ORIGIN

Hunger ate as fast as he was able, and yet, paradoxically, he did not in the slightest bit seem rushed. It was more a mechanical act--automated, instinctive, with a precise efficiency despite his clumsy youth. It was, in a sense mindless--and the youth certainly showed absolutely no emotion as he consumed the meat.

When he had swallowed down the last of it he settled back, smacking his jaws once or twice to clear it of residual hide. Then the jaws slowly widened, that single red eye finding Nox and staring at her, watching.

The child gave a quiet gurgle, a sound that would later in life perhaps be a rumble. It might have been contentment, acknowledgement, or warning; it certainly held nothing so useful as words to point the way.

He then simply lay there, settling deeper in the flank-high black mud, watching Nox.

The hatchling was not even entertaining the idea of flight. Nor did it take the rumbles as unsettling; they were, after all, its own sounds, and it instinctively recognized them as such. The same, but... older. Larger. If Nox was going to eat it, she would have done so; she had led Hunger here, and fed it.

But was she telling it, now, with her sounds and this nudge--which it accepted iwth stoic indifference--to leave? Was it lingering too long in Nox's territory?

The young monster tilted his jaws a little wider as Nox blew oily spray, as if to watch her, its body tensing and rocking back a little. It stared, then slowly, quite reptilian in its movement and without the grace of its mother, it turned and began to haul itself away. It wound up facing a forty-five or so degree angle away, then paused, waiting--as if asking if this was enough, or perhaps, if it was correct. A quiet, low gurgle escaped it--nothing particularly meaningful, more a call to attention, as if to emphasize its unspoken question.

It stopped where it had begun to leave, and instead lay quiet, listening to Nox's vocalizations. It didn't quite understand them, but it grasped that she was not pressing Hunger to flee. So there it lay, silent for a moment, before slowly hauling itself back around to point the ruby-colored eye at her.

The jaw contorted, the throat working, and a series of gurgling clicks and groans escaped it, as if it were trying--and failing--to speak. At last, it seemed to somehow get a grasp on the basic method of using its throat to whisper-groan, and a guttural, if high-pitched, pair of words erupted like gas through swamp mud.

"Hhhheeeerree. Kkeeeeep."

Hunger didn't understand these words, though a faint flicker of sentience took note of them, and the patterns in which Nox spoke. Perhaps, if it didn't understand the meaning, it understood, at least, that there must be some; but there was no urgency in its learning, no bright drive to master it more quickly. It simply repeated, and then lay there, waiting.

Hunger grumbled, not in an irritated way--but as if still trying to use its throat to speak. Its attempt at words, though, created only more garbled sound, and it fell silent.

When Nox spoke, it listened. It did not understand the meaning of the words--not yet--but it vaguely noted them, and it was at least a chance that it might remember for later. Or, it might forget; it did not seem to matter overmuch to the hybrid.

Nox's oily black body slicked ahead into the dark, and Hunger followed. Its spiderlike forelegs pivoted sharply forward and back, causing its body to jerk forward in halting movements, but it moved fairly quickly despite this. At times, its jaws closed, particularly when going through deeper water. At this points it would often stop, and listen, pinpointing its mother with sound alone. But when it could, its jaw stayed open, craned forward so that its red eye could watch her lead the way.

It did not know where they were going. It might lose interest, should they go too far, and stop; but for now it had energy enough, and had eaten. Instinct told it that this creature, its carer, had reason to lead it--and so it followed.

That, for the time being, was enough motive.