IC: Sturg looked at the Fuzzle, seeing the teeth. They couldn't possibly be natural, possibly a result of the Vykkers it seemed to despise. Why were Vykkers so bad anyway? Surely those metal teeth gave it an edge. "Meh, Fleeches don't generally pose so much of a threat to me, I don't think. Even though they're quite formidable, it's not enough to take me down, I usually eat them if anything, but I never start a fight with them purposefully, and the key to surviving is not to underestimate what they can do. So, what's your problem with these 'Vykkers' or whatever? I met one once fairly recently, I think, but I didn't learn much then. If it's anything to do with those unnatural looking teeth, I don't see the problem. I'd think that metal teeth like that were something of an advantage to you? I presume those didn't grow there by themselves" Sturg sniffed the air, checking for danger. Little was around directly nearby, but alot of faint scents of Scrabs and Paramites that had passed here earlier. No Meech scent though, as usual. At that thought, Sturg almost wailed in his mind, and out loud. Was it worth bothering with his life if he was the single, last one? No, don't think about that, or you'll get eaten by a Fleech, or a furball of all things. He must hope, that something will change some day. He continued walking, following the usual route.
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