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- >He holds her in his arms, cooing small sounds of reassurance and comfort
- >She stares into his eyes, crying
- >Mouthing silent requests for aid; for love; for the salvation of her own mortality
- >He is startled by what he finds there
- >In her enormous yellow eyes
- >In those eyes, he sees the spark of intelligence that he had never been close enough to see before
- >It shakes him to his core
- >But he still doesn't drop the creature
- >That would be all the more cruel
- >Now her breathing becomes slower, more subdued
- >The lifeblood pouring from the wound gaping in her side and other innumerous smaller ones finally slows
- >Right now, he wants nothing more in the world than to save her
- >He had already done his best, destroying his spare clothing to create crude bandages
- >But part of him knew, when she stumbled down the entrance to his cave
- >That there was nothing he could do but ease her passing
- >The tiny grey creature finally breathes her last breath, the light in her eyes fading
- >Then, she is gone
- >Slump in his arms
- >For a long, long while he does nothing
- >He remembers
- >This grey and blonde creature had come to watch him, every day, since he arrived in this place weeks ago
- >At first he had been wary of her gaze
- >But soon enough he grew to enjoy the companionship of what he thought at the time was a simple animal
- >Lately, however, among all the odd things, he had been seeing less and less of her
- >Until she stumbled down the mouth of his cave today
- >Broken and alone
- >Eventually, he rises
- >Outside, there stands a monster
- >Trailing behind the monster are many larger versions of the vaguely equine creature that died in his arms
- >Some with wings, some with a horn, like her, and some absolutely plain
- >But all of them dull
- >Discolored in this pastel wonderland
- >The monster himself is a pistache of many creatures
- >The head of a goat, with a single fang
- >A pair of mismatched horns, one blue and the other plain bone
- >The paw of a lion, the arm and tail of an aligator, the talon and wing of an eagle, the hoof of a deer, all attached to a brown furred torso
- >Fresh blood still coats its talons
- >The entire procession is pervaded by a sense of wrongness
- >He approaches the monster
- >He's seen this monster before
- >Cavorting through the skies, turning the clouds into some gauzy pink substance
- >And now it is here, to taunt him
- >it looks at him, cruelty and intelligence evident in its face in equal measures
- >Then it speaks its mean words, designed to confuse minds and crush hope
- >Words he can't understand
- >Words he won't understand
- >In a flash, the sadness is gone
- >He reaches up and grabs the monster with one hand, muscles strengthened by weeks of hardship holding it in a grip firmer than iron
- >With the other, he strikes
- >The monster reels away, leaking blood of its own, more surprised than hurt
- >But he doesn't stop there
- >No, that would be too kind
- >This monster inflicted those wounds not out of animalistic desire for food as he had first suspected
- >But out of sadistic joy
- >And he will not tolerate such a monster to exist
- >He punches and punches the monster
- >He continues to beat it long after it has stopped twitching
- >Finally, he stops, his hands sore and bloodied
- >And collapses onto the ground, covering his face
- >Now, the tears come
- >For the tiny, innocent creature that had to die
- >For this procession of corrupted creatures in front of him
- >Then comes a poke
- >A tiny poke at his arm, that gets his attention more effectively than an air raid siren
- >For this poke gives him hope
- >Bleary, bloodshot eyes emerge from behind the bruised hands
- >In front of him, impossibly, stands the grey and blonde creature that died in his arms
- >Behind her, a wall eyed grey creature with wings looks at you uncertainly
- >The tiny grey thing opens its mouth
- Whatcha crying for, mister?
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