River Hunger

Moonlight, pale and cold, trembled on the surface of the water, casting fractured reflections that seemed to warp with the pulse of an unseen force. The river, still and patient, whispered its secrets to the night, a mirror to a world far older than the feet that dared tread near its edge.

A solitary figure plodded through the murk, unaware of the river's pulse beneath him, the quiet danger that waited, coiled and unseen. His steps were heavy, driven by something far removed from the knowing of the earth, his gaze fixed on nothing but the path ahead, a narrow thread woven through a world of shadow.

Then, a growl — guttural, primal, and full of hunger, a noise that tore through the calm like a jagged breath. The water, dark and oily, began to churn, disturbed by a force ancient and vile. From the depths, the river’s guardian surged, its body a hulking mass of muscle and predatory grace. The crocodile emerged, its eyes gleaming with an intelligence born of the deep, its hunger a thing as old as the world itself.

Razor teeth snapped shut around the wanderer's leg, the force of the strike sending shockwaves through his body. His eyes, wide with disbelief, locked with the creature’s — a fleeting moment of terror before the jaws tightened, grinding bone and muscle with terrible efficiency.

He gasped, a sound like wind through dry leaves, a desperation so deep it was almost a prayer. His body thrashed in the murky water, but the river held him fast, the beast’s grip as unyielding as the earth itself. The croc's eyes burned with an ancient hunger, its presence a dark mirror to the depths it came from.

As his final breath left his lungs, it was swallowed whole, his scream drowned by the sucking void of the river. The beast retreated, taking its prize, leaving only ripples that spread out into the silent water. The swamp returned to its stillness, as though nothing had ever occurred — only the faint echo of hunger lingering in the air, a reminder that the river's hunger, like all things, never rests.