Usually, if a tribesman felled a colossal-worm, the tribe would throw a feast with the flesh of the beast. The largest portions going to the strongest members of the tribe, the biggest of those going to the one who killed the beast. The skin of the worm would be repurposed into leather for either armour or our gers.
Right now, none of these options seem appropriate. I can definitely burn through the flesh myself and maybe bring some back for Leal and Grímr, but the amount I can carry certainly won’t make a feast for them. It’s the skin that concerns me. The worm’s hard exterior is fire-resistant, even to my flames, so it will take a while to eat through it. It would be nice to make a ger so we can block out the sand during sandstorms, but that would take even longer. Plus, I doubt we’ll even need it considering both Grímr’s and my wings.
My tribe always taught me to use everything I kill to the best of my ability. It is important to keep the cycle of life flowing, regardless of whether that’s through consumption of a creature’s nutrition, or reconstructing their bodies into tools. It’s something I’ve kept with me even long after I left the wasteland, but if I do spend the time to reintegrate this worm into the cycle, morning will arrive before I can head back to Leal and Grímr. I’m concerned about leaving them alone for so long.
So, I burn what flesh I can — taking a chunk for both my travel partners — and leave the body for tomorrow. I’ll be back when it’s light to return the colossal-worm to the cycle.
❖❖❖
I wake before the others to a creature approaching in my thermal sense. It takes me a second to snap out of sleep and focus on what is heading our way.
Nothing more than a pack of dingoes. They edge closer, but it’s clear they either haven’t noticed us, or they simply don’t care. Each sniffs around the rocky ground, looking for morsels to snack on.
The tight grip on my spear loosens, and I relax over the earth again. I don’t even try to fall asleep again. The light of sunrise means we should get moving soon, anyway.
The others remain asleep for a good long while. I really want to get moving. Impatience seeps into my very core, but I don’t want to rush them. Especially considering Grímr had still been awake when I returned. He said nothing, but it still made me feel bad that he waited up for me.
Last night, I’d been caught up in the whole moment. Being back in the wasteland, finding Mum’s spear. It was overwhelming, and I’d just rushed forward impulsively, wanting to experience it all at once. I felt like I couldn’t wait even another moment.
I shouldn’t have. Leal and Grímr have joined me on this trip. Not because of some personal reason or selfish desire, but to be with me, so it isn’t right that I left them as soon as I felt the need. Not only could something have happened while I was a long flight away, but the very reason I left still remains out in the desert, not yet returned to the cycle.
Nobody needs to tell me my actions were immature and impulsive. That is clear to me now that I’ve had time to calm from the emotions that fuelled me yesterday. I don’t intend to repeat that mistake.
As an apology, I get to cooking the meat I brought back with me last night. Unlike previously, where I had to burn vein-like tubes through the flesh to cook it evenly, I can just pass my ethereal flame through the meat and slowly heat every part as evenly as possible.
It is only when I’ve fully cooked their breakfast that I realise there might be a problem.
“Oh, that smells good.” Grímr’s metal beak pokes over my shoulder.
Damn! I wasn’t paying attention. I twist the other way and spot Leal waking up as well. My cooking obviously so good they can’t resist.
Wait, no. I can’t let them eat it. The colossal-worm is the cousin to the sand-worm. What if… “You can’t eat-”
Before I can stop him, Grímr leans forward and snaps breakfast right out of my hands. With his large form, the chunk of worm flesh is gone in moments.
I stare up at him in horror. “That might be poison.”
He gulps the last of it before my words finally register. “What?” he asks, freezing in place. “Why are you cooking poisonous food?” he rises to his feet in an instant. A wing knocks me off my feet in the motion.
This is my fault, so I need to do something. But what? How can I stop the poison that’s already in his stomach?
Oh! That’ll work.
Before Grímr can protest, my flames rush down his throat. He squawks and flails, razor feathers shred across his body, but he cannot escape from the fire that will save him.
A laugh breaks my focus on saving my friend. I turn to Leal, who is trying her hardest to suppress a breath halfway between a snicker and a giggle. “It’s not dangerous,” she says before taking a bite.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Only now do I realise she’s taken the other bit of worm meat for herself. When did I drop it? Her arm glows and tiny strands of water pierce through the cooked flesh. Is that how she’s sure it is safe? Still, watching her bite into what could be poison is stressful. I only just promised Gerben to keep her safe.
“Damn it, Solvei.” Grímr makes an exaggerated retching noise as he scrapes a talon through the inside of his metal beak.
“What? I was careful not to burn your throat.”
“That’s hardly the issue here.” He stops his gagging to complain, so it really does look like worm-flesh isn’t poisonous. Before he can continue whatever complaints he has, Leal interrupts.
“Oh,” she says, hand raised over her mouth. “It’s not poisonous to ursu. I don’t know about metal birds.”
Grímr stands open-beaked as his gaze flickers between the both of us. After a few moments of silence, he huffs and turns away. “If I lose this body — to food poisoning, of all things — you owe me a stronger one, Solvei.”
“Yes. Fine,” I say. With that thought in mind, my imagination wanders to what creatures I could put him in. It’s not strong at all, but I consider one of the cute fennec foxes. How great would it be to have one of those soft-furred creatures following us around all the time? Though, for some inexplicable reason, I get the feeling Grímr wouldn’t agree.
If I were to consider the possibilities seriously, it would be better to travel to the Titan Alps to find him some creature greater than the alicanto he already possesses. The animals of the wasteland are strong, sure, but not in the same way as the creatures on the Alps and beyond. The residents of the wasteland aren’t nearly as enhanced as creatures from elsewhere, but they all use the environment to their advantage in ways that would take down even Beith mercenaries unless they knew what to look for.
The Inner Circle and other nation’s elite likely wouldn’t have an issue. Not if it was comparable to what I witnessed during the war.
Colossal-worms will eat you whole should you be oblivious to their hunting-grounds. The chthonic swarms are inescapable if their ambush tunnels go unnoticed. Sand-crocodiles… well, they are usually fine assuming you avoid the Colossal-worm hunting-grounds — they’re too lazy to chase prey on land — but if you’re unlucky enough to come across a hungry croc, or worse: a full bask of them, you can only hope you are fast enough to escape.
Oh! I guess the common sand-worms are rather dangerous to outsiders too.
While Grímr is off sulking, I turn to Leal as she licks off the remnants of worm from her fingers. “If you like it, we can grab some more from its corpse. I was planning to head there as soon as we got moving again.”
Leal stiffens. Her hand falls behind her back and discretely wipes it against the cloth of her pants. Again, she avoids eye contact, and I take a step away, backing down. It’s disappointing that she’s still like this, but I can’t push her.
“That would be good.” Despite my assumptions, she actually responds. “It was new… unique, but it wasn’t bad,” she says. “I’d like to try some more, but uh… with some proper preparation next time.”
Oh right. Sauces and marinades. I’d forgotten how much importance the eastern races put into the meat’s additions. To me, animal flesh always tastes worse with sauce. Meat cannot beat the filling taste of metal, not usually.
“Sure.” I jump on the chance. If it means Leal will open up again, “I’ll load Grímr up with as much colossal-worm as he can carry.”
I look over at said carrier. His sulking forgotten, he reattaches the bags over his back, nearly ready for today’s flight. As fun as it is to joke around, I should be nice to him. Maybe there’s something I can do to show my gratitude? Hmm. I’ll have to think about it.
❖❖❖
The worm is not how I left it.
Most of its body now rests beneath the sand, and it’s only because of what little worm skin pokes through the surface that I even found it. My flames enter the ground, but only reveal half the worm missing. Cleaved off, leaving only blade-like tooth-marks.
Preyed upon by its own kind.
In a way, I’m relieved the dead colossal-worm has rejoined the cycle, even if not by my hand. But the very fact that it wasn’t by my hand disturbs me. I could not live up to my tribe’s expectations and make use of the life I took.
I am no longer at war. Lives have their worth and by ignoring that, prioritising a non imminent concern, I go against the way of my kind. When mine or my friend’s survival was in jeopardy, I had forgone much of Uncle’s teachings. While I would absorb the strength of those I killed into myself often, there were still times my enemies’ corpses were left untouched and unlikely to return to the cycle.
It’s a sad fact, but I would prefer to survive, even if it means foregoing the ways of my people.
That being said, there still remains much of the worm. Plenty even for a feast between the three of us. Burning through the flesh, and dividing it into sizeable chunks takes time due to the flesh’s fire resistance, but I manage.
Leal gets to packing away some of the meat, applying some sort of cream over it before wrapping it and storing it amongst Grímr’s packs. Once again, I pity Grímr’s plight. All that weight has got to make flying hard.
Out of the three of us, it is only Leal who can’t live off the metals of the earth. While we could probably go hunting any time she needs to eat, doing so would be an immense waste of a colossal-worm’s resources, particularly because their bodies hold nowhere near the energy their strength would indicate.
“Hey,” I call. “Either of you want some armour made from the worm’s skin?”
“Deivos, no.” Leal shakes her head as if the very idea is insulting. “I hated carrying a set around while at war. Don’t make me wear one again.”
Grímr, meanwhile, presses a talon into the worm corpse’s hard skin. It pierces through with near minimal effort. The sight makes me bristle silently; it had been so much harder to pierce in my fight. I’ll need to work on increasing my strength somehow.
“I’ll be fine with just my feathers.” Said plumage twists the protective inscription in place, the lines glow as soon as they connect.
“How is that powered, anyway?” Leal asks, her curiosity piqued once more.
“I feed it iron whenever it gets low.”
“Really? An earth- no, metal-based hyle converter? Or does the entire inscription operate on metallic hyle? If so, then how does it overcome the efficiency loss of passing such a solid element through an identically solid medium? That should only be possible with skin and muscle. Are those feathers-”
I tune out Leal’s rapid-fire questions and return my attention to the skin of the worm. This will take a while, but if nobody else has any need for it, I have to burn it. Now that we’ve got some food stowed away for Leal, it might be a good time to look for some for Grímr, too. I might not have the maps of my tribe, but with his nose for metal, I’m sure we can find a nice deposit or two.