Life Cycle
The smell was awful.
Even the mouthless ones would have to acknowledge that, she mused, her lithe form keeping close to the undergrowth. The tall ones who dominated this world, while having brilliant eyes, were sorely lacking in their other senses. But this…this was beyond the pale.
Am I really that desperate?
Letting out a soft growl, the bengalaas knew there were two answers to that question. She herself wasn't so desperate to feed on the meat of the invading aliens, the ones who brought death and destruction to her world, absorbing the remains into the noxious purple substance that now covered so much of it. But her cubs needed meat and with so many of the jungle's animals dead or dying, meat was hard to come by. The tall ones had fallen in droves, but they rarely left their bodies behind. In the end, all that was left was their machinery and the bodies of their enemy.
No. Not just theirs. Aiur's.
"Aiur…" a word used by the tall ones to describe their world. Quaint really, giving names. But in the end, pointless. All that mattered was survival right now. And while situated near the top of the food chain, second only to the omharra, that didn't help her chances when food was in short supply, energy being lost with each trophic level. So, in the end, all that was left was to drag the body of the scythed alien to her young and swallow her pride, or keep her pride and resign herself to the fact that she'd probably die before getting to swallow anything substantial.
Choosing the latter, she sank her fangs in.
Ragh! Disgusting!
The smell of burnt flesh was overpowering and the alien's natural stench was even worse. Her mouth felt like it was filled with…with…well, something disgusting. Something more disgusting than anything that was found on this world or likely any other. Yet she persevered, dragging the corpse through the undergrowth, avoiding fires where possible and laying low whenever a live alien passed by. As much as she'd like to put her hunting skills to the test, she knew that it wasn't worth it. Predators never hunted those higher above them and it was clear that every one of these aliens was either bred for killing or to perform a task that would contribute to such a result. Even the tall ones, immune to predation for time immorial, had struggled against the tide.
This isn't worth it. Nothing is worth this…
Grim thoughts. And until she reached home, she believed them. But hearing the soft mewls of her young, feeling their fur against hers, licking her face in thanks for their meal, however grim, sleeping beside her under the canopy of the lights above…
It was worth it.