Ecology of the Grick
Coiled beneath the stones and brush, it waits. It hears voices approaching – high-pitched, playful voices. Voices it recognizes as younglings from the community down the river. It opens its beak, pointed tongue running along the edge of its sharp lips. It knows it is in a bad position to strike, but cannot risk moving now, as the voices are close now, and would hear the stones above it shifting. It feels excitement welling – it hasn’t eaten in a week, since eating the meat off the bones of a deer, and fresh man-meat is always preferable to deer. The voices are only a few feet away now, voices filled with joy and glee, unaware of what lies beneath the stones they play atop…