Part 3
You dodge into the underbrush between the trees, hoping you blend in well enough. Your reddish yellow chitin isn’t the darkest chamoflage, but at least it isn’t the bright pastels of some. You are careful to choose a hiding spot with a quick path of escape, just in case it’s something you can’t handle. Earlier you saw the hint of motion in the shadows, and you look further along the path where a… small hopping form comes into view. It’s dark blue, almost black, and moves on two stalks — legs. As it continues along the path, you make out the beak, and decide the blue is feathers — a bird, nearly as tall as your mesothorax! The beak opens and it calls again.
This vulgar grunking and throat-rattling sound the bird made was never that threatening. Of course this wasn’t a monster, it’s just a dumb little animal.
But you had already decided to ambush this thing, got your nerves all steeled up, and — you feel a rumble in your abdomen. You are hungry. This bird might make a decent meal, too! (Or at least a snack before dinner. You are going to be on time for dinner. You always are.)
You wait for it to progress further along the path, all the while pivoting its bird-head and surveying the woods, entirely unaware it’s being stalked by you.
At the right moment, you leap out from the underbrush at top speed, bird dead in your sights!
At, that is, your top speed. Hardly impressive, to something that startles like a bird does. It sees you as you start to lunge, and it’s already taking off, wings flapping.
But you lash out with your spiked raptorial forelegs, and their spikes catch on the bird’s feathers without piercing its flesh. The attempt at flight is completely thwarted, and your raptorials close, holding the bird there in a vice-like grip.
Your maxillae curl in a smile, wet with saliva.
And then, fixing you with one eye, the bird says, “Help!”