Bearclaw Valley a descent into the maelstrom

she lets go the leg and mimics the look on the woman's face, grinning openly. the expression feels strange on her own countenance, though, and she soon lets it fall once more into her usual impassiveness. takes the dead thing in her mouth again and chews, chews slowly—

she remembers how the worm split open with some pressure and bites until it hurts, and tastes more, skin and blood and bone. her lips are stained crimson, pressed against the new entrance wound.

but it grows wearisome after a while, trying to gnaw on tough flesh with weak teeth. she is not yet ready to leave the teat.

Avicus licks her lips and lifts her head, staring at the woman. dead, she says again, and is pleased to hear it sound much like how the adult had uttered it. it feels right. she feels, suddenly, grown-up.