Remembrance

A long-ish story, for a change!

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It was early in the afternoon when he found it. Rain had been scarce these last days, and that pond certainly had seen better ones, for now it was a large patch of mud and drying vegetation. A couple of duikers were also there, taking small sips from the dirty water, but had already fled as soon as he arrived.

Grendel looked around. His tail was ready to strike, claws flexed instinctively, nose sniffed the air. After all, you could never low your guard when you’re in Felarya. There could have been something watching from the bushes, flying in circles above you, even hidden in the pond, awaiting its chance to pounce. This time, however, he was alone.

An excited grin appeared in the squamataur’s face, and he jumped head-first into the mudhole. It was deep, covering up his tauric half completely. Perfect. For what must have felt like hours he rolled and splashed in the sloshy element, submerged and re-emerged again and again, loudly blew bubbles in the surface, raising slow waves with his tail. He didn’t really know why he loved mud so much. Maybe because it was cool and fresh. Or because it drove away all the biting pests. Or maybe just because it was too fun to play with. Whatever the case, he was enjoying himself immensely. He even found the carcass of a fairly large wading bird buried in there, and it made a most acceptable second breakfast.

After a while, Grendel had stopped playing and simply floated on the mud, almost carelessly, with a stomach full of bird meat. That was certainly fun. He didn’t get to enjoy little pleasures that often. He hadn’t had those in a long while, in fact. In particular, ever since….that time. His mind slowly drifted, and once again, it brought her.


He remembered her so clearly. Her tangled hair, between brown and green, flowed down her back, but she kept shaping it into crests and odd bangs. Her shoulders were ripe with freckles, some he could swear were a big mole or two. Her horse half had rustled dark hair, and long, white clumps ringed the hooves. Like her head, it had this odd green tinge to it. And that smirk …that smirk she always had with those scarlet eyes….

They met squabbling over food, of all things. He was hunting a big sandfish, tracking it down as it slowly died, and then there she was, trying to claim the kill. And somehow after that, they became partners.

She always had plans. Great plans. Like Grendel, she wasn’t happy with her life. Something much better, she wanted. No humiliation, no hard times, no bitter struggle to fill the stomach with scraps. She wanted to be at the top, make her own rules, be powerful, unstoppable. She knew how to reach it. And together, they would prevail. He couldn’t agree more.

Those days, he had to admit, had been the best in his life. Together, squamataur and centauress, made a name of themselves in the great fields. The Rumble Bandits, they called them. Stalking the plains by day, sneaking in the shadow by night. Lots of prey were caught, tough rivals were crushed, ever powerful magic was searched, stories and laughs were shared. And Grendel felt complete. Life was good, very good. Truly she was his kindred soul, his partner of fatigues. His first friend. Yeah. Friend.

Had he known what’d happen…


The other centaurs took it no more. Thundering of hooves, yells of anger, weapons of heavy stone, fire of torches. For many days they were chased and assaulted. On many times they fought back. On others they had to run. Now neither was possible. Bruised, exhausted, cornered. Fight or die, it was the only option. And Grendel wouldn’t die without fighting.

But then he was pushed. They swarmed all over. Hands and hooves pinned him down. Struggle as he did, he couldn’t break free. And he looked at her.

And she looked back as she ran.

Had to happen, she said. Her plans had to succeed. Always had to succeed. And the muscle had to die for the sake of the brain.

The muscle.

Last thing he heard, before the mob’s rage reached fever pitch

Pain. So much pain. Then nothing.

He didn’t know anymore if he had escaped, or they had left him for dead. But he was alone again, crawling, coughing blood, jolts of pain on every movement. And his mind a boiler of emotions.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Sadness.

Anger.

Revenge.

For a day he searched, and in the humid dusk, he found her. And from there on, his mind was fuzzy.

He remembered yelling and shouting, from both sides

The heated struggle that followed

Cracking of bones.

Her scarlet eyes, in the fading light

Crunching and snapping

Blood splattering on the wet grass.

The taste of flesh.


Grendel opened his eyes. He was resting in a shallow area of the mud-pond, now partially submerged, and the part of his body that was on the surface now had dry and cracked mud, caked almost completely. He sighed. Again those memories….

A low, rising hum caught his attention, and the squamataur submerged himself again, only his eyes and hair poking out as he looked to the sky. A medium-sized flying squid was drifting by, unusually close to the trees.

Grendel slowly swam to the other end of the the mudhole, emerging in the direction the squid was taking, and disappeared in the bushes as he followed.

Enough of meddling in the past. What matters is the here and now.

And now he wanted some calamari.

His wallowing in the mud made me grin. His enjoyment of it comes across well... and makes a good contrast to the painful memories that follow. I like how you describe those. Flashes of scenes and a mixture of stark, raw emotions, coming to the forefront of his mind. Good stylistic choice.

The end, simple as it may be, also says a lot about him, in a brief but effective way.

Yeah, that's more or less what I was aiming for. You see a lot of stories out there that make characters feel emotions as if they're actually watched by someone else. It doesn't really feel the same as, say, when you're actually angry and experiencing it

And about the ending, that's kind of how I see life for predators in Felarya. They may be sapient and as articulated and more-or-less civilized as you want, but in the end it all boils down to surviving and finding the next meal