Work Text:
It’s hard to describe the feelings of impending transition. The settling chill in your bones. The change in the air that makes you feel lighter, like you can fill your lungs up fuller, like the space around your horns is empty instead of heavy with humidity. The deep, insatiable hunger that threatens to overtake you, that makes you salivate at the sight of anything that so much as twitches in your direction. There aren't names for the things you experience. There’s only the endless bright blue of the cloudless sky and the scentless death of every floral specimen as it bows to the end of its own lifespan, cut short by the crisp bite of the cold.
Winter is coming, and you are far from prepared.
There’s less sheen to your coat than usual. Your flank shows the individual indentations that represent all of your ribs, and it’s easy to make out the jutting little joints in your wrists and tarsus. It seems as if you've picked off all of the lesser animals in your territory- all of the ones that aren’t hidden away out of your reach, at least. You’ve even ventured to eat the ones that have frozen stiff. It’s a little more difficult and certainly not very appetizing, but you can’t afford to be picky. But still your stomach growls, and you’re not ever going to be able to hibernate like this. Sighing, you elect to straighten up your den a bit in the hopes that maybe something will wander by in the meantime.
Your den is pretty perfect as far as makeup and location are concerned. It’s built right up under the roots of a large tree, which means that sometimes things trip and fall into it. Surprise breakfasts always brighten your day. The smaller roots inside help keep the packed dirt into place, and with all of the careful hollowing and packing you’ve done, it’s actually rather roomy. You've gathered up the softer bits of moss to make up your nest, and it’s augmented with various garments abandoned by frightened travelers. In the far corner of your nest is your hoard- the collection of objects that you’ve found interesting enough to keep. It’s mostly comprised of small treasure, a weapon or two, and some smoother, shinier rocks. You spend the majority of your time hunting, sleeping, and grooming, and your species is simple minded enough that you don’t really need a whole lot to entertain yourself. You like to play with your food on occasion, and you take some pleasure in scaring the humans that pass through your territory. All things considered, life is pretty decent.
It’s times like these when you really start to struggle. When winter comes early and leaves you hungry and awake when you should be full and sleeping. So every day, when the sun is high enough to shed some warmth, you scour your territory to its farthest reaches in the hopes of finding something to fill your belly with. And for three days, you come back empty handed. Every miserable thought is punctuated by the angry growling of your empty gut. At this rate, there’s no way you’re not going to starve to death. Defeated, you skulk back to your den and sniffle to yourself. Crying isn’t going to solve anything, of course, but at this point you’re not sure what else you can do. And that’s when the universe decides that it’s done toying with you, that it’s going to throw a miracle in your direction.
As it turns out, this miracle walks on two legs.
You’re first alerted by his footsteps in the snow, careless and heavy. Crunch crunch crunch- Too much noise for any sort of regular animal. It’s the pace of a human for sure- but even most humans you’ve encountered are more careful with their steps than this one. Your ears flick up, swiveling forward to localize the sound of his voice. he grumbles in a language you don’t know, says “Motherfucker thinks I can’t live off the land. Like he could even do better. He should be out here too, since he’s so good at it.”
You’re not sure what it is he’s saying, but you don’t really care either. All you know is that his scent is slowly starting to creep into your vicinity, and your mouth waters like it’s trying to drown you. Careful, quiet, you peek up and out of your den in order to get a look. It is indeed a human- a juvenile, at that. He’s garbed in yellow and gold, soft fabrics that you know from experience are easy to tear through. Assessing him further reveals that he’s not armed, and he doesn’t have anyone with him. He’s the easiest prey you’ve ever seen, and you nearly cry with gratefulness. Disregarding your premature victories, you focus and carefully slink forward. The thick fur on your hands and hindpaws helps to keep you from sinking into the deep snow, helps you move quietly enough that the grumbling human doesn’t hear you. Part of you is a little bit apprehensive- you’ve never tried to eat a human before. You’ve harassed them before, robbed them sure, but never eaten one. They’ve always been around your size, and you deemed that to be too much of a risk. But you’ve grown big over time, and you are empty and desperate.
Your stomach makes the decision for you. With a roar and a great leap, you close the space between you and your soon-to-be ex-human.
His screaming is cacophonous. The struggle sets off a response in you that you don’t mean to do- before you realize it, you’ve got his torso clenched tight between your jaws and you’re shaking him around like a ragdoll. He’s shrieking his head off, spraying blood everywhere and trying in vain to slap at your face, your horns, any part of you he can reach. Your hungry head sluggishly realizes that each drop of blood you spray over the snow is a waste of nutrients. You can’t afford to be throwing resources away like that, so with a mighty toss of your head you send the human up up up into the air, and down down down towards your jaws again. You get his head and part of his chest into your mouth, and you can feel his screams buzzing against your throat as he claws and kicks. It’s surreal. After a brief moment of appreciating his struggling, you loosen your jaw up and tilt your head back. Your hands come up to hold the boy still- it’s hard to get him down while he’s flailing so much. His shoulders prove to be a bit of an issue, and your eyes water a little bit from the stretching your jaw has to endure. From there on, though, he tapers downward, and it’s just a smooth slide down. A few more gulps ensure that he’s all past your throat, and then you pop your jaw back into its rightful place and lay back as the rest of your catch slides down into your belly.
He’s still screaming his head off by the time you will yourself up onto your feet. You can feel each individual kick and punch and spasm as you carefully wobble back into your den, climb into your nest, and lay yourself down over the twitching mass of your stomach. It’s not hard to tune the sounds of his screams out, and you eventually come to ignore all of his struggling, too. You’re tired, so incredibly tired… It seems that hibernation will finally come to you now that you’re full.
And when spring finally rolls around, you’ll have a new layer of pudge to show for your efforts.