>He holds her in his arms, cooing small sounds of reassurance and comfort
>She stares into his eyes, crying
>Mouthing silent requests for aid; for love; for the salvation of her own mortality
>He is startled by what he finds there
>In her enormous yellow eyes
>In those eyes, he sees the spark of intelligence that he had never been close enough to see before
>It shakes him to his core
>But he still doesn't drop the creature
>That would be all the more cruel
>Now her breathing becomes slower, more subdued
>The lifeblood pouring from the wound gaping in her side and other innumerous smaller ones finally slows
 
 
>Right now, he wants nothing more in the world than to save her
>He had already done his best, destroying his spare clothing to create crude bandages
>But part of him knew, when she stumbled down the entrance to his cave
>That there was nothing he could do but ease her passing
>The tiny grey creature finally breathes her last breath, the light in her eyes fading
>Then, she is gone
>Slump in his arms
 
 
>For a long, long while he does nothing
>He remembers
>This grey and blonde creature had come to watch him, every day, since he arrived in this place weeks ago
>At first he had been wary of her gaze
>But soon enough he grew to enjoy the companionship of what he thought at the time was a simple animal
>Lately, however, among all the odd things, he had been seeing less and less of her
>Until she stumbled down the mouth of his cave today
>Broken and alone
>Eventually, he rises
 
 
>Outside, there stands a monster
>Trailing behind the monster are many larger versions of the vaguely equine creature that died in his arms
>Some with wings, some with a horn, like her, and some absolutely plain
>But all of them dull
>Discolored in this pastel wonderland
>The monster himself is a pistache of many creatures
>The head of a goat, with a single fang
>A pair of mismatched horns, one blue and the other plain bone
>The paw of a lion, the arm and tail of an aligator, the talon and wing of an eagle, the hoof of a deer, all attached to a brown furred torso
>Fresh blood still coats its talons
>The entire procession is pervaded by a sense of wrongness
 
 
>He approaches the monster
>He's seen this monster before
>Cavorting through the skies, turning the clouds into some gauzy pink substance
>And now it is here, to taunt him
>it looks at him, cruelty and intelligence evident in its face in equal measures
>Then it speaks its mean words, designed to confuse minds and crush hope
>Words he can't understand
>Words he won't understand
>In a flash, the sadness is gone
>He reaches up and grabs the monster with one hand, muscles strengthened by weeks of hardship holding it in a grip firmer than iron
>With the other, he strikes
>The monster reels away, leaking blood of its own, more surprised than hurt
>But he doesn't stop there
>No, that would be too kind
>This monster inflicted those wounds not out of animalistic desire for food as he had first suspected
>But out of sadistic joy
>And he will not tolerate such a monster to exist
 
 
>He punches and punches the monster
>He continues to beat it long after it has stopped twitching
>Finally, he stops, his hands sore and bloodied
>And collapses onto the ground, covering his face
>Now, the tears come
>For the tiny, innocent creature that had to die
>For this procession of corrupted creatures in front of him
>Then comes a poke
>A tiny poke at his arm, that gets his attention more effectively than an air raid siren
>For this poke gives him hope
>Bleary, bloodshot eyes emerge from behind the bruised hands
>In front of him, impossibly, stands the grey and blonde creature that died in his arms
>Behind her, a wall eyed grey creature with wings looks at you uncertainly
>The tiny grey thing opens its mouth
Whatcha crying for, mister?