Itchy Snack

The sun beating down in heavy beams emphasised the dire mood of another day of unsuccessful hunts and disapointing loot brought in from scavenging. Dry, hollow bones. Stale critters barely worth a scrap of a snack. Rotten carcasses infested with bugs.

Raze was getting sick of the old meat he managed to gnaw off of little morsels. Dry, chewy and barely enjoyable. He must've hit an unlucky streak by his failure to find something fresh and worthwhile. Whenever he believed he found a particularly fresh track of injured or sick prey with promise of a juicy reward, he’d find the so believed easy prey to still be too lively for him to take down on his own. Or it has already been slain by someone bigger or a whole other pack who rathered not to share. He had no chance either way unless he’d try to deceive and trick, which was a skill of his but not one he used in abundance.

The cryo would even try to peck a single leaf from a tree just to spit it out again, merely to get the bad taste of mediocre meat out of his mouth. He wouldn’t resort to veganism, but any kind of variety, no matter how bitter or bad, that would clear the fog out of his mind is a welcomed change. If he didn’t find something else soon he’d just not eat stale meat even if he was starving, he decided. The smell of carcasses that scavengers and maggots are already picking clean or a dead thing that has been lying on the dusty floor baked by the sun is getting on his nerves. He’s getting sick of the mere idea.

Even if he insisted that he had standards and that he’d need no help, let alone beg from others, he found himself ogling other creatures from a distance every so often. Those who dig holes and feast on worms and roots, those who engage in battles in the sky to steal little fish from one another’s beak or those reaching so high above into the trees to pick each little treasure from the branches. It seems too easy to stay fed with quality food for those who have skills he can’t possess. He’s just a shortstack of a cryo, one who is not particularly strong or impressive, one who can’t climb or dig or fly or swim like other creatures do.

Any other day he would suck up to others, act nice and kind to maybe get a gift or two- but that felt like cheating. He refuses to take that path in the long run. Nuturing relationships without being uncovered as an imposter is so daunting, so exhausting to keep up with. Raze just needs to get creative. He’s a creative enough spirit to improvise and mimic others. Pondering what to do, what to eat today, he saw narrow dirt towers in the distance. Pillars of mud and clay, constructed by tiny bugs to be sturdy, tall obelisks in the flatlands.Termites.

Maybe he could try and attempt to do what some other critters do. Just like little furry creatures or birds he could simply peck and lick at the walls. He deems termites too tiny and unfilling, although numerous, for his annoyed belly, but it’s not like he had any other plans for the day. His mind stays indecisive, yet his legs curiously carry him towards the bug castles. Mounds appearing to grow in size each time he took a step towards them, until he stood amidst a circle of such mud and dirt towers.

Observing the winding, parting and reconnecting trails of bugs disappearing into little crevices and miniscule holes that are part of the architectural system of the mound was fascinating. Mesmerising even. Where to start? It's not like they can fight back, so a taste wouldn't hurt him. At first Raze locked his claws into a few of those niches and cracks at the walls, unbothered by some termites nipping at his arms or crawling on his fingers- but the walls were clearly too sturdy to break apart in any significant way. He managed to chip at them, but he couldn’t tear a hole big enough to reveal the inner workings of this hive mind. His claws aren’t meant to be used for digging, let alone break what might as well be rock. He already made the effort to come here and nearly chipped his claws trying to crack this fortress, so leaving now would establish this to be a waste of time. Licking the stray bugs that managed to crawl on his arms from his coat he decided on the lazy way then.

How would the small critters do? Just lick the surface? Oh well. While licking at the mounds’ walls, picking the long trails of termites clean, it left a fine layer of clay on his tongue. It didn’t taste half bad of what he expected. Still, he felt silly. It’s something new, but one would expect a creature like him to be clearly more fit to sink his teeth into the leathery hide of another reptile of his size. Yet he stands there in the scarcely planted fields, surrounded by similar towering mud mounts, licking at its walls.

Unsurprisingly, the little bugs’ bites don’t even tingle as they go down his maw, or when they escape and crawl into his feather coat at his cheeks. His teeth aren’t made to pop or chew on them, so he’d just swallow the hundreds of termites down whole. It’s a sensation he’s unused to. He is made to rip and tear thick strands of muscle and fat into smaller pieces to swallow in chunks. He’d use his teeth to break bones and get the good, nutritious mark inside. Slurping termites feels like eating sand, merely without the grainy texture and a tad better tasting than dirt.

Running his tongue over his teeth Raze paused to contemplate his current position. He’s unsure if this is degrading to his stature as a carnivore, a predator- on the other hand, this beats eating meagre scraps from the floor any day. It’s like a little easy treat. Not exactly the tastiest snack, but for the little effort it takes it’s worth it well enough. If one could ignore the occasional itching. The increasing itching. The pinching, the crawling sensation of little bugs crawling in ones thick coat!

Shocked, Raze looked down to see thick trails of termites making their way up his legs. He didn’t even notice them surrounding him while he was too busy tasting their kin. While they were barely a nuisance when only a few managed to escape his mouth, those who run up his legs are overwhelming in number and they are quite furious!

The cryo near jumped into the air to escape the circling bugs and prevent further to make their way onto his skin. He would’ve sprinted off but a dozen bugs biting, crawling and causing suddenly unbearable itching made him pause in between just to bite into his feathers in an attempt to rid himself of these tiny feisty creatures. Even if interrupted by aggressive preening he managed to stumble far enough from the termite mounds to not be pursued.

The ordeal isn’t over as Raze combed through his feathers with his teeth. In a way he gets an occasional tiny snack all the while he tries to clean himself, but suddenly this whole mess didn’t seem worth it any more. He believed to have gotten a nice easy snack, but didn’t account that these tiny beasts could fight back quite so furiously. So irritatingly!

No amount of biting his limbs and clawing his feather coat could relieve from the bites of the termites still stuck in his coat. Suddenly he had the urge to take a bath, water or dust didn’t matter, as long as it promised getting rid of these tiny parasites. Rolling in dirt left his coat in disarray, but at least it properly shook off the pesky pests or at the very least relieve from the irritating itch. Laying in the sun, dirt and dust covering him, he accepted his defeat.

That's what he gets for attempting something unprepared. He used to give things deeper thought before tackling them, but a picky eaters’ mind said otherwise. What irony, he was not save from those bigger than him nor the smallest of creatures.

Determined to newer do this again, Raze brought himself back on his feet and wandered far away from the mounds. It simply wasn’t meant for him, even if he didn't mind the taste. The salty clay left an earthy aroma on his gums, which wasn't unpleasant, but the tradeoff of inviting little beasts beneath his feathers wasn't worth it.

 Maybe the cryo should’ve just stuck to what he was used to. At the very least dead meat couldn’t bite back- even if it laid on the floor a while.