Scrabs screamed into the darkness. Wild ratz pulled the rotting flesh off the festering corpse of a long- dead paramite. Vyker ships floated eerily in and out of the treetops, searchlights flashing and shimmering. Gob, the local Mudokon hunter, whose tribes' very existence depending on him getting food for them, fearlessly ran away from it all. Through the forest he sprinted, panting and wheezing- he, like most of his race, were lazy by inclination and didn't excersise much. The screeching and scuffling he heard all about him sent a wave of fresh fear flooding his body as he ran, deeper and deeper into the forest. Branches whipped his ankles, cutting them. He cried out, tripped, fell and...silence. Scarcely daring to breathe, Gob glanced around. He had tripped on a hollow stump. Gob, heaving a sigh of relief, began to walk away, wondering vaguely if he could capture a Meep and pass it off as a King Scrab. A low wheezing, however, brought his attention back to the hollowed stump. What was that noise? He approached the stump cautiously, slowly, ready to bravely dash in th other direction if he needed to, and then...he saw it. It was swaddled in warm, soft fabric. It was small, brown in colouring, with a long, slim head. And in it's mouth was a small...glowing...cigar. Gob, open- mouthed, stared at it in disbelief. He removed the cloth sorrounding it to reveal a thin, pathetic body, shrivelled, useless legs and very long dangling arms.
"Oh, man," moaned Gob weakly, leaning against the tree for support and wishing he had a cigar himself, "it's a baby Glukkon!".
To be continued...
The Glukkon Child
