We were starving.
The stone lay bare for weeks, and what nourishment we had squirreled away in our hovels was all but depleted. Our skin had become taut, giving our
faces and bellies a skeletal impression. Squabbles broke out among the weaker willed. The little ones grew anxious. Clawing at their parents hips.
Their eyes wanting, hungry.
As I sat under the gem lights, I pondered how long it would be before some of us turned up missing . . .and some of us turned up with full bellies.
The hunger can make the mind a woeful place. I had seen it in years past. When the stone sat dry and barren for a month or more.
My own kin had fallen into the treachery, and some had since been expelled from the group. That was when i was small, my claws not yet long and sharp,
my eyes not yet adjusted to the dark.
I was naive.
Of course when food was plentiful, the clan was united, strong. Our numbers stretched to the silver sea. We had burrows far and wide. Our halls were
adorned with the fruit of our victories. We were once great, feared.
Now the stone lay dry and bare. . . The young ones sniffing it and spreading their mouths over it. But what little nourishment remained was long gone.
Now the stone sat like a quiet sentinel, watching us. Mocking
us. The etchings, carved millenniums ago, seemed to point at us. Condemning.
It was us that caused the dry spell. We were greedy when the food was plentiful. We ate without discretion. Some grew so large they hardly fit in
their dens. Now even the gluttons were fading. Their jowls receding. Their eyes sunken.
I had considered venturing out. To see what had become of the stalkers. Had they abandoned us? Had they seen the writing on the wall?
I staggered to the stone room, my arms dragging across the dirt floor.
The stone lay silent and dry. I cursed it, i hated it, despised
it. Yet, i loved it. . .
I lay my tired, hungry body against it and wept tearlessly.
Then a sound from above, the ceiling doors creaking open. Hazy light poured in. And i heard them. The cries of the captured. And i wept again. With
joy and relief and longing.
The stalkers let out the call. The piercing wail echoing through tunnels and into the dark chambers and dens. It was answered in unison. The clan
crying out in relief.
The screams of the captured carried as well. And soon the roar of hundreds of claw-toed feet joined in the clamor.
I was so fortunate. I wailed again. I would be first
And then the warm juice from the damned rained down. Their cries reaching unbearable, beautiful peaks of anguish. Their soft flesh being torn apart.
Their strange faces being bashed and clawed. Their strange language turning into gurgles.
We gathered at the stone and ate heartily. We lapped the blood from the funnels. We bathed in the crimson. We laughed and howled.
We gave thanks. . .
edit on 13-11-2017 by denybedoomed because: (no reason given)