going to do?

Yang swiveled her head as far as she could, searching, and that's when she saw them. They erupted from the trees like oversized rabid dogs, eyes glowing like iron bathing in fire – red and scorching with danger. The Alpha was almost as big as she was, heavy, pointy bone plates on its back and legs. It was an experienced Grimm. And the fact that it was charging at her, its pack close behind, without checking for any other signs of life meant Yang really was neck deep in trouble.

She wished the poachers had found her first. At least her death would have been fairly quick. Now she was going to be forced to watch and feel herself get eaten piece by piece until she fainted or died from blood loss.

Yang was horrified.

In the next moment, the Beowolves were upon her. Using what little fighting strength she had left, Yang whipped her tail at them, a blood-curdling, inhuman screech leaving her jaws as the movement exacerbated her wounds. She knocked most of them away with that strike, a few hitting the rocks hard, but the Alpha dodged and jumped, landing squarely on her back…and partly on her good wing. It dug its claws into her thick, scaly skin, saliva dribbling from its maw, and Yang hissed, struggling. She might not have learned how to fly yet, but she did have some control over her new limbs. Yang suddenly unfurled her wing with enough force that the Alpha rocketed off, joining its recovering pack.

But it landed on its feet and came rushing right back towards her, growling angrily.

Yang's body heaved with the effort it took to cover what she could of herself with her wing. She didn't have anymore energy to fight, nor did she have the means to, anyway. Had she been suicidal, she would have left herself open for the Beowolves to feast – it would have been quicker that way, after all. But Yang was still hanging on to life, and even if this was going to be the most pain she would ever be in for the last moments of it, she wouldn't give up.

She felt them, one after the other, tackling her body, marking her with wide incisions and deep bites, and Yang roared at the agony, writhing and desperately trying to free her legs from the chain bola. It was no use. Yang was going to die.

And her family would never know what happened.

Among her screams, Yang wept, too.

So, if you think bestiality is weird, this story might not be for you (?). Just thought I should maybe put that out there. Maybe. I think bestiality is weird. Why am I writing this?

But for real, I don't know how far I'm gonna go with...that. We'll see what happens. It's still supposed to be a nice Yang and Blake romance.

...Don't quote me on that.