Chapter 3
Unknown
The barkhide is hiding in the underbrush, thinking I can’t see it when it doesn’t move. Flicking my tongue, I taste the air, confirming it’s there, the sweet scent of blood informing me it’s injured. It’s the only reason I hunt it. The others are too fast.
It’s afraid. I smell it. It makes me grin. It should be afraid. I’m about to tear into its flesh.
Slowly, not to make any noise, I stalk forward, all eight of my limbs finding purchase on the forest floor without disturbing it. My skin ripples to match my surroundings—dark red with black streaks. The spikes along my spine flatten to make my movement through the underbrush smoother.
I caught only a few wiggletails today. They filled my belly, but they didn’t satisfy me. The barkhide will fill my stomach as well as my need to tear something apart.
The red fog that always hovers in my mind swells at the thought of blood spurting from the animal’s body. That’s what it wants. What it needs. It’s always hungry. Always needs more death.
The wind picks up, bringing me the barkhide’s scent in its delicious fullness. Fear. Blood. The smells swell the red fog until it fills everything.
Hunt. Maim, rend, tear. Kill.
The need courses through me, painful in its insistence, but another deep inhale brings in a new scent. Something different. The red fog recedes as I sniff at the air, the barkhide forgotten.
What is it?
So sweet and beautiful, delicious and tempting. Never smelled this before. Or maybe…
Something presses at the fog. Tries to push through. It never does.
The scent is new, I’m sure of it. Better yet, there’s blood in it, too.
Blood that makes my mouth water. Whatever it is, I want it.
I want to hunt it down and I want to fill my stomach with it.
No, I don’t just want it. I need it, and not just because of the fog.
This hunger is different from the senseless rage the red fog incites.
It’s deeper. It’s…it’s like it’s coming from behind the fog, which is impossible. There’s nothing behind the fog.
The thoughts hurt. Too many. I whine and scratch at my head.
The scent is strong, coming from the direction of the river.
I could follow it easily. The problem is that it’s leading me closer to the venomfang territory.
I do not like venomfangs. They’re big and strong and dangerous.
Even the bites from the little ones hurt and if the big one sinks its teeth into me, I’ll be dead.
I don’t want to be dead. That’s why I stay away from the venomfang territory. But this scent…
I need it. Need it, need it, need it.
I move before I think. The barkhide clumsily darts away, but I’m not interested in it anymore. I have something better to hunt.
Moving on all eight, I follow the scent fast. Then I slow. This is venomfang land. If they smell it too, they will come. It’s better to be careful. Stalking closer, I let my scales mimic the environment again.
Quiet. Still. I peer from behind a tree, searching for venomfangs. Nothing. Good. Perhaps none are close. If they were, they would have caught the scent too. It’s so strong.
A flock of clatterbeaks hops around the riverbank, another good indication that the venomfangs aren’t around. The annoying fliers take off at the first sign of danger and once in the air, they’re impossible to catch. I’ve tried many times.
The scent is spread around the riverbank, but the strongest concentration comes from beneath a smaller twistroot.
Deeper in the forest, these trees are huge, with root systems one can easily hide in, but this one is still small.
Cautiously moving closer, I look underneath the big red leaves before recoiling.
The creature is…different. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
Have I? Something tries to push through the fog again.
No, nothing like this lives in the forest. Venomfangs. Barkhides. Shellstomps. Nothing like this. Some of its skin is dark like bark, while some has an odd shade of gray. That gray skin has holes in it, though, holes through which more dark skin peeks. Is it shedding?
Curly black fur covers the top of the creature’s head and there’s even a patch of shorter fur around its maw, but it doesn’t seem to have fur anywhere else. Unless it’s hidden by the peeling gray skin.
It only has four limbs, and the upper pair looks too weak to be used for walking. No tail. Strange. Wrong. It still smells good, though. I want it.
The red fog doesn’t surge like it usually does before the fight, leaving me free to think.What is it? Why does it smell so good? Are there more?
What if I didn’t kill it?
The thought feels wrong. The fog doesn’t like it, but it’s still in my head.
The creature is ugly, yes, but it’s the odd kind of ugly that’s almost pretty. I like pretty things. Shiny things, pretty rocks, pieces of bones or roots. Something in me urges me to take them. Bring them to my den. Could I bring the creature too? Keep it in my den. Make it stay.
The thought is too tempting to pass over. I want the creature. Need it. I do not know why. The need is stronger than hunger. Stronger than the urge to kill. I need to make the creature mine.
Mine. Yes. That feels right. It’s mine. Mineminemine.
First, I must know if it is dangerous. Its skin looks soft, with no signs of scales or a shell to protect it.
No spikes or claws. It has teeth but they look blunt, like barkhide’s teeth.
Those only graze on grass, never hunt. Maybe it doesn’t hunt but how does it protect itself from predators? Is it venomous?
Looking over the creature’s odd body, I don’t see any stingers, but those could be hidden within its body. It’s risky. If it stings me, I’ll be easy prey for the venomfangs. But…
I want it.
Mine.