Warning: Some violence and blood
Tamatoa couldn't sleep.
Night was in full swing, the traces of daylight were long gone from the sky and the moon had not yet risen to bathe the island in its pale light. But Maui, the strange creature who had brought him up to this new and exciting realm a few months earlier, insisted on sleeping. Didn't he understand? Night was the time for activity! The time to be awake! Daytime was for sleeping, avoiding the heat, and staying safely out of sight in the cozy shadows of a good burrow.
But no, Maui had been adamant that they adhere to this odd diurnal schedule. Tamatoa was slowly growing accustomed to it, but nevertheless some nights—particularly after lazy days on a quiet island—he simply had too much energy to force himself to match Maui's sleeping patterns.
Tonight was one of those nights. It had been easy work to resupply the canoe after landing on this tiny, uninhabited island and, being so small, there was little to explore upon it. Maui was perfectly content to lounge the day away in the shade, telling stories about his heroic exploits. Tamatoa, on the other hand, might have just dozed off a bit during those already overplayed tales.
And now it was night and he was bored, filled with restless energy. He had tried to sleep, tried to do as he was told, but it hadn't lasted long. When Maui began to make the horrible snarling sleep noises, Tamatoa had promptly awoken from his light slumber and had been unable to return to it.
Frustrated, he poked Maui with a claw, but it only served to make the noises increase in volume. With a huff, Tamatoa finally stood and crept silently away from their little encampment on the beach. He'd just have to find something to entertain himself with on this island.
He left the beach behind and wandered through the forest, eyes peeled for any colorful stones or pearly seashells that might be hiding in the leaf litter. There wasn't much to find. What few pretty treasures the island had to offer, Tamatoa had already collected while they were picking fruits to stock the canoe.
The thought of all that fruit made him hungry and he cast a speculative eye up towards the leafy forest canopy overhead. Maybe a bedtime snack might help him get back to sleep. With that in mind, Tamatoa began peering into the trees, searching for something tasty. He was scanning the branches of a sprawling breadfruit tree when something finally caught his eye—something that was not fruit.
There was a bird nest, high-flung and wedged in a fork of the thick branches. Even in the cloying darkness, he could just make out the shape of a pale seabird roosting within it.
Well, that was far more interesting than some boring old breadfruit.
Casting a furtive glance around, he allowed himself a little grin, then stalked towards the trunk of the tree. He took care not to disturb the fallen leaves or make any other sound, placing his legs with slow, methodical precision. Upon reaching the base of the tree, it was with this same precision that he began to climb. He was well aware that he was quite the skillful climber, but even so he took extra care to remain silent—moving with deliberate slowness as to not wake the sleeping bird above.
With every upward clawhold, however, his excitement grew. A little thrill of anticipation was building in him, a primal keenness that welled up unexpectedly at the prospect of what awaited him up above. Tamatoa didn't question it, too focused now on his goal just a few branches away.
He was close now. The dusty scent of feathers drifted down towards him and he paused, but only for a moment, as he recalled the last bird he had encountered. That bird had been a giant avian monster in Lalotai—huge and angry and dangerous. This bird, by contrast, was small, barely bigger than Tamatoa himself, and considerably less formidable. There were no massive talons that he could spot, just soft white feathers. The bird did seem to have a long, sharply pointed beak, which Tamatoa noted warily. But he sized it up with a glance and quickly decided that his claws were bigger and more powerful than the bird's thin beak.
Thus assured, he crept closer still until he was near enough that his antennae flitted just over the sleeping bird's body. A feral thrill electrified him, sent his senses singing. He could feel the warmth the bird gave off and hear the soft breaths of his prey as it slept peacefully in its nest.
He gripped the branch tightly with his legs, an eager readiness pulsing through him. Once that buzzing excitement within him built to crescendo, instinct took the wheel. With a lightning fast lunge, a claw darted forward. It closed around a fluffy, feathered wing, just as he had intended. As soon as he felt it within his grasp, he squeezed hard. Under his grip, fragile bones shattered like a dry twig.
Then, all at once, he was engulfed in a flurry of frantic feathers and raucous, croaking calls. It was like being caught in a windstorm, with feathers flying all around. The bird, fully awake now, howled its pain and fury, beating him with its unbroken wing and jabbing wildly with its beak.
That beak was a bit sharper than Tamatoa had thought and he yelped as it gouged a bloody line across his neck. Startled by the unexpected spear of pain, his legs lost their grip on the branch and he tumbled out of the tree—still clinging to the flapping, struggling bird.
He hit the ground hard enough to make his teeth rattle from the impact, but he stubbornly refused to let go of his prize. The bird was still alive, but seemed winded from the fall. Well, Tamatoa was still a little dizzy himself, too. He recovered faster, though, and as soon as he gathered his wits about him, he took the opportunity to seize the bird's other wing. A vicious twist and a sharp snap ensured that he wouldn't get battered about by the wings anymore.
The beak was still an issue, though. The pain of its broken wing had roused the bird back into action and the long bill stabbed relentlessly at his face. By some stroke of luck, it missed, scraping harmlessly across his carapace. Tamatoa ducked back, releasing one wing and holding the other at arm's length in an attempt to avoid the slashing beak's next strike.
Fortunately, the wounded bird was far too injured to maneuver closer and the beak's jabs fell short. Tamatoa felt a grin spread across his features. Emboldened, he swung a foreleg forward in a fluid, sweeping motion. He stabbed it down high onto the bird's chest, pinning it to the ground and keeping the pointed bill from reaching the more vulnerable skin of his face and neck.
Confident he had his prey contained, he adjusted his grip to get a better hold on the wing in his claw. The broken wing was twisted at an unnatural angle from the fall, bits of bone poking through and white feathers stained red. It was ultimately a mortal wound, but the bird was still hanging onto life—its reedy, fearful breaths and wide, staring eyes made that clear enough.
If he could just reach its thin, curved neck without losing an eye in the process, he could end this now and get on with enjoying his late night snack. He edged closer, reaching forward with his free claw to do just that. But the bird retaliated with surprising quickness, thrusting its beak towards his face in a vicious swipe that grazed his cheek and drew a thin line of blue blood.
Tamatoa scowled and wiped at his face. Ok, new strategy.
Perhaps an older, more skilled crab might have been able to put the bird down quickly, but Tamatoa was simply not there yet and lacked the experience to make a clean kill. What he lacked in experience, however, he made up for in determination-determination, but not patience. He could wait it out until the bird died on its own, but that could take forever. He didn't want to wait that long, so he'd have to come up with something else.
As it was, Tamatoa couldn't reach the bird's neck safely, but he had a solid hold on the rest of it. Thoughtful, he considered the twisted wing grasped in his claw until an idea struck him.
Decisive, he pressed down more firmly with the leg holding the bird in place. It squawked in alarm, squirming and kicking its legs and trying ineffectively to reach him with its beak again. He paid little attention to that, eyes narrowed and grimly focused on his task. Bracing his legs, he tightened his grip on the wing. He closed his eyes, then yanked with all his strength.
There was an awful noise—a sickeningly wet tearing of flesh mixed with a high avian shriek that made even Tamatoa wince, antennae flinching uncomfortably away. It did the job, though, and the wing tore loose, ripped away in a bloody, ragged mess. The bird was making a terrible racket now, screeching and gurgling as it thrashed its mutilated body uselessly. Its struggles were weakening, though, as its blood spilled out onto the earth.
Again, Tamatoa reached for the bird's neck—hoping to put an end to it at last. But there was still some fight left in the tough old bird. The beak made a weak, desperate jab at him once more, snapping shut a hair's breadth away from his eye, then falling back to the sand. Tamatoa let out an involuntary chirp of alarm, ducking his head back just in time.
Sudden, fierce anger welled up in Tamatoa, indignant at being attacked yet again and embarrassed at being scared into chirping. Acting without thought, he shifted his position quickly. Grabbing the creature's remaining wing in both his claws this time, he didn't hesitate. With a tiny snarling growl, he tore at the bird's limb with all his might.
It came apart so fast that he was overbalanced and tumbled backwards. The severed wing was still gripped tightly in his claws as he found himself on his back, his borrowed gastropod shell gently rocking and legs upended in the air. He just remained there a moment, stunned, before coming to his senses and throwing his weight to the side to roll upright again. Once the ground was solidly under his legs, he remembered his prey. The bird! He'd fallen off of it! He looked back quickly, fully expecting the bird to be limping away.
He need not have worried. The bird was laying limp and motionless where he'd left it. Dragging the wing with him, he crept back over—leaving plenty of space in case the bird struck at him again. Tentatively he extended a foreleg, prodding the bird gently and wincing in anticipation of another snap from its beak.
There was no reaction. The bird was silent and still.
Tamatoa's face brightened with a wide, jubilant grin. Triumphant, he proudly swaggered the last few steps to his kill. Success! All his! Smugly pleased, he licked his bloody claws and settled down to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Maui awoke to the warm sun beating down on his face. He yawned, sitting up and stretching. It was a lovely morning, clear skies and a good strong wind—a good day to get back out on the water. He yawned again, looking around for his small companion.
Tamatoa was curled up nearby, fast asleep in the shade of the banana leaf Maui had propped up for him the day before. He smiled. After weeks of keeping Maui up at night with his restless antics, it appeared that the little crab was finally starting to get on a normal sleep schedule.
He looked so cute, with his little claws dangling out of his snail shell, that Maui almost hated to wake him up. But time and tide waited for no man, nor demigod, nor crab. If they wanted to sail with the tide, they had to get moving. With that in mind, Maui gave the crab's shell a light tap.
"Wake up, little buddy."
The legs and claws pulled back up inside the shell, retreating from view and blocking the opening. There came a groggy grumble from inside it. "No. Just a little longer."
Maui laughed. "C'mon now, we gotta move." He pulled the banana leaf away, knowing that the sun's heat would have the crab up and moving soon enough.
As expected, with the shade gone, Tamatoa emerged reluctantly from his shell, looking up at Maui with sleepy eyes.
"See! Not so bad," Maui quipped. "You sleep well? Have a good night?"
Tamatoa blinked the haze from his eyes, then turned them up towards Maui. There was an odd look in his expression that Maui couldn't quite place. Then he smiled broadly, flashing his teeth. Was there something stuck in them? The crab really needed to work on his dental hygiene. What was that, anyw—
"Yep! All good," Tamatoa proclaimed brightly, derailing Maui's thoughts. He flashed that wide, toothy grin again. "What's for breakfast?"