12-14-2015, 12:06 PM
what turns up in the dark
Instinct cries out inside of it. Its brain is largely reptilian, alien, made to hunt but bred to protect Her; yet it can do neither, not when it is alone, abandoned. It is a thing armored, venomous, with a language unlike theirs and a maw too hardened to speak like them, the mushy words they spill so easily from soft lips.
The she-meat should run. It knows this even as she does not. Instead, the she-meat stands, repeats its words back to it. It is confused, exasperated
(hungry)
but it listens.
Family is a word it has not heard in a long time. It knows packs, it knows Her, but it was hatched from an egg with a stillborn twin and knew little else.
(The twin had not been like it, it had been meat and nothing else. The twin was its first meal, its first hunt.)
“Her,” it says, but only thinks the name: Cthylla. The names matched, almost, the queen and her guard, but the queen had abdicated her post and left the guard roaming with a hollowed belly and unable to speak its name.
The she-meat steps closer and it smells the blood inside her but it does not smell fear. Shouldn’t she run? But instead she asks a question, asks want and family.
“A…pack?” it says, because pack is easier than family, pack sits right on its tongue.
Packs protect. Packs hunt.
Things are easier in a pack.
CTHULHU
reference here