Moonspear change in the house of flies

This creature was a feral one. And he responded, bodily, this way. She was observent of this and appeased further by his groveling; it was what saved him here and now from her more terrible considerations. She herself was not starved; eating him did not occur to her in this moment. But he was not fit, not at all the elite—not in body. 

Could he ever be? Hydra tried to imagine him filled out, but frowned at the thought of him digging in their resources to become such a way. He was not family, he was not friend—he was simply, as he himself said, hungry. These are times where everyone is hungry, she informed coldly, gaze hard upon him, what makes you worthy of our meat? What would you do, to be fed? She inquired, taking a step backward to take full stock of him. 

He seemed to understand he might die soon—that was good, to recognize this. To know that his life might, and likely did, count on his answer.