Chapter 4Hunger.
His insides gnawed themselves. A hundred razor teeth chewed the lining of his belly. Empty inside. Hollow. His stomach wanted filling.
The humans, they broke their fast, supped, devoured. Sometimes he watched them from the eyrie. Always working their jaws, tasting, grinding flesh between teeth. Soft bread soaked in red meat juice. Fat dripping from haunches on the spit, the smell of roasting, grease running down the chin. He craved it all. But that was mortal pleasure. Eat and drink and s**t and die. And then the humans would be meal for the worms.
Not him. Even if he starved himself, he would grow thinner and thinner until he was less than a wraith, but he wouldn’t die. He was made to endure, after all. But enduring and living were not the same.
Was this worth his sou
