06-25-2020, 04:32 PM
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One of us.
The words ring in his head like a bell, and he is ever entranced by the toll. Was he truly one of them, one of many voices and names, warlike creed lost to the winds? No. He was like a worm, crawling ever closer to the clan's rotten core, writhing and full of spoiled fruit. Ever deeper he burrowed, settling like a chill over the hearts of the clan, slipping in between the cracks and allowing fungi and corpseflowers to spring forth in his fervour. If humans still inhabited this island, he'd have been shot long ago. If his parents had any sense, they would have eaten him while they still lived.
But the newest generation always trumps the first, in intelligence, in power.
And today, was his. He had killed some lowly, pathetic fool out in the sweltering desert, had remained there for over a week, biding his time, drinking a cocktail of cactus nectar and his own blood. He had taken the skull home in triumph, having cleaned it over the remaining days. He had returned yesterday, had presented the symbol of his triumph to Kydobi in pride.
The beast had even taken the day to wash away the grit and grime of the desert, yanking out the last few cactus spines in his maw, cleaning out the wounds with water and chewing at a leaf of aloe to soothe. While he had chewed the bitter, slimy thing, he had come to a decision.
And now, as night fell over The Pitt, his return was cause for celebration. Crude torches were lit, and a feast prepared. It was a rebirth. A baptism. He was to be one with The Pitt, in body and soul. And he was ready.
Dirt approached Kydobi, his fur still a bit damp, but visibly cleaner than before.
"I have... a request to make, Kydobi." He says, thoughtful. "I wish to be known as Worm, from today onward. It is not a part of the tradition, but... I do like the thought of christening this chapter of my life, with a new name."
Washing away the old self, and accepting the new. He would be reborn.
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One of us.
The words ring in his head like a bell, and he is ever entranced by the toll. Was he truly one of them, one of many voices and names, warlike creed lost to the winds? No. He was like a worm, crawling ever closer to the clan's rotten core, writhing and full of spoiled fruit. Ever deeper he burrowed, settling like a chill over the hearts of the clan, slipping in between the cracks and allowing fungi and corpseflowers to spring forth in his fervour. If humans still inhabited this island, he'd have been shot long ago. If his parents had any sense, they would have eaten him while they still lived.
But the newest generation always trumps the first, in intelligence, in power.
And today, was his. He had killed some lowly, pathetic fool out in the sweltering desert, had remained there for over a week, biding his time, drinking a cocktail of cactus nectar and his own blood. He had taken the skull home in triumph, having cleaned it over the remaining days. He had returned yesterday, had presented the symbol of his triumph to Kydobi in pride.
The beast had even taken the day to wash away the grit and grime of the desert, yanking out the last few cactus spines in his maw, cleaning out the wounds with water and chewing at a leaf of aloe to soothe. While he had chewed the bitter, slimy thing, he had come to a decision.
And now, as night fell over The Pitt, his return was cause for celebration. Crude torches were lit, and a feast prepared. It was a rebirth. A baptism. He was to be one with The Pitt, in body and soul. And he was ready.
Dirt approached Kydobi, his fur still a bit damp, but visibly cleaner than before.
"I have... a request to make, Kydobi." He says, thoughtful. "I wish to be known as Worm, from today onward. It is not a part of the tradition, but... I do like the thought of christening this chapter of my life, with a new name."
Washing away the old self, and accepting the new. He would be reborn.