11/25/2024 Snippet, BANSHEE BEACH.

Will need to make this a bit harder on Tom in the next pass-through.

I’d gotten instructed by Old Man McGavin himself. It sounds like more of an honor when you’ve never actually met the guy. He was one of the luckiest monster-hunters we’ve ever had, only he couldn’t ever explain why he was lucky because he just was, all right? Worse, he had a bad habit of oversimplifying. Like these buggers: all I could remember of the lecture right now was Don’t get hit.

Yeah, big help there, McGavin. Like, would it have hurt you to tell me that the yapokvil’s tail was all bendy?

I only figured that out when the freaking tail-barb smacked my impromptu club right out of my hands, dripping nasty crap on them for good measure. While I was still gaping at that, the tail came back for a swipe across my gut that sent me rolling into what suddenly became a stinking pile of hay. At first I was glad there wasn’t a pitchfork in there. Then I wished that there was, because a nice long pole with spikes on the end would’ve been handy.

The yapokvil should’ve come right after me, but it was one of those monsters that liked to play with its food. Well, I assume. I didn’t ask. All I know is, when I came out of that pile again, it was still scuttling about a little, like it wanted to find the perfect angle for gnawing on my intestines. It didn’t care like I might have my own views on the subject, either.

Fair enough. I felt just the same about its opinions.