/lit/ - Literature

>>13171427
The fire was bright that night, fuelled by the burning husk of a merchant’s wagon in addition to the deadwood, and it formed a roaring column reaching skyward almost to the height of a man. Kahgik was grateful for it. The nights had made a decisive turn towards winter, and it would be a long few months before he would again enjoy sprawling out on the thick grass of summer beneath a warm new moon. Still, he thought, as he reclined against a flat rock and picked fat ticks out of the shaggy, coarse mantle of fur around his neck and chest, this wasn’t so bad. He popped another of the bugs in his mouth and bit down. It burst between his fangs, and his own blood washed around the wicked points of his teeth. Fitting, in a way.
He wasn’t hungry - not even for ticks - but grooming was a worthwhile thing to do when there was nothing else to do and having plucked the bugs his claws moved automatically from fur to mouth. It was nothing more than lazy, habitual snacking. They had eaten well that night: a merchant had been moving his goods and family between the cities, either careless or a victim of circumstance to be on the road after nightfall. They had fallen on the hapless man without mercy. Now the wagon was in the fire and the oxen was sprawled on the road in a pool of blood with its belly torn open and organs devoured. Of the merchant no trace remained, except for the femur that Mogok was slowly cracking through in pursuit of the sweet marrow within. The wife was still around though. Kahgik could hear Nazzug off in the distance somewhere tormenting her. Hmm. Someone should do something about that, Kahgik thought. Mogok had explicitly told Nazzug not to hurt her - not before Mogok got his turn with her, anyway, because Mogok liked them intact and still breathing. If Nazzug started thinking he could get away with disobeying direct commands he would quickly outlive his usefulness. That would be annoying. Kahgik had grown quite accustomed to not having to do his own hunting or his own sewing. But, on the other hand, Kahgik thought, as he crunched through another plump tick, swallowed, and then stifled a belch, it was really more of a Mogok problem anyway. He surrendered to fullness and collapsed back onto his comfy rock in utter relaxation. He had eaten far too much tonight.

>this was originally going to lead into what i wrote in pic related, where Dirkog and Mogok fight, but I ran out of enthusiasm so I'm just posting them both as disconnected parts. I couldn't even figure out a smooth way to transition from the one to the other.