My name is Sierra. I was named after the hell I was brought into. I am told that I am a spirit of the land, a monster created to consume its enemies. I am unsure how long I have crawled along this soil, but I have outlived at least a hundred men. Of course, I have only outlived a hundred men because I have eaten their souls and bodies. I am told I have no family. I believe them. If I did, I would have seen them by now. I am a god, and we do not die. We are feared.
I once met a man who was as pale as the moon. He was one of the few who I could understand, and who could understand me. After his hands were cut off, he cursed us for a thousand years and called us barbarians. Anger filled him and possessed him, his life force spilling out of his bloody stumps with every jerk of his body. When he saw me though he stopped. No pain, no anger could overcome his utter fear as he watched me feast upon his feet. I start at the ankles, there is a delicious tendon at the back that slithers down my throat like a snake. It is humorous to me when I chew through it and like a slingshot, the back of his legs crumple up and his legs cease to resist. I move up the leg quickly and tear off the calve muscles. I save these for later as I am only concerned with the ripe delicacies that must be tasted in the here and now. The ambience, the art, it is all tuned from dozens of past meals. Once I rip off the knee cap I suckle on the fluids underneath, there is a very salty and sweet taste here that I find peculiar. The knee cap goes into my cloth. I collect these for no purpose whatsoever. Fear captured him and kept him from moving or speaking. Fear is my gift. He bled out and I returned to my home. They only let me thrive on live men and it should be so; The pleasure just isn't there when it is not both body and soul I devour. Ah, memories. There are so few of them. Most of my meals are just that. Do you ever remember what a potato, or a banana looked like when you ate it?
Not many speak to me. I am free to do as I please when it is no feeding time. However nobody here really speaks to each other for there is too much to do. On the other hand, there is Foday. He is a black cave bat I spend my time with. I named him Foday because there is such a man who speaks to the family every once in a while with the same name. I am unsure whether Foday was attracted to me and became my friend, or if I summoned him. He has been there for as far back as I can remember. He helps guide me when the sun settles and keeps me company. In return I protect him. I caught a young one throwing stones at him one night. I ran up behind him and gouged his eyes out with both hands as I wrestled him into the dirt and tore out his throat with my teeth. Eating fast isn't my specialty nor is it satisfying, but I broke his jaw open and ate his tongue and cheeks. I had no interest in eating the rest, I was full and Foday was safe. The family knew it was me but oddly enough the fear of me only grew and I was never reprimanded. I can tell. I can smell it and see it. Even the ones who bring me to feed, tremble and dare not place a hand on me. I smirk because these men are twice my size; I would be the same size as one of their offspring. After all, they always said "you don't hold a weapon against your brother." Fear is my weapon, and is one of the few things you cannot be used to, making it more powerful than any blade.