Yuuta squatted in front of the crawling, pitiful pigman.
The pigman, sensing the shift in light and the presence of someone ahead, struggled to lift his broken, bloodied head. His body was mangled—right arm twisted like a snapped tree branch, skin peeled and red, with blood dripping steadily from his elbow to the canyon dust. His left arm wasn't any better, bone jutting out like a jagged branch, flesh flayed and trembling. And then there were his legs—flattened beyond repair, resembling crumpled sacks of bloody meat.
There was hope in his half-lidded eyes. Hope that one of his kin had found him. Hope that someone would carry him out of this misery.
Instead, he was greeted by the smug, ugly green face of a frog.
Yuuta leaned in slowly, like a snake savoring its prey, and brought his wide, flat face dangerously close to the pig's snout. A smug grin curved his lipless mouth. Then he spoke.
"Hey there, bacon strip. Miss me?"
