+- Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com)
+-- Forum: Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=3)
+--- Forum: Smoldering Wastes (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=28)
+--- Thread: AW slug (/showthread.php?tid=11868)
slug - Solda - 5/27/2026
Not much was permanent at his young age. The child slept, ate, shit, and slept. The child wasn't aware of much more, aside from the warmth coming and going, being snuffled at, and the food laying still long enough for him to sniff and feel his way towards it. It was a simple life, one he enjoyed greatly, or as much as he could for being so young. His home of familiar smells, sensations and dull sounds was enough to lull him into a sleep, even when he wasn't being warmed by the only thing that gave him all he needed.
When he woke, however, he knew something was wrong. When he sniffed, he could not smell the warmth. He could not smell food, excrement, dirt, or anything. He was cold, terribly so, and while his brain was too little to feel scared, he was extremely uncomfortable. The horrible ground beneath him gave way as he squirmed, all wrong and not at all what he was used to. All at once, it was too much, and he began to shriek, because that was all he could do.
He was growing weak, however. His thin fur was mostly just for show, barely even long enough to protect his pink skin from the sun.
RE: slug - Häti - 5/30/2026
motherhood approaches as a whetstone.
day by day it drags her headlong across its weathered gray face, working away every softened edge and useless curve.
others speak softly of childbearing, as though it is an anchor; a balm to soothe the weary soul. but those fool folk have not once watched a coyote pace the mouth of its den. they do not see the carved outline of her ribs, hear the warning click of her teeth.
no. the lives 'neath her ribs have long since awakened something ancient and terrible within her. it rises from the depths of her blackened heart like a starving thing, devouring mercy wherever it dares show its face. it teaches coyote, with every passing day, what belongs and what does not.
and so when she finds the badger pup— blind, mewling, scarcely larger than a coiled snake— there is no choice to be made.
the thing within her looks. it decides.
mine.
the same fierce instinct which turns her teeth toward every trailing suitor. the same blind devotion coiled 'round the lives in her womb.
the badger is gathered into that circle without fuss, claimed as surely as if it had sprung from her own flesh.
woe, then, to any beast fool enough to dispute!
a beat. and then,
her call rings high and shrill across the dunes.
and not a passing moment later,
at her feet a newborn, small enough to fit with ease between her paws. it writhes helplessly, tiny pink mouth winking open and shut. when shek appears at long last, häti gestures brusquely toward the scrap of flesh.
a beat.
silence. another beat.
the badger squirms, tiny feet leaving pinprick indents in the sand.
day by day it drags her headlong across its weathered gray face, working away every softened edge and useless curve.
others speak softly of childbearing, as though it is an anchor; a balm to soothe the weary soul. but those fool folk have not once watched a coyote pace the mouth of its den. they do not see the carved outline of her ribs, hear the warning click of her teeth.
no. the lives 'neath her ribs have long since awakened something ancient and terrible within her. it rises from the depths of her blackened heart like a starving thing, devouring mercy wherever it dares show its face. it teaches coyote, with every passing day, what belongs and what does not.
and so when she finds the badger pup— blind, mewling, scarcely larger than a coiled snake— there is no choice to be made.
the thing within her looks. it decides.
mine.
the same fierce instinct which turns her teeth toward every trailing suitor. the same blind devotion coiled 'round the lives in her womb.
the badger is gathered into that circle without fuss, claimed as surely as if it had sprung from her own flesh.
woe, then, to any beast fool enough to dispute!
a beat. and then,
shek!
her call rings high and shrill across the dunes.
and not a passing moment later,
shek, hurry!
at her feet a newborn, small enough to fit with ease between her paws. it writhes helplessly, tiny pink mouth winking open and shut. when shek appears at long last, häti gestures brusquely toward the scrap of flesh.
a beat.
i found this.
silence. another beat.
it is ours.
the badger squirms, tiny feet leaving pinprick indents in the sand.
a son.