It's a lil baby Eeyore

we laughed at fate, and mourned her
Tick-tock goes the clock, even for the Monster.

It was liberating to be able to traverse a land so thoroughly fraught with dangerous pits and hungry sand, his mind working overtime to make sure he avoided the same traps that he had noticed so many others fall into. In one of the sandy puddles, a head poked out from the center, it was half rotted and the jaws gaped open with the face pointed toward one of the many plants that surrounded the pit. Flat teeth gave the animal away as an equine of some sort, and the way it was situated said the dumb creature had tried to reach the promise of food, only to struggle more and eventually die of starvation. This was all speculation, of course, but he couldn't help himself. His mind wandered, that is, until he heard a voice ring out in the eerie silence of his temporary home.

"Well, honey, what are we gonna do with you?" The voice was feminine and sympathetic and roused every bit of his curiosity. What would earn that much sympathy? If it was something in a puddle the offer of help was just cruel unless the vocalist had a large stick of some kind. He moved in the direction of the voice, finding himself rooted in his path as he eyes a small donkey foal and a wolf. Glacial blue eyes scanned the area and he quickly surmised the cause of her sympathy. From the looks of the foal and the corpse in the puddle, the monster could only guess the pitiful creature was an orphan. "The kindest thing to do with it would be to eat it." Dark, smoky voice drifted to her from his small distance. He had made sure to keep away from scaring the foal or the female for that matter. "If you don't, something else will or it will die slowly. It looks too young to be weaned." The heathen kept his tone neutral, but there was still something foreboding in his tone, an easy yet cruel truth slipping between them.

Light blue eyes slipped over to the foal, assessing its condition and noticing how frail it really looked. Judging by the way it seemed to wobble on its legs, the creature wouldn't last much longer anyway. It already weakened from hunger and dehydration, the bond between mother and colt so strong that the little guy couldn't walk away from the scene that spelled his end. It was sad really, but some things couldn't be helped. At this point, killing the small foal would be a mercy. Much better than having to suffer through the empty, clawing feeling of starving to death.

"You." Walk. "Talk."