07-22-2015, 04:12 PM
what turns up in the dark
It is hungry.
It is always hungry, of course, but without Her – without Her to set it upon the meat (it cannot hunt wantonly, She has forbid it) – the hunger is worse, a hollow gnawing pain. It has not eaten in weeks. Its skin draws tight against its ribs. It can survive a long time without feasting, but still, it hurts, it is hungry.
All around it is meat, but it knows some of the meat is poison and it does not know which without Her to tell it so.
The noises click out and its head lifts, listening. It’s so used to the meat’s mushy language that the sound is glorious.
The sound means, hunt. The sound means, feast.
She is not there to give the command, and yet: and yet there are other creatures, things like it, dual-mouthed and poison, sharp tails twitching at their sides.
It calls out, a birtdlike drill, question and affirmation both.
Hunt, it says.
Feast, it says.
It should wait for her. It knows it should. But it’s belly is so hollow, so empty, and the meat-smell is strong, the fear-smell – the meat knows it is being hunted and it will get away soon if it does not join the pack, the hunt.
It follows. It hunts, nose filled with the smell of meat and blood and fear. It hunts, for the first time, alongside its own kind.
CTHULHU
reference here