She drifts up the river, a caiman dozing on her stomach. She whispers entreaties to half-seen gods as she strokes her dinner. Some said that it tasted like chicken, but she disagreed. Caiman tasted like caiman, nothing else. A jaguar padded out of the darkness to the shore, melding gleaming softly on its flanks.
A strange age... She whispers. A susurrus of laughter drifted from the trees as the caiman glowed with a tracery of green between pearlescent scales. A scritchy hum sounded for a instant before it spoke.
A proper age, you mean. The gods are back, magic is where it belongs, and the jungle is healthier than ever. Even you arrogant ones have a proper place as examples and acolytes. And if you will excuse me, your former dinner is pregnant with a little project of mine and must live a while yet. The portly little reptile slid into the water. She sighed and watched it go. The eggs tasted so good... But gods disliked being denied. The jaguar coughed laughter and was fixed with a baleful glare for a reward. Dinner was off but the markets for parts and pelts were always healthy...
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