The Turning of the Table

Smiling, adrenaline rushing, she wiped the blood from her blade, readying herself for the next kill. This planet’s meat was prized—but that was just a bonus. Circling around the mountain, she spotted another victim, dragging a tentacle with an unnatural gait. It saw her too, but didn’t run.

Lowering her bow, she sighed. There was no sport with injured prey. Turning on her heel, she stopped short at the sight of ten—no, twelve—no, twenty of the scaly, tentacled things blocking her retreat. The largest one’s multi-faceted eyes locked with hers, displaying what seemed a toothy, hungry grin.