ORIGIN

Hunger tore and rolled at Effluvium's fleshy tail. Effluvium burbled and snarled, but did nothing but grip the tree. If it let go, it would probably end up back in the water. And Effluvium did not want to be in the water with swamp-with-teeth. There was an audible tear, wet and sickening, and a solid three pounds of Effluvium's tail was pulled free.

It was nasty meat, the flavor of iron rich offal and coated in mucus, but it was still meat. Effluvium, for its part, was immediately aware of the moment its fleshy end separated from it. It growled, baring a menagerie of teeth.


"No!" It roared, and with jaws still open, lunged at the water. It aimed to catch Hunger's jaw in its own, and perhaps fight for the right to eat that meat. Its own meat, torn from it, was still meat.

"When I speak."

When I think.

It flinched, despite a lack of eyes, at the sudden impact of pointed teeth in its own jaw and snout. That hurt, and this gave it pause; it had very little experience with the concept of pain.

Still, the other creature was holding Hunger's jaw, meaning that he would have a hard time releasing the meat even if he wanted to--and he didn't want to. And any other beast might have dropped the rather foul flesh to begin with, but Hunger was a beast whose father regularly consumed putrid flesh, and its mother... well, that was never really discussed.

It was, it found, in a bit of a pickle. Effluvium was biting, and it could not open its jaws to bite back--not without fighting against Effluvium's bite and losing the meat. It could haul ass back toward the water, and drag Effluvium with it, perhaps--but that might make the bite wound worse.

Hunger shelved that second idea on the sidelines, then, and reached for a better plan. It rarely, if ever, reached for its magic; but perhaps this time it would be of use to it.

Its oily hide began to heat, then char, pop and bubble, at least on the surface: the stuff was highly-flammable, and all it took was a spark of its father's magic to begin pouring off black smoke. It didn't all go the direction Hunger would've wanted, but it hoped it would be enough for it to dip back into the Heart with its rancid prize.

The meat-thing let go its grip, and Hunger was briefly, distantly satisfied with this. Water splashed around it as long limbs propelled it back into the Heart, and it slid out and down, submerging, before beginning to shake and gulp back the slabs of rancid-tasting meat. It did not mind this--rotten meat was perfectly acceptable to it as food. It mostly ignored the scream echoing out behind it, though the sound reminded it of its wounds.

It took brief stock. Bite marks: its snout, its back, not deep but aching. It could feel the water seeping in, cold against the raw flesh, and that was painful, stinging. It would need to use more caution in the future, then.

It had never encountered something that bit back so vehemently: but Hunger had food now, and the wounds were not too bad.

Jaws parted and peered back over the water's surface, after a moment, like some strange periscope: but the flesh-beast had fled, it seemed, into the swamp.

The eldritch hybrid sank back into the waters, going back to eating--for what else mattered, really, in life?