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Fail. Fail. Fail!

Bile was a slavering, snarling, bloody ball of rage; a common state for him these days, and one hardly about to earn him any admirers. His grotesquely enlarged tongue had always been an obstacle for him; paired with his protruding fang-like teeth, it was impossible for him to ever fully close his mouth. Since his teeth had come in, he had pretty much constantly had to deal with tongue lacerations and striations; it was from his own tongue that he had developed his lust for blood. The extreme pain he'd suffered as a foal, both from the tongue and from his tumble down the mountain side had served to both agonize and desensitize him; he simply accepted it as normal that he would have the taste of blood in his mouth at all times. The fact it was often his own had never bothered him.

As result of that tumble, Bile had suffered numerous broken bones; having no one there to help him, the bones had knit however they were positioned after the fall. Consequently, Bile sported a hunched back, bent legs, and crabbed, useless wings that had never once been flapped in flight. He spent all of his days in the dark, shadowy rock chasm he'd fallen into, eking a stark existence out amongst the boulders. Most Soquili avoided the canyon; dark stories circulated the region about a 'boogeyman', fueled by the complete absence of wildlife in the area and the strange, eerie sounds of high pitched laughter that rode the wind on random nights.

None of this was known to Bile, who had never learned any language. He could neither speak nor understand speech of any kind, and merely knew what he was able to reason out in his small, underdeveloped brain. He loved blood, he loved darkness, and he loved finding live blood bags in his dark canyon with which to play. Most animals avoided the area, but there were still enough bats, rats, and birds to keep him going.

Still, as of late he had started to think that there was more to life than just his canyon. His recent encounter with the largest, most beautiful blood bag he'd ever seen had ended in abject failure; the stallion had been protected by a mane of fire, the likes of which Bile had never seen before. While Bile was a massive creature with sharp teeth, rapid reflexes, and a single minded focus on killing, light was a major handicap for him. In many ways, he resembled an overgrown beetle; scuttling along in cracks and crevices, staying to the darkness. But he needed to overcome that handicap if he ever wanted a chance at the largest blood bags; there was only so much blood (and therefore, only so much satisfaction) to be gained from rats.

So ever since his encounter with the stallion, he had pushed himself, trying to face the light head on. Every experiment had ended the same way; rapidly, with Bile reduced to a writhing, slavering, snarling mass of rage.

Like right now. He stood in the shadow of a large, overhanging rock shelf, glaring fiercely at the large patch of sunlight only a few yards away. Failure, failure, failure!

Something was off. Something was different. Something had changed since he had first focused his attention on the forbidding patch of sunlight...

It had started as a scent; a delicious scent that wafted along through the crags, curling deliciously into his noise. Without realizing he was doing it, Bile let out an eager, whining sigh; it was Blood! Wonderful, tangy, liquid, mouth-wateringly delicious blood! And not a pathetic mouthful; not a small, scampering lizard or easily pinned bird. No, this was something more, something BIG. Not something quite on par with the scary fire-maned blood bag, but definitely something much larger than anything he'd seen in ages. Letting out another anxious whine, Bile whipped his head around in the direction of the smell, saliva already started to pool in his scarred mouth and drip off of his fangs.

He needed to find that blood. He needed to find it, and to deal with it; deal with it in the way that he had failed with the firey blood bag.

Without even thinking about it, he slid backwards, further into the shadows. His efforts at dealing with the daylight so far were failing miserably, but he would remain hopeful; perhaps the new blood bag would be in the darkness as well. That was how he usually made his kills, from creatures trespassing in his shadows. But the firey blood bag had taught him he needed to be flexible; as he slunk in the direction of the smell, he told himself that this time, he would do whatever it took!

Suddenly, a series of hissing, squawky noises broke in on his concentration, causing Bile to perk up even further. The last time he'd heard that sort of noises, it had been with the giant blood bag; he didn't know what it was supposed to mean, but it was very distinctive. Perhaps that meant the firey blood bag and the new blood bag were the same type of creature? He'd noticed that birds tended to make the same sorts of noises as other birds, so maybe giant four legged blood bags made the same sort of noises as other giant blood bags?

At least he could rest easily on one score; as he crept around the dark side of a large boulder, he was abruptly faced with a lovely sight: a large blood bag, pulsing with life and vitality...with no fire whatsoever! Excited, he let out a happy little burble, forgetting the importance of silence while on the hunt. This was too wonderful a moment to let pass unremarked! Though a mere moment later, he was mentally berating himself for the lapse. His last attempt to hunt a giant blood bag had ended in failure; he needed to bring all of his skills to the table if he ever wanted to have the chance to enjoy one of those kills.

It would be a lot simpler if more of these blood bags would come into his canyon, he thought wistfully. It just wasn't fair how hard it was for him to get this sort of opportunity!

More noises. Bile frowned, cocking his head far to one side as he listened to the noises, noises which had changed their tone and pitch. The first noises had been much higher pitched, with an almost serpentine pitch. But the noises currently coming from the blood bag were lower, smoother, without the grating 'hissing' quality of the first noises. He still had no idea what the noises were supposed to mean, but he wasn't going to complain about them; as long as they were there, that meant the blood bag was still within range!

He watched with rapt fascination as the blood bag lowered itself down to the ground, curling and coiling itself itself up upon itself. At first, this made him anxious; was the blood bag already pierced by someone else? Except for the fact there was no pooling blood on the ground, he might have been seriously alarmed on that score. After all, he could now smell blood on the air as well as under the blood bag's skin; recently, it had bled, or enjoyed blood of its own. Reflexively, he drew in a deep breath, allowing the delicious smell to roll around in his nostrils. Without even thinking about it, he flicked some of the dripping saliva off his fangs with his long, protruding tongue. So much blood...so close!

Cocking his head sharply back to the other side, he surveyed the blood bag with increased interest. It was so close, yet still too far away to risk making a move; more to the point, it was still in the light. Cursed, cursed light!

Abruptly, he let out a sharp snarl, then with incredible speed for one so hunched and deformed, he shot around the back of the boulder through the shadows to another darkly shrouded place under a rocky overhang. He was closer now, but still not close enough; not close enough!

"Grrrrr...."

Growling. Growling was a language he could speak, a language he understood. It made so much more sense than those weird alternate vocalizations, the ones with the hissing sounds and the rapid changes in pitch. They made him upset, those sounds, because they made no sense. He hated things that made no sense; the world was beautiful in its simplicity, and always would be. There was a clear line between things that were good, things like blood and darkness and growling, and things that were bad, like light and failure and random indistinguishable chatter.

Still, he would put up with the chatter. He would put up with much more than scratchy noises if it meant finally being able to bring down one of the massive blood bags. They had been taunting him for far too long, staying just out of reach, but close enough keep him intent and aware. They were elusive, these giant blood bags; they weren't common enough to the area that he could allow himself to get complacent, to think that another one would come along because he'd missed the first. Or, as this case stood, the second. He had to be bold, to move past his fear of the light and actually make a MOVE!

And the blood bag seemed to sense this, actually moving closer to him! It was almost as if the blood bag could tell what he was thinking and wanted to help him, wanted to sacrifice its blood to him. If only that were true, he thought wistfully. It would make things so much simpler, if the blood bag would just come to him and let him rip its throat open right then and there. Just the thought of that glorious blood was enough to amp up his saliva production ten-fold.

If he knew anything about seduction, he would have been throwing it all out there right now. Unfortunately, he knew nothing beyond his twin talents of stealth and brute force. He knew nothing of how to lure someone to him, how to earn their trust and convince them to walk into his fangs. No, he would have to do this the way he always had, by using what he knew.

Again with the hissing noises that made no sense, again the blood bag moved. Closer. It was still in the light, still surrounded by the protection of day...but not so far away that he couldn't do this. He could do it. He WOULD do it! Pleased with himself and his resolve, he ran his scarred and torn tongue along the jagged edges of his fangs, feeling the familiar pressure as the scars caught against his teeth. It was a soothing sensation, but not nearly as soothing as lapping up fresh blood!

And that was all it took. Revved up by the promise of blood, by the thought of his past failure, Bile coiled and sprang, slavering fangs bared. Let the blood bag stand in the light. He would still win, this time!