#nusar

The bleakness of the Plaguelands was a hard contrast to the lush darkness of the Ghostlands.  Small three toed feet trudged along, clutching a small sickle, long forgotten and left to die.  Marching around aimlessly to a destination he didn't know.  It was so quiet, the only sound to break it up, was the long caw of the birds circling his form from on high.  Black and ominous shapes silhouetted by the sunlight.  Voids as black as pitch for eyes, and locked onto the green figure that stumbled about in the wastes.

It wouldn't be long, fresh meat, untainted by the dark magic that claimed the land and most of the inhabitants.  Exotic and  green, with such fiery red hair, shining like a beacon against the landscape.  Neon and inviting reading come and eat here.

He had no idea why where he was, or why he had been lead this far away from the safety of his tribe.   Something was beckoning him forward, like a rope tied about his waist, pulling until he put his next foot forward.  Toes crunching through the pale grass and leaves, tongue slowly extending out to try and dampen cracked lips to no avail.  The already pronounced tusks causing the boy's hunch to be a bit more pronounced, but it was still a strong pose, even with everything working against him.

Eyelids heavy, anyone in their right mind would have turned back.  Limbs creaked, footsteps becoming barely a shuffle through the grass.  Each breath turned more into pain than relief, smalls scars in the landscape became treacherous valleys to traverse with great care.  Until he couldn't make another step, a root that had burst through the earth was the troll's downfall.  With a thud the troll fell face first into the dead land.  A sickening sound of the cruelest glee imagined as the bird's descended upon the helpless troll.  An easy meal.

The sounds of gore filled the land about the scene.  Flesh being torn from bone, blood splattering against rocks and vegetation.  Sharp slashes to exposed vitals, bones snapping to reveal the treasures within.  Feathers flying about as the bodies thrashed together in the feeding frenzy.

There was a thing to instinct, a feral force that awakened even in an exhausted state.  As the troll tore apart his foolish predators, forsaking the sickle after it was stuck in the first carcass.  Preferring his hands in the heat of the moment.  His huddled form was shoveling fistfuls of the dripping viscera into his mouth, ribs broken open to suck the marrow out of.  No other noise as the boy was on automatic, a survival instinct, just taking in the surroundings.

From on high a larger form swooped down, though it didn't come for the boy.  The larger bird landed by the troll, a safe distance away, regarding him as an equal.  The trolls glazed over eyes looked to the bird of prey, reached down and tossed a carcass of a former ally at it's talons.  Neither predator struck against the other, the feast was more important.  And even as the two stared at each other once it was all done, there was no hatred.

Malo, malo, malo, los malos de vuelta.