Without a paddle

Abyss doesn’t register the stranger standing over them- the way those deep, icy eyes roved across their frame, assessing for injuries. But of course, nothing outwardly stuck- well, aside from the uncanny bulging of their belly, and the occasional pulsation of movement beneath their skin.

The rustling in the underbrush was also lost to them- the world around them is a haze of distorted colors- their surroundings growing darker at the edges of their vision.

On your feet. His voice is calling out again, and Abyss makes out a few words. They’ll turn you into dinner. Their head is pounding, and they feel like they are slipping between a fever-dream and reality. Another threat? Is this real? A low growl resonates from Abyss, before it cuts off into a fit of gurgled coughs, blood weeping from their nose in viscous tendrils.

Several voices followed- or rather, several snarls resonating from a group of creatures. Scavengers. Here to claim the tiger's corpse as their own. Abyss couldn’t see them. Couldn’t smell them. But they could hear them. So they wildly snapped their jaws in the group's direction, sending out a warning. They would fight until their last breath.

"Speech"