Page 10 of Citrine

A sudden thunderous crash shatters the peace of the scene, jolting me out of my stalking. My gaze snaps toward the source of the disturbance, my tentacles instinctively tensing in readiness.

It is far away, but I can still make out enough details. Rocks fly and a puff of dust rises.

I cock my head at the intensity, my curiosity piqued by the chaos unfolding before me. Shards of something glint in the sunlight as they scatter through the air, propelled by the force of the impact.

My eyes widen as I catch sight of a small figure tumbling out of the wreckage, their form obscured by the billowing dust and debris.

"The sky sent me my enemy," I breathe out.

A potential source of sustenance lies before me, hopefully devoid of the ever-present taste of mud.

Without hesitation, I abandon my path toward the forest and turn my attention to the rocks, drawn by the promise of fresh food. The thought of hot blood fills me with a dark thrill.

As I propel myself through the water, my tentacles undulate with controlled power, lifting me toward my target.

The anticipation courses through my veins, driving me forward with an almost primal urgency. Every instinct in my body screams for me to close the distance, to claim my prize before it slips away.

With each stroke of my tentacles, I draw closer to my quarry, my anticipation building with each passing moment.

As I approach the rocky shore, I can feel the excitement bubbling within me. What awaits me on land? With eager anticipation, I begin to climb the rocks, using my tentacles to propel myself upwards.

Then the scent hits. It wafts into my gills, registering in my brain in a way I've never experienced before.

Normally, scents hold no sway over me, but today is different. This scent stirs something within me, awakening sensations I've never known. It was as if I could truly smell for the first time, and the effect it had on me is… unexpected.

Terrible. The smell is terrible.

"It's disgusting," I growl, my voice tinged with disdain.

I can't comprehend how something so foul could permeate the air around me so completely. It hangs heavy, assaulting my senses. It feels as though some putrid stench has tainted the very essence of the world around me.

I shake my limbs in disbelief, trying to rid myself of the offensive odor that seems to cling to my skin like a suffocating shroud. But no matter how hard I try, I can't escape it.

"It's like… like something rotting," I mutter, my stomach churning at the thought. It even makes me forget about my meal, which has never happened.

My tentacles try to flick off the smell, the putrid odor clinging to the air like a suffocating fog. My gaze darts frantically, searching for the source of this repugnant scent, but it remains elusive, hidden somewhere.

It reminds me of my enemy, the ones who took me, but isn't quite the same.

I lose vital time that would be better spent climbing in my attempt to be rid of it.

Then, from the other side of the stones, I hear it—a tiny grunt, barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves. My eyes widen in alarm as I realize that I'm not alone. My meal, who fell from the streaking silver shell, is nearby, concealed from view by the rugged terrain.

Ignoring the smell, with a swift and decisive motion, I allow my tentacles to lift me, propelling me upward with effortless grace. Liquid trails behind me, droplets shimmering in the sunlight as I ascend the rocky outcrop.

Each jagged edge of the stone presses against my slick skin. The rough texture of the rocks scrapes against my flesh. It is a sensation that is both exhilarating and uncomfortable.

I ignore the discomfort, my focus fixed on the mysterious presence that awaits me above.

And then, finally, I reach the top.

With a surge of effort, I pull myself over the edge, my eyes scanning the rocky terrain for any sign of movement. And there, huddled against the base of a weathered boulder, I see it—a figure cloaked in shadow, its features obscured by the dim light of the setting sun.

There is my prey.

5

Eli