Early in the morning the sun started to come over the horizon, illuminating the forest through its tree canopy. The sun rays started to creep inside a small shelter that was built underneath a very large tree. The tree stood up on its roots like legs, making an opening underneath the size of a small room. Various animal hides were hung across the roots, enclosing and covering what was inside.
A veggie elder pushed aside one of the animal drapes and walked outside, stopping to stretch and take in the morning. Like most Wyverians, he was only about four feet tall and looked like an old, ancient man. He had some clothing on him, also made of animal hides, and a backpack storing some supplies and tools, most notably a shovel. There was a dead monster hunter about a mile south that he needed to loot and bury before the local Melynx did.
He started off on his quest, but then he heard something off to his side. It seemed very close. With a casual glance to his side, he saw a Conga sitting on its rump right next to a berry bush. His berry bush. The glutton was shoveling berries into its mouth. His berries. It left a pile of poo on his lawn too.
The Wyverian almost had a stroke of rage right then and there, but kept it together long enough to march over to the Conga and shove it from behind. The surprised monster looked over at him, and was bombarded with a barrage of shouting and angry gestures. Not seeing the problem, the primate started yelling back at the old man, waving its arms around in the same manner.
After maybe a minute of vehement arguing, the veggie elder let out one last shout of anger and stomped away the way he came. The Conga simply resumed its meal, still ticked off by the disturbance. It didn't even see the pickax coming.
It took the elder a minute to dislodge the tool from the Conga's skull. Almost the entire spike went through. Once it was free, he put his hands on his hips and groaned loudly. He had no desire to use this monster's materials. Its hide smelled like crap and was a ghastly shade of pink. Its meat was high in fat and he already had a bunch of Kelbi stored away. Conga were fat bastards of animals too, and would be a huge pain to transport somewhere else.
The Wyverian's train of thought was diverted when he heard something close off to the side again. There was another Conga, lounging in the nearby water stream. His water stream. The one he caught fish from, bathed in and got his drinking water from. Some bubbles rose from near the Conga's rear end.
Downstream, some fish were nibbling at moss that had grown on a rock. They scattered when a big, brown and squishy mass came floating towards them. The water then took on a yellow hue. That yellow soon turned into red.
The bloodstained Wyverian was exhausted after so much swinging, still breathing heavily. He was too old for this crap, and still had the whole day ahead of him.
His shoulders and fingers tensed when he heard another sound come from nearby. It sounded like it was from inside his shelter.
He pushed aside the animal hide and looked inside. Everything was gone.
Quickly rushing back outside, he saw the culprits. A pack of Melynx making off with his stuff like a moving company. He let out a scream of rage and gave chase, brandishing the splintered remains of his pickax. They saw him too, screamed as well, and started running. The furthest ahead could only watch in terror as the Wyverian pounced on the stragglers like an animal of prey.