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Likar are spongy, and their fur is especially difficult to gnaw around, but the copious quantities of meat make them worth devouring. I lick my lips, the savory blood from my horrified prey coating my tongue like thick, flowing mel.
I am surrounded in the clearing, devoured creatures around me. For a moment, I am glad that none of my victims were sentient this time. I am covered in their blood, hunched over on all fours like an animal. For a mere instant, my hunger is satisfied, my thirst quenched.
But the relief does not last long. Now my hunger returns. Now is the time to hunt.
Through the woods of Rach I roam, wandering over bridges and across the Tiphe River. I cannot venture too far west, or I might wander into Prazh, where the humans dwell.
These lips have not tasted human flesh in some time. The thrill of it lingers, and my stomach gurgles. If I could just have one more taste of it, perhaps then this hunger would be satisfied longer.
And the humans are much easier pickings than the creatures that dwell beyond these forests, nearby. Though killing them is also quite gratifying.
I wander aimlessly, rapidly, through these woods, along trails and through thickets and clearings. Never knowing what I’m going to discover is part of the joy – and the dread – of existence. Something in my mind longs to be freed from this husk and this overpowering appetite.
But during the moments where I’m eating, and when I’m hunting, existence is pure bliss. There’s something so intoxicating about seeing a creature in its most vulnerable moments. They reveal so much of their true nature to you before their lives end.
They always beg for their lives, no matter how ferocious they otherwise pretend to be.
An entirely new scent catches my nose… something burning. In the far distance, many miles away, I can see a trail of smoke billowing into the clouds.
I dash toward the fiery beacon, taking to the skies on leathery wings. I do not remember the last time I spoke with another creature without the overpowering urge to split its throat. Perhaps, if they don’t attack me, or my hunger doesn’t take hold, we can have a conversation.
But my stomach is growling. And they always attack.
I dive into some bushes in time to see two orcs talking on top of a rock face before a great cavern entrance. They have spitroasted a thistle, which they rotate over a fire. The smell of its meat entices me but not as much as the pair of orcs.
No, I tell myself. But the beast inside me – the beast that is me – will not be silenced.
“Plan worked just as intended,” one of them says. “Old man keeled over in front of us, and they were too distracted by the girl to notice.”
“I didn’t think he’d take the poison,” the other replies. “Doddering old fool fell for it without a second thought.”
The first orc portrays some mocking, convulsing movements before falling to the rocks. As he picks himself back up, they both laugh.
After a moment of silence, the second orc looks toward the distant horizon and speaks.
“Should we really be setting a fire like this, right beside the –”
“Relax. By nightfall, we’ll travel. We’ll be miles away before they even notice we’ve gone.”
“I hope so,” the other grumbles.
I consider how best to confront these creatures. I know that orcs are quick and prone to attack, and they don’t often want to converse with other beings. Should I show myself, I know that they will rebuke me immediately.
My stomach gurgles, and a dull, rumbling growl emits from me unconsciously, filling the air.
It’s time, I think, seeing their immediate reaction.
“Did you hear that?” one of them asks.
They stand at the ready, frantically looking around themselves, as though they could possibly withstand an assault from me.
“Who goes there?” the other asks.
Without another thought, I leap from the tall bushes, gliding through the air on leathery wings.
“What the hell is that thing?”
My wings spread wide, I dive in, tearing into one of their shoulders. It’s so much more succulent than a likar or a suru… and their fear is so much more intense, heightened by their full awareness of the circumstances.
