Zaxon Thrice-Hatched thought and thought as he consumed the tiny fottlings that scurried about his dining floor. Usually, as they dodged and weaved around his tooth-feelers, he couldn't help but compare them in his mind's vision-oglots to the giols that swam in the ammonia lake that occupied the center of his tribal home. Luckily, fottlings were much more delicious than giols. Far less spiny as well.
Today, however, he skewered each and dripped its liquids into his digestive pores while contemplating his impending fourth Hatching. Zaxon had not even realized the requisite number of cycles had occurred until his egg-sister, Hooglet Thrice-Hatched, reminded him. Why hadn't his memory matrix triggered the re-Hatching bloodmites to be secreted into his yelins? Was he ill? He hoped not.
Zaxon cleaned his tooth-feelers and set out to visit Marfel Twice-Fused, the tribe's healer.
No comments:
Post a Comment