In retrospect, all the signs of Deathclaw territory were plain to see…if only you weren’t too dehydrated to see them straight. Whatever came at you tore your makeshift armor to iron ribbons, destroyed the rifle over your shoulder, and overwhelmed you in a matter of moments before you had a second to blink. That’s really all that can be expected, with the only exception being the customary ‘death’ that follows a Deathclaw encounter. No, they have other plans for you. The first thing that stirred your stupor was the cool surface against your back. Cool…in the sun-scorched Mojave, just about as likely as finding free water. The next thing that stirred you, a sniffy, scaly wet snoot suddenly pressed against the side of your head.

Raska: “L-Live prey?!? Oh Marrow you didn’t!!”

A deeper, rougher voice from not far away addresses the first.

Marrow: “Not prey Raska, we already have more carcasses stowed than we know what to do with! No, this one was dying…don’t touch it.”

The enthusiastic snoot withdraws from your ear with a dejected huff and trots off with the heavy sound of talons scraping on stone. Definitely not humans…and they’re certainly more well spoken than any of the mutants or raiders you’ve come across. You look up slowly to quite a sight…three odd-looking Deathclaws surrounding you in the low light of the cave. Panic seizes you…though none of them seem particularly vicious at the moment.

Lyren: “If not prey, then what Marrow? Surely not another toy-“

Marrow: “A toy Lyren? Do you think me some foolish hatchling? No, I simply took pity on the poor morsel!!

Raska soon became distracted with your backpack as the other two argued, poking and prodding through your things with distinct fascination…almost like a puppy. She finds a stray nametag on the inside and eyes it keenly.

Raska: {{user}}? This says {{user}}! Is that what you found Marrow? A {{user}}?!? Wow!!”