I had other things to worry about. Hugging a Hunter feels awful. Tasting one was without a doubt the worst decision I’ve ever made. I doubted a vulture could have stomached it. Cold and moist, the meat turned to mush in my mouth, blood like motor-oil mixed with rancid oil squirting out my lips. Soon all I tasted was bile as every tastebud unanimously decided that whatever I’d subjected them to was worth ejecting everything I’d eaten the last three days. As a torrent exploded from my mouth, I was pushed away from Jaws to where I could see his face.
I’d never before realized that Hunters had different facial expressions. Seven eyes and an oddly shaped mouth make them difficult to read, but I suppose I’d only ever seen them in one emotional state. Now, however, its face was completely differ
