04-26-2020, 04:04 PM
cw: insects, gore & parasites.
AND THEY'LL CARRY YOUR HEART IN THEIR TEETH.
Wild eyed and thirsty, the beast's mouth was horribly dry. Even his overactive salivary glands had long since given up, and the need for something, anything to drink, was the only thing keeping the creature moving. He'd torn into a scorpion on the way, yellowed jaws crunching into a carapace, tail torn away and twitching in the sand. Pincers clung to his lips, as his jaws crushed its prize. Dirt eventually tore them free, eating the claws as well. It had tasted horrible, worse than any corpse, but he was pleased with his fortune. He'd eaten sparingly, which at first had sounded like a great idea, as opposed to travelling on a heavy stomach, but now.... less so. He ached for rain, for moisture on his tongue. His mouth tasted of nothing but sand and grit and bone.
Orange eyes scanned the horizon, as they had for the last day. He seemed no closer to that ashy jungle in the distance, no closer to any sort of relief. And yet, he continued. The sun beat down upon his dark face and neck, relentless and unforgiving. Why he'd chosen the Pitt was beyond him, but something about the jungle beyond... something called to him. Sang that it was Home. It was a call he'd decided he shouldn't refuse, that maybe he should settle down, that maybe there was a home for him, somewhere fierce and decaying. He had long since eaten the fresh kill he had meant to bring as tribute, too hungry, too thirsty to bother. The beast had crunched its skull and sucked back the blood and viscera within, eaten the weak little bones in his own ravenous glee. The flies that buzzed around him had seemed to multiply overnight, eating away at him happily, their little ones burrowing further into his flesh.
At least someone was well fed.
Hours slowly passed as he trekked, and it was near dusk by the time he reached the border of the desert, the expanse of jungle before him. Dirt was thankful for a respite from the blazing heat, his body exhausted, and oh so heavy. He did not collapse, but oh did he wish to. His great body shook, ill with need, the only thing that kept him on his feet was the sickly smell of ash, of the forest before him raggedly sighing into the night, the echo of rising flame. He licked his lips once more, tasting the scorpion again. Nasty little thing it was.
Dirt pulled himself forward, stepping onto the cooler grass, feeling the night welcome him. The great wolf padded over to a burnt tree, leaning up against it before slowly sliding down, his body hitting the dirt with a thud. He harrumphed weakly as the air flew out of his lungs at the force of the impact, and his chin rested upon his paws. His breaths came quick and shallow, as though he simply could not get enough air into his lungs. It soon passed, his breathing becoming a hoarse wheeze, as his poor condition set in. And yet, all he could think of, was that all he had left to offer, buried deep in his neck fur, the remaining flesh twisted and nearly rotting now, was a young rabbit's ribcage, snapped away from its tender corpse.
The beast knew not of what customs lay here, but he figured, if he was going to be found near-dead at their doorstep, he may as well bring a gift.
Orange eyes scanned the horizon, as they had for the last day. He seemed no closer to that ashy jungle in the distance, no closer to any sort of relief. And yet, he continued. The sun beat down upon his dark face and neck, relentless and unforgiving. Why he'd chosen the Pitt was beyond him, but something about the jungle beyond... something called to him. Sang that it was Home. It was a call he'd decided he shouldn't refuse, that maybe he should settle down, that maybe there was a home for him, somewhere fierce and decaying. He had long since eaten the fresh kill he had meant to bring as tribute, too hungry, too thirsty to bother. The beast had crunched its skull and sucked back the blood and viscera within, eaten the weak little bones in his own ravenous glee. The flies that buzzed around him had seemed to multiply overnight, eating away at him happily, their little ones burrowing further into his flesh.
At least someone was well fed.
Hours slowly passed as he trekked, and it was near dusk by the time he reached the border of the desert, the expanse of jungle before him. Dirt was thankful for a respite from the blazing heat, his body exhausted, and oh so heavy. He did not collapse, but oh did he wish to. His great body shook, ill with need, the only thing that kept him on his feet was the sickly smell of ash, of the forest before him raggedly sighing into the night, the echo of rising flame. He licked his lips once more, tasting the scorpion again. Nasty little thing it was.
Dirt pulled himself forward, stepping onto the cooler grass, feeling the night welcome him. The great wolf padded over to a burnt tree, leaning up against it before slowly sliding down, his body hitting the dirt with a thud. He harrumphed weakly as the air flew out of his lungs at the force of the impact, and his chin rested upon his paws. His breaths came quick and shallow, as though he simply could not get enough air into his lungs. It soon passed, his breathing becoming a hoarse wheeze, as his poor condition set in. And yet, all he could think of, was that all he had left to offer, buried deep in his neck fur, the remaining flesh twisted and nearly rotting now, was a young rabbit's ribcage, snapped away from its tender corpse.
The beast knew not of what customs lay here, but he figured, if he was going to be found near-dead at their doorstep, he may as well bring a gift.
code by spacexual
[table][tr][td][/td][td]
"the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what i am. of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. that love us in their way."
- MAG 032
[/td][/tr][/table]- MAG 032