Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor do I own the blatant steal-age of the brilliant Naniris' 'hunter thoughts' (ie. Mineminemine, runjumpounce, and the general choppy words). She is a genius and I'm in love with her story "A Hunter Captured" and I hope to Jesus that she won't be mad that I snagged her wonderfully original idea.
I'd like to thank Chew no Kitsune for being so gracious as to help my (more than awful) translations. Be expecting a revamp of a few of these chapters in an attempt to fix my awful German.
Hunger.
I don't know what I'm doing. Honestly, I've not the slightest clue. Following a human about like some deranged pet. The idea isn't as unappealing as I wish it was. I'm no house pet, nor am I a dog. These are words I pick up from the human. λεία, I have to remind myself though each day his seeming like my next meal dwindles. He must know this because tossing me about like a rag doll when I get in his way is not out of the question. In disturbed ways I like it, and even with my animalistic state of mind I know that's fucking messed up. A snarl rips from the pit of my throat instinctively as I drop to all fours. Prowling about in the dirt-scouting ahead for him.
"Όλες σαφείς [all clear]."I know he doesn't understand me as I do him. There is so much I've yet to learn from this beast, this monster. Foreign being-even. I hear the unmistakable chink of his loudstingdeath and force back a shudder. Every instinct screaming at me to turn tail and run though I know he won't pierce me with an airsting. Or, at least, he has yet to in the few weeks we've been traveling together. Prowling around I stalk back to him. His dark eyes were trained down on my form, the gleam of distrust still shining in his abysmal irises. It takes time to trust, this is true. I give him none of my faith save for the small notion of hope that he won't kill me in an offhand swipe of human fury.
Slowly a nod met me, gestures work far better than actually speaking. He's looking for a reddoor. The kind that we can't get into-hell, even I can't get into without a bit of help. They don't offer much protection from strongbeasts, but nearly everything else is safe. Longtongues, bigblinders, and burningnecks are the only things that can do any harm of any sort through the reinforced bars. And even they can do but very limited damage. I think that's sort of the point though. Anyway, they are what we aim to find in our travels. To restock on supplies and food-I think he knows I must be getting hungry. Every so often an unwanted whimper would escape me, along with the snarls of my stomach. It's been a good two days since I've eaten anything decent. Don't get me wrong, he's offered food. It's not the same thrill though, of catching your own prey.
I glance up at him and catch a wary eye, must have realized something was amiss. I shook my head in promise I wouldn't harm him. Or, at least, I don't think I would. Even now I feel no empowering need to attack this human. To kill him and feast upon my claim. He's bizarrely different, maybe not to others but to myself. Some dormant human in me must recognize something in his prolonged behavior. Something from a past life. Keeping me from doing anything malevolent. These muses must have clouded my judgment to some degree because when my stomach offered another rattle I doubled over. Forgetting to conceal the pain of famish. Whimper. Pain. Hunger. Food. Whimper. Starve. Light hurts. Prey? Painpainpain. Nonono. Hunger. Whimper.
My head chanted in a desperate rhythm. Shutupshutupshutup. I know I'm starving. He was looking down at me in confusion now, frowning. He murmured something before turning and shoving a hand into his knapsack.
"Du dummer Hund. Du musst essen. Warum bist du nur so verdammt stur?" My thoughts scattered and flounced in a desperate attempt to understand him. 'Hund', that's me. 'Essen', that's 'eat'. 'Du', I think that might be referring to me. 'Verdammt', anger word-but his voice isn't angry, it's questioning. He's asking a question of some sort. Alright. I allowed a sepia hued eye to flick to what he was doing, rustling in a pack-looking for something? My senses drove off a cliff when he drew out what he had been searching for. Absently my eyes drooped at the pleasurable smell now wafting through the air. Food. But it's not mine. Is he taunting me?
No. His eyes are too gentle, not excessively so, but enough to tell me that he is trying to help. He wants me to have it. Instinctively I wrinkled the bridge of my nose. I don't want help…the mournful groan from my stomach protested otherwise. I don't understand. Why am I still alive anyway? I should have died long ago when I sat in this mans' lap. Sifting through once foreign objects of 'pills', 'fire bottles', and 'knife pockets'. He lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Do you hate jerky, or is it just me?" Alright, another question. I've got this one. Something about disliking him-I think. I don't dislike him. In confusion I cocked an eyebrow, which is kind of silly, I know he can't see under my hood as I can.
"Δεν σας μισώ, λεία [I don't hate you, prey]." And before I could stop myself I was standing, the rasp that was my voice being drowned by yet another moan courtesy of my stomach. He offered a sort of half smile, but the blank look in his eyes spoke that he didn't understand a word of my gushing. Sighing gingerly I outstretched a hand and took the package from him, how else am I going to show that I don't dislike him?
Refusing the offer would be anything but encouraging. If he were of my own kind I would have earned a swipe across the muzzle for the lack of gratitude, no one offered food and if they were to then it was considered a great offer. Humans are so bizarre, tossing supplies about needlessly. I offered my own sort of half grin before ripping into the faux meaty substance. Jerky? Yet another foreign word ignited by him, I stow it away for further inspection, no need to think while enjoying a perfectly good meal.
"Ευγνώμων [Grateful]."