Today's Word: Predator


They hobbled, for both had sustained injuries debilitating to their gaits, into the bright sunshine and cold, wintry air. A smell like rotting fish and potatoes made them clamp their mouths shut. Roman pointed to a narrow fissure in the rock. Putrid green steam rose from it in a relentless stream.

"I'll never go back in that place," said Kate. She held one grimy, oil-covered hand over her mouth and nose, trying to ward the smell.

Roman turned back, regarding the low cave from which they had recently come. No less than twenty green-gold eyes peered out of the darkness, watching him, willing him to come back.

"They don't like the light," he said, and wondered briefly if "they" was the correct pronoun. He hadn't actually seen the things chasing them; perhaps it was a single being -- a monster possessing hundreds of independent eye stalks like coarse threads frayed from a bobbin.

"Thank God. I was beginning to think we'd never see the light of day again." Kate picked up a rock, started to throw it into the cave mouth, thought better, and pitched it the opposite direction towards a long, sloping field of heather. It made a dull thump and disappeared.

"Well, on the bright side, at least we know we aren't the dominant predator on this planet."

"How is that a bright side? Human's have always been the dominant predator."

Roman shrugged. "This way we know our place."