He pushed the king forward into the lake, raking his claws through the girl’s neck and dragging the body under the water. With all the heavy dresses, he could drop it off near the middle and let her sink to the nest, where his child would awaken and no doubt feed greatly. His child would be healthy again.
Then, on a whim, as he heard the people leaving, he swam forward quickly, screaming and grabbing the king’s leg, dragging him under with a cackle that chilled the soldiers. He pulled him down to his younger brother and watched his face light eagerly. As they ate, he swam along the bottom, stirring up the currents with the high speeds his kind swam at. He raged well into the night, smashing into the boats of the soldiers who would try to spear them out of the lake. He had been contented to lie low in the beginning, when they fed him well and gave him both distance and respect, but he would not let any more harm come to his brother and son.
When the soldiers’ boats snapped in half, he would watch as the ones that couldn’t swim sank in their armor, their last glimpse of the world murky waters and a demon grinning at them before two clawed hands much different from his would grab them and pull them down. They would eat well for the next few days.
He was content to lie low with his brother and his son, feeding off the corpses, the water’s edge blessedly silent, and he knew their time to escape was soon. The feast that rolled around several nights later, as tradition so demanded, would require all the soldiers at the castle, and no trip to the lake that year. He gathered his child and his younger brother, pulling them up and out of the lake, slipping through the trees on the opposite side with the grace of someone who had done it for years. It was a rather trivial thing for him, his voice. He knew that his younger brother couldn’t talk, and his son was deaf, but it didn’t matter: they were free.
They ran well into the night, down into the village and slipping through the shadows as they followed their call to the sea. The sea was their mother, their protector, their provider. When they were pulled away from her, she called them back. When they were happy, she was happy. When she was happy, they were happy. And she was never happy when her children were missing. His younger brother was still too young to properly feel the pull toward the ocean, and his son had hardly touched the waters of their mother.
They ran until their legs collapsed from the cold of the night and huddled together as close as they could. They were a stubborn people. They would not die that easily.
Land Sharks 2 [2/2]
Then, on a whim, as he heard the people leaving, he swam forward quickly, screaming and grabbing the king’s leg, dragging him under with a cackle that chilled the soldiers. He pulled him down to his younger brother and watched his face light eagerly. As they ate, he swam along the bottom, stirring up the currents with the high speeds his kind swam at. He raged well into the night, smashing into the boats of the soldiers who would try to spear them out of the lake.
He had been contented to lie low in the beginning, when they fed him well and gave him both distance and respect, but he would not let any more harm come to his brother and son.
When the soldiers’ boats snapped in half, he would watch as the ones that couldn’t swim sank in their armor, their last glimpse of the world murky waters and a demon grinning at them before two clawed hands much different from his would grab them and pull them down. They would eat well for the next few days.
He was content to lie low with his brother and his son, feeding off the corpses, the water’s edge blessedly silent, and he knew their time to escape was soon. The feast that rolled around several nights later, as tradition so demanded, would require all the soldiers at the castle, and no trip to the lake that year. He gathered his child and his younger brother, pulling them up and out of the lake, slipping through the trees on the opposite side with the grace of someone who had done it for years. It was a rather trivial thing for him, his voice. He knew that his younger brother couldn’t talk, and his son was deaf, but it didn’t matter: they were free.
They ran well into the night, down into the village and slipping through the shadows as they followed their call to the sea. The sea was their mother, their protector, their provider. When they were pulled away from her, she called them back. When they were happy, she was happy. When she was happy, they were happy. And she was never happy when her children were missing. His younger brother was still too young to properly feel the pull toward the ocean, and his son had hardly touched the waters of their mother.
They ran until their legs collapsed from the cold of the night and huddled together as close as they could. They were a stubborn people. They would not die that easily.