About four years ago…

It was so tired. And it was just so easy to sleep… to rest. It would close Its eyes for but a moment and awaken to find the stars had changed with time. And It was only ever woken by one thing: Hunger.

Life, survival had dwindled down to those two things. Rest. And Starvation.

A deep, dreamless sleep darker than any nightmare and more eternal than fear itself.

A gnawing, persisting demand that It drag Itself to whatever aroma had penetrated the fog of langour exhaustion to eat.

That's what hunger had reduced It down to- brief chases that had faded to mere nourishment, a messy and clumsy exertion for moments of unfulfilling sustenance that would only increase the appetite for more… but never provide the energy It needed to stay awake.

Sometimes, in the brief moments between waning hunger and rising exhaustion, It would find remiss on the Hunts of old. On past battles of wits and patience, of watching and observing and finding every weakness of Its targets before tearing them apart one. by. one. Each a unique opportunity, just to see what terror it evoked, see the helplessness and torture. An elegant system that It had long ago mastered and craved to continue like a moth to a flame.

These chases of late- for It would not call Its latest meals Hunts- were degrading. No, It realized in the brief times of clarity, they were demeaning. While a mindless beast may be allowed to chase and eat in a mindless cycle It was capable of more. So much more. And yet It could no longer…

… then Sleep would catch it, and after some time had passed, Hunger would wake it again.

It never cared for time; It was a creature of endless existence, and time was but a game It used to taunt lesser beings as he Hunted. But while It was not enslaved to passing seasons It was aware of them. It realized that time between Its wakings were growing shorter.

And when It woke next, It sensed a meal greater and more grand than any it had ever tasted. This, Its mind hissed, this was something It had wanted in the old days. Not a true hunt but elusive and challenging all the same… The aroma was tantalizing. The strength caused tingles even from this distance.

It needed to move.

There was a groan of earth and tearing of wood as It shoved off a layer of decomposing leaves and broke the roots of a sapling that had foolishly attempted to grow above It. Dirt and nature still falling, It barely managed a single step before falling back to the ground.

Weariness… sleep… exhaustion… What would be the harm of a bit more rest?

… hunger… food… a HUNT. Claws tightened on the bones of Its last meal, the body of the dead creature decomposed where it had fallen who knew how long ago. An old Hunt, and not a mindless chase.

With a groan It got up and crawled, Its long body dragging a trough in the soil. A Hunt, a Hunt! Its every fiber sang as It sped faster and faster, moving quick and lithe as a snake though Its mammalian body was not designed for such.

When It arrived the meal was gone, but still the waters were there. The magical spring retreated, fled as it always had, but not quick enough. With a triumphant cry It pulled itself over the ledge and ate as it had not in centuries.

The waters absorbed into its very pores and It took a deeper breath than it had in a very, very long time. Senses reached out in a sight and soundless beacon to Its servants and told It of the surroundings. This forest was full, teeming with more meals that sent its pulse racing in anticipation even as It continued to sip at the essence it now held trapped, as though it were a fine wine.

When It was done with the meal it took another breath, a cacophony of scents creating a map of its surroundings. Feathers ruffled in a breeze and green eyes opened to squint in the moonlight, staring at the stars.

It hadn't been long since Its last awakening. The scent of a small prey came to It, and Hunger made its inescapable demand.

It pinned the defenseless creature down and sank fangs into it, not caring to see what it had once had been before sucking in its meal. The blood dribbled to the earth, the fluid unnecessary as Its meals did not consist of mere flesh, of mortal casings. Its meals were of essence, the very thing that made life flow and the world grow.

Still unsatisfied It found the next closest prey, and the next, and continued to devour until no living thing dared stay in its presence. Normally this was when Sleep would come, but not this time.

Its rest, it seemed, was over.

But Its hunger was eternal.

That Hunger had been quieted for the moment It looked at itself in a river, displeased by what It saw. What had once been a lean frame now sagged with starvation. Its ribs were clearly visible and its skin had not yet healed, lesions and sores oozing near bones. It was hairless, disgustingly so, and It did not like this.

This was the Pests fault. The Three. It bared teeth in a silent hiss, the sound a mixture of frustration and satisfaction. The Hunt Cheaters and the Young Vanisher. The two who had ended Its Hunt before it began, The Disappearing One that had run, fled for so far and so long. But that Hunt, as all must, had ended the way it should. With satisfaction and glorious supremacy.

A Hunt. A true Hunt. It needed another. Lifting eyes to the sunrise, It saw the servants floating forward, bringing their inevitable chill with them. They had watched the world while It rested, and now would tell It all they had seen.

Shaking the last of dirt and sleep from its limbs, It pulled atop a tree to await their arrival.

It was time to Hunt again.

Happy Halloween!