memento mori


This winter was perhaps one of the harshest that Snufkin had experienced yet.


The cold air bit at the tip of his nose and he aggressively rubbed his paws together in a pathetic attempt to conduct some sort of warmth. It didn’t make any sense to him, he went down south like he always did this time of year but it has never been this frigid. Sure, he’s experienced some rather chilly weather even in the most tropical of climates but this was almost polar. He hunched over the open flame, desperately hoping that an equally icy groke didn’t see his fire and be drawn to it like a moth. That would just make things worse for the mumrik, not that they weren’t already awful.


In that exact moment is when bad went to worse.


He had pulled his knapsack over and probed around inside of it, frowning deeply as he found that he had run out of food. He groaned loudly, flopping backwards and lied out on the frozen earth. His ears perked up at the sounds of rustling, making him jump up to catch a glimpse of its source. He stared out at the bushes and out from behind them he could spot it: a small creature covered head to toe in unruly, dark fur. “Hello there,” he called out, maintaining his focus on the creature. It visibly jumped as a result of its acknowledgment, sheepishly slinking out from its hiding place.


“H-hello,” the creep greeted shakily, padding over to the mumrik’s camp, “May I sit beside your fire? It’s dreadfully cold.” “Go right ahead,” Snufkin replied without much thought, his mind drifting to the tearing sensation forming within the pits of his belly. He clasped an arm around his abdomen and poked at the flame with a tree branch in an attempt to ignore the stabbing hunger pains. The creature happily situated itself right beside him, leading to him scooting over while remaining focused on keeping the fire burning.


“A rather chilly night, eh?” it noted, a chuckle present in its voice. “Yes,” he answered coldly, glancing over at the creep for a moment. There was a pause before the creature felt the need to break the comfortable (at least it was for Snufkin) silence, “So, you’re Snufkin?” “Yes,” another apathetic response from the mumrik. He had no interest in conversing with it, yet here he was, forced to hold a conversation that he had no intention in even holding from the beginning. “I can’t believe I get to sit here with Snufkin himself! Sharing a fire with him on one of the coldest nights, no less!” it cooed, fluffing up excitedly and beaming as it brought its paws to its chest.


He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by another stab of pain in his gut. He grit his teeth together, grabbing a fistful of his old coat and dug his claws into the fabric. Then, he was suddenly struck with an idea to solve this issue of his. He turned his gaze to the distracted creep, his feline pupils narrowing in focus. It turned to him cheerfully and chimed, “Isn’t it lovely?” He didn’t respond and instead just continued to stare, causing unease to set into the small beast. “You’re being really quiet there,” it said, slowly starting to back up as it started to realise the situation it was in. Its instincts were telling to not only run, but to run away as fast as it could to get out of this situation and to never come back. It instead opted to ignore all of that and to try to continue its conversation. After all, Snufkin could never hurt a fly, could he?


He kept his eyes planted firmly on the creature, following it carefully. His lip curled back, baring an array of sharp teeth that perfectly suited a predatory beast. He lowered his stance, his pupils now reduced to slits, and continued to observe the creep. Just as it began to finally listen to its innate warnings and desire to get out unscathed, the mumrik launched himself at it and pinned its fragile frame to the ground beneath them. He pressed his claws close to its throat, feeling its small heart beat erratically against his paw.


It desperately clawed at his paw, gasping for air as he pressed down slowly and inched his claws closer. He quickly slashed along its throat, watching the thick crimson bead up at the wound left behind. He watched the creep as all signs of life slowly drained from it, carefully picking it up in his maw and biting down on its neck until he heard a gentle snapping sound, just to be sure.


He dropped it down before him, adrenaline slowly dissipating as quickly as it sprung up. He dragged his paw down his face as he came to realise what exactly he had done. He took a deep, shaky breath and reached for his backpack, rummaging around for his hunting knife. He might as well as not let it go to waste.


He grabbed the knife in a quaking paw, pressing the blade to the chest of the deceased beast before him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he sliced downward, only reopening them when he was certain that the deed had been done. He hooked a digit into the incision, tearing the cut open further to the point of exposing the soft organs that laid inside.


Snufkin was overwhelmed with a rush of embarrassment as soon as he could feel himself salivating at the sight. He was starving. He reached inside, tearing out various scarlet coated organs to shove them into his ravenous maw. He sunk his teeth into a particularly meaty portion of the creep’s body, ripping it off and devouring it. He licked the blood from his paws and lapped at the blood that pooled from the various lacerations.


Soon enough, he stopped himself midfeast as he decided that it was best to save the rest for later. It should have been enough to keep him going until spring finally arrived, then he would have the most delectable and fluffy pancakes.


And spring was just right around the corner.