The firelight flickered against the cave walls, throwing long shadows over the fallen crawler and the scattered corpses of the hunters. Talon sat cross‑legged near the blaze, humming a drunken tune as he worked.
He carved thick slices from the crawler's flank, the blade gliding through the tender muscle beneath the plated armor. Steam rose as the meat met the fire, a rich aroma filling the air. His stomach growled louder than the distant night wind.
He skewered a piece on his sword, letting it roast over the flames. Fat dripped and hissed on the coals.
"Not bad," he murmured, taking a bite. The meat melted on his tongue, just as the hunters had said. A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his throat. "Mmh… they were right."
Behind him, the baby crawler's small carcass lay half‑butchered. Talon didn't even glance at it as he tossed another slice onto the fire. He poured liquor over the cooking meat, the flames flaring, scent growing even richer.
Outside, night creatures called in the distance, but none approached the cave now. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Talon leaned back against the stone, chewing slowly, eyes half‑closed. Around him, blood pooled in uneven channels, cooling in the cave's chill. The hunters' bodies were already forgotten, mere shadows on the edge of his vision.
He took another bite, sighed in pleasure, and raised his gourd for a long drink. The world swayed gently, warm and blurred.
"Delicious," he whispered to no one, smiling faintly. "Just… delicious."
He tossed a bone into the fire and closed his eyes, drifting toward sleep again—surrounded by death, the scent of roasted meat, and the steady drip of blood echoing through the cave.