sometimes they come back again; famine & any

[feast]

feast.

death inspires me,

like a dog inspires a rabbit.

He hears Famine creep closer, turns to look at him in a mixture of brotherly love and disgust - god, his twin looked a mess! But he supposed it was because he was quite literally on death’s doorstep and had simply given in to the idea of exhausting his one chance at life and greatness. Really, he should go out in a more fantastical manner than just curling up in a dank dark cave to die like a rat but Feast adores his sicklier twin regardless, touches his sagging cheek briefly and resumes coveting his find as Burnt smolders in the dark behind them.

“A hundred baby vultures…”

The idea appeals to him;

A kettle of vultures in flight -

A committee of vultures in trees -

A wake of vultures feasting on the almost dead corpse of Famine… Surely his brother would not mind feeding the hatchlings if he is so near death already? This way, a piece of Famine will always live on in the vultures that Feast will have at his command. He opens his eyes, nodding to no one and mumbling ‘yes’ a couple of times.

Famine’s burp draws his attention back to them, and to the egg.

“I’m sure, since she wasn’t around and the egg was just laying there.”

He makes no mention of how he didn’t really look or care if a mother was about; the egg, he’s certain, is meant to be his. How else could it have been so carelessly left unattended to be so easily snatched up by him? His smile is very cruel in its look, almost toothy and crocodilian.

Burnt does not know what to think of these two half-brothers of hers’, they are something else altogether but she feels something more for Famine. Even reaches her nose out to steady his hip as he burps and tries to remain from falling into her. He is too sickly to be part of this, and she thinks about ushering him back to his bower of dirt and decay - much like the one the egg sits in. She pities whatever lies inside the cracking shell; it’ll receive no loving reception from any of them in the cavern room.

“No… you think so?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the egg but his head moves towards Famine’s. The idea of a vulture turning inside out is bloody but fun and he grows even more curious as to what could be inside his egg. He takes a step forward and as he does so, Burnt guesses his intent the moment Feast lifts a foreleg --

“No!” she shouts and Feast turns to glare at her, the leg still poised above his treasure.

“Look,” she encourages him as the egg begins to rock and crack some more. It grows more frantic in its motion and a couple pieces of shell flake away, much like Famine’s flesh does, only this is more noticeable than that. Finally, the egg stops moving and the cave is quiet - too quiet, as if they’ve all held their breath in anticipation…

In the quiet, a large piece of shell gives way from as a nose pokes outward.

Burnt cannot swallow a snort of laughter fast enough as Feast gapes at the all too noticeably familiar shape of a horse snout. “What the hell? That’s not a dragon or a vulture!” The little black nose retreats and then a gold eye looks out and rolls away before the rest of the shell breaks apart to reveal a tiny filly. She wears a bit of eggshell on the top of her head like a hat and looks up at the three of them.

“Not a dragon or a vulture at all!” Burnt is openly braying like a donkey now from the hilarity of it. Feast is father to a foal hatched from an egg, what a debacle! She laughs and laughs until she’s hoarse from it and backs off a step to catch her breath.

Feast is incredulous; he hasn’t moved or looked away as the filly stares up at him.

“What the …?” The rest of his sentence is cut off as the thing opens its mouth and squeaks out, “Mama?”

“Nonononononono!” Feast shouts, also starting to back away but for other reasons than the ones Burnt had. He can hear her erupt in another bout of hoarse gut-shaking laughter and he spins around to bare his teeth at her. “Shut up! It’s not funny!” His sides heave in anger and frustration. This was supposed to be something scary and awesome to show his father! To parade around between Famine and him, to make them see how terrible they really were. Not some mutant of a foal that dared to call him mama! He runs to the mouth of the cave and yells for Sinew.

The mare hadn’t gone far, awaiting to hear more of the adventure with the egg. She crowds them, and looks down as the filly sitting on her rump amidst the pieces of shell. “Well now, that’s interesting.” she murmurs, ignoring them all as she lowers her nose to the filly’s and bumps it. “Get up little one,” and Sinew effectively claims Feast’s treasure for her own.

He stands in her way and she stares him down; “You are not capable of handling this.”

“She’s mine,” he growls and takes a menacing step forward.

“Look after your brother, you’ve nothing to offer her for the time being.” and she shoulders past him with the filly in tow.

“She took my prize,” he mopes to Famine and Burnt, going back to the ugly nest and and stomping the rest of the shell to miniscule pieces. He finally goes over to Famine and smooths the greasy stringy strands of forelock down his face. “You’re falling apart,” he observes nonchalantly, just now noticing the curl of skin that has peeled back from behind Famine’s ear.

Burnt has finally stopped laughing and regained her ability to breathe normally again.