[Munch's Master]

OK, I dug it up and put it in the first post. Here's the old (discontinued) version of the chapter.
Chapter 4: The Punishment

Crap. Larry thought as he fell into the pit. He landed with a hard, rather painful and ever so slightly squelching whump at the bottom. The Slig cackled loudly again “Yer’ve let yerself in fer it now mud.” Larry slowly picked himself up off the ground, rubbing his back and finding-Yuck! -remains of the Slogs’ previous meals on his back. Picking the bits of flesh and slivers of bone off his back, he turned around as the metal doors of the kennels grated up. Double crap. He thought as the Slogs scurried out. A good dozen or so of very big, bulky, fully grown Slogs were sniffing around, trying to detect their meal. Which is me. Larry thought miserably. Smaller sloggies ran around, yipping as they picked at the odd few remains from previous feedings. Larry knew they’d be after him right about….now. Which they were.
The bigger Slogs seemed to have picked up his scent and, just as Larry thought this, as if on cue, some of the Slogs began to approach him. Larry did all he could do. He began scooping up handfuls of the leftover flesh, and piling it up in front of him. The slogs were still nearing, going faster now at the smell of fear and raw meat. Larry knew not to panic, noise and fear gets you found and killed, he thought, picking up a decent sized, relatively intact bone.
“Nice Slog, good Slog,” Larry spoke quietly to the nearest Slog, whistling to get its attention. As it ran towards him, he tossed it the bone. The slog had opened its jaws to bite Larry, but instead the bone landed in its mouth. One down. Larry thought. The other Slogs were mainly eating at the pile of carcasses Larry had hurriedly made, but with so many eating at it; there was soon little meat left.
“Oy, yer supposed to feed ‘em fresh meat not leftover stuff ya f**kbrain!” The supervisor Slig yelled at him. Larry ignored him for now, concentrating on staying alive. He picked up what looked to be half of a Scrab’s rib, and tossed it at a Slog nearby. Unfortunately for Larry, he hit it on the head rather than in its mouth. The Slog began growling and barking angrily, certainly preparing to charge. Larry couldn’t hide his fear now, and the scent of fear just gave the beast a beacon towards him.
The Slog lunged on him, bowling him over and it began ripping and biting at his leg. Larry swore and tried to get it off, but that prompted the creature to snap at his hands and continue mauling his leg. Larry knew he was in a fair deal of trouble now. He panicked more and more and screamed in pain as it continued biting, sure it would reach the bone. That’s it, a bone! He thought. Larry clawed around, finally laying hands on a chewed, cracked but still intact bone by the wall of the feeding pit. His paw’s fingers brushed it and finally clasped it, and he swung the bone at the Slog’s head, prompting a yell from the Slig above.
“Hey, yer can’t attack the Slogs!” Once again Larry ignored him. The Slog however, had recovered from the blow, and was pretty mad , meaning Larry was in a lot of danger once again. It snapped at Larry was holding Larry, aiming for where the blow came from, and ended up locking its jaws around the bone he was holding. Larry quickly let go, relieved inside that it hadn’t got him. Fortunately it then began gnawing and chewing on the bone, leaving the injured Larry to huddle down and try to rest his hurt leg.
He expected the other Slogs to be approaching him now as he was bleeding, but then, the whole pit was full of blood, albeit dried blood. At least the blood partially obscured his normal scent, effectively hiding him amidst the leftovers, from being smelled at least. The beasts were now picking at scraps or fighting each other, and Larry lay there, trying to stay small and insignificant as he watched on. A couple of Slogs did approach him at times, believing him to be some scraps, but Larry grabbed any leftovers he could find in reach and threw it away, distracting the beasts and sending them over there, giving him time to quietly move into another corner.
Finally, the Slig guard fired his gun into the air. That meant the feeding was over. The Slogs froze at the gunshot, and then returned slowly and warily to their kennels, understanding the sound as a signal to stop. Larry sighed as it was over and shakily stood as the Slig hauled him out of the pit by his neck; and threw him down on the floor. Larry lay there for a while, moaning slightly and cradling his wounded leg. “Consider yerself lucky yer survived mud.” The Slig sneered at him, spitting on Larry then kicking him in the ribs. The Slig then seemed to notice Larry’s injury and purposely stepped on his hurt leg before bending down and once again, roughly hauling Larry up.
“Now back ter work, yer lazy scrounger. An’ yer gonna be workin’ with that bad leg, serves ya right fer trying ta escape.” Larry cursed inwardly, and remained silently in agony as the Slig marched him (slowly, to cause him more stress on his wounded leg) off to the mess hall. “Oh, and yer’ve missed breakfast if yer were wondering, so get in there and get ter yer station, slave.” The Slig dumped him down on the floor in the hall then stomped back off to his post.
Larry half dragged, half limped over to an eating table and sat down heavily, looking around through teary eyes as the mudokons still here ambled off to their posts. He saw Trevor approaching with a look of concern on his face, but didn’t feel like recounting the punishment right now. Larry just tilted his head back, resting it on the rough but cool surface of the dining table, and closed his eyes, trying to blot out the pain.