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A small starving mind glowed in the dark, feral thoughts writhed in anguish as the need for food became paramount. Out, out into the gleaming dawn, questing, testing the air for scent of prey, and no prey was to be found. Wait! a scent?, he trailed the scent to a clump of dry feathers, another had eaten here, recently, and the size seemed right. Onwards, questing, ever testing, through bar and dive, onwards ever onwards, until the prey came into view, asleep. A sense of delicious anticipation as he exercised his venom glands and tensed his venom sack. Getting into position he waited for the moment, and then flung his head, agape, at the prey. Hardness, pain, fractured, retreat, an illusion brought on by hunger. He had attacked a graystone...... |
