/lit/ - Literature

There was red algae in the pond. He scooped some up with the net and poured a little of the tincture on it to see whether it turned blue or purple. This time he was lucky and it was a deep purple, maybe a shade of crimson. He could eat this. He spent some time scooping more algae and piling it into his basket. There was no guarantee the algae would be good the next time he came through here.
A hand came out of the water, webbed and clawed. That was new, there hadn't been anyone in this pond before. He took a few steps back, holding the pronged end of the handle of his net against the creature. It climbed halfway out of the water, revealing the oozing wounds on the body that seeped ichor. One wound still showed the worms writing in it. The creature was weak and dying, but still dangerous. It had probably come here after being banished by its tribe and was now waiting to die. Would its death foul the pond? Were the worms of a kind that would do harm to humans? Were there maybe eggs among the algae he'd taken up?
No matter, he'd ground it all up and boil it anyway. He kept retreating and the thing gulp, its gills were bleeding and it seemed to have trouble breathing. He had what he'd come for anyway, at least two days' worth of soup could be made of this algae.
He left the pond. To his surprise the creature came to the shore, where it fell on its wobbly knees and crawled around the muddy bank for a while, as if to make sure it drove him away. The fins rose lazily, not fully erect. A threat display from a dying beast.
He sighed, the sound echoing in his ears due to the resonance of the respirator. If the creature was putting on a show like this, to show it controlled the pond, that meant there was something else watching. Something it needed to convince it was in control. That meant he couldn't afford to show weakness either, or he would be the one treated as prey.
He set down his bag and took off the net from its handle, so as to not break it. He walked back toward the pond, holding up his pronged spear.
The creature tried to stand, but the best it could manage was to rise to its hands and knees. This was good, those claws were dangerous but it would topple if it tried to hit him. Fangs were displayed, but many were missing, the gums receding and bloody sores filled the maw.
He took a few running steps and the beast turned sideways. He stabbed it, breaking soft skin. Pulled away in time to avoid a leap, the creature tried to tackle him.
He whacked it on the head, an impish thing, ineffective. Then retreated. The creature defecated, tried to spray him, but he dodged, stabbed the other flank, retreated.
The thing collapsed, then crawled back in the water. For a moment he reveled in his triumph, then returned to his bag. As he left he heard the predator splash in the pond.
"Better you than me," he mumbled without checking back to see what it had been.