Poem

A rustle in the bush.
A nibbling child.
Not in such a rush.
To be calm. To be at the ready.
A quiet rattle.
A dark hue reflecting the light of the warm savana sun.
It scourches it burns.
Daddy lines up the sattle.
The hunt has nearly begun.
The child wanders.
How they never learn.
The bushes rustle.
The branch snaps.
A rush, a scream.
She runs and hides.
The hustle and bustle
ignores the girl.
A tackle, a bite. A cry, a hiss.
A snap a bit of bliss.
Heat escapes.
She drags and hangs.
Down, down with a gulp.
Into the gullet with a plop.
Rendered into a pulp.
Nothing left of life.
Only just the prideful hunter.

---

Her story, copied from an rp.

"I come from a village out in the swamps. A bunch of us. A lot of different kinds of us nagas. My family was different even among all of them. We were rattle sneks. Not that it did anything bad for us." Kirigissi rattled her tail before continuing. "I always was the popular kid growing up. Able to play my tail like a miraca. My friends got along well with me. We laughed and played. Had fun times. We learned of our village's history. I never paid attention. I was going to be a musicain. Playing music for the happiness of my people. When I was around the age of 7, a bunch of people came to our village. I never knew why but the started killing people left and right. My mom protected my from these 4 men with spears. She screamed for me, 'Little kiri, little kiri, leave. Run.' I was scared of course." The tone turned sour. Dark and sad. "I snuck out the back door, just in time for me to see my mom crash through the window through the back door. Spear in her heart, Lying on the ground. Limp. These people burned my old home to the ground. Killing any one of us they found. It wasn't until 4 years later i found another survivor. Miss Lessi. I was 11 at the time. She raised me. Now I stay at her bar when I am not out and about."