Ankyra Sound twelve-hundred people dead or left to die

with a shrewd eye he had watched as her pack undertook the hard task – with most elaborate stratagem – of assassinating what he could only imagine was the most challenging of game: the bloated, putrefied carcass of a seal that had washed up on their winsome strand. yes yes. how challenging an affair it was! a spectacle. dinner and a show, really.

they fell upon their hard-won bounty like barbarians, writhing and screeching amongst themselves as gluttony engulfed them each and scythe-like teeth cubed tender flesh, snapping on bone like they were made of wet paper-mache.

of course, seafood was not bartok's most favoritest. it was tough, rubbery. squeaky. the only salvageable cuts relevant to his palate were the most coveted cuts of all... the ones that only a siren queen could be entrusted with.

the fretted figure of the alpha female stole away into the distance and as she made her way to the underpinning of a tree, he couldn't help but flake out on his exquisite vantage point from the cusp of an approximate sequoia and follow her into self-relegated isolation, lighting upon a branch not too far from the wolf.

the piece of shit bird watched discernibly, ruffling his feathers in preparation as she started in on her highly-valued portion. he tilted his head back and made a cackling racket before plunging from the limb and diving at her head, eager to startle her.

bird the bird the bird bird bird bird bird. the bird machine. check.