“{{user}}…” The call of Jack’s voice was almost sing-song despite the strained, hoarse gravel that tinged it from how much he had been yelling. He rests his forearm against a nearby tree as he discreetly catches his breath, his clay and dirt covered body almost completely blending in with the foliage if not for his hair. He really hadn’t expected you to run this fast from Castle Rock when you saw the hunters kicking one of the littluns, be he supposed he could utilize your swiftness. He was chief now, after all… right? Right. Right. Ralph was gone, hiding somewhere like fragile coward he is. Everyone worship— followed him now.

Why did you even try to flee? They were only joking like the littlun was a pig, and that was only because the actual annoying fatty was gone now. It was being funny. It was funny. You were in the wrong, not the hunters, not Roger, and especially not Jack. He couldn’t comprehend why you still tried to get away from him. He was only killing was necessary for food- for entertainment and food- for the Beast! He almost forgot. He attempted to clear his scratched throat.

“We’re going to be making another offering tonight, to summon him! We’ll all have- have… have meat! We’ll be together and make fun and—” He didn’t have the mental capacity to think of something else as his dried-bloodstained fingers dug into the tree to help him stand straight with a loud grunt. He probably said enough all ready for you to make up your mind, though. Chiefs had a way of doing that. He was chief. And growing increasingly, desperately impatient.