Memories, only not as he'd remembered them. These weren't clad in bone, as in his nightmares, but fleshed. In coarse, leathery, almost human flesh. But there, all resemblance to humanity—and humaneness—stopped.

            Their forms were emaciated, like sinew tacked to bone. Worm-eaten monstrosities, wizened; turning themselves inside out with hunger; the skin thick and corrugated from contraction. Tapered, taloned feet and daggered claws, and searing—ghastly red and glaring—eyes.

            Their frames might speak of famine, but the litter at their feet spoke of feasting. It was only now Nudge noticed—fear etching it on his brain with sharp-tined clarity—how the refuse was strewn across the cavern floor, carelessly dropped between stalagmites, nestled and rotting in the hollows of uneven stone. These were fragments of the once-living; leavings from a quickly gorged repast. Ruddy brown, glistening speckles and splashes, clumped organ, bone, carrion. Carnage.

            Nudge's feet remained true, even if his brain was frozen. He was ice, but his feet were fleeing. I see nothing. I see nothing. I see nothing.

            If he could feign blindness, oblivion, surely they could do the same?

            Some part of him was squealing inside, like a stuck pig, but other than rasping breaths, he was silent. It's not real. He lowered his gaze, traditional sign of obeisance, while his loyal feet painstakingly tiptoed backwards.

            As though silence will make me invisible to those glaring eyes…

            The eyes were fire in his brain, like flares cast on a dark night. Red, hateful.

            Intelligent?

            No! He refused to believe it. Self-preservation wouldn't allow it. He had a chance here, as long as he had the better brain. Clever ruled might, every time.

            They're not so big.

            I can take 'em.

            As big as he, but skinny…and a lot more desperate for me than I am for them. Their advantage was in numbers. Like coyotes, running in a pack.

            Bent nearly in half, his feet tripped and trod his wily self back to the entrance.

            Almost there. Safety was just a discreet backup away.

            No threat. No intrusion.

            No meal. Nudge's rear was rounding the corner now, his crack disappearing into the crack through which it had come. From this very-nearly-safe perspective, Nudge risked a quick upwards glimpse, of the pack leader. Just a quick impression, that was all, before he scooted his wily, clever self out of sight.

            Sentience…voracious hunger…

            …and spiny, sharp-tined wings.

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