Rengar smelled the blood before he saw the dead humans. Six or so, he estimated, but it was tough to get an exact count thanks to the number of pieces they'd been torn into. Their swords were strewn about the meadow, as useful as dulled cutlery.
He knelt, licking blood from the ground.
Cold to the tongue. Still sweet, yet bitter with the taste of iron.
It had been spilled less than an hour ago.
Turning over one of the stray limbs in his hand, Rengar found a line of greenish saliva dangling from where the arm had been ripped from its body. He raised the stump to his nose and sniffed.
The saliva smelled foul, like a corpse that had rotted in a puddle of excrement. Just raising it to his nose nearly made Rengar want to vomit, and he had a stronger stomach than most.
He smiled his wide, toothy smile. The creature who inflicted these wounds would be easy to track.
Rengar watched from the brush as the razorhide worked its claws around an old man's skull and crushed it between its boneteeth. It howled in disappointment, evidently unimpressed by the lack of a crunch.
The giant, four-legged beast stomped through the elderly man's tent, crushing it with a single step, then biting at the canvas and tearing it apart.
Tossing aside the man's bedroll, it howled in delight as Rengar heard the scream of a young boy.
Little one.
Frightened. Good fear. Delicious fear.
Time to eat. Time to silence screams. Time to—
Pain.
Pain on the back of its neck. Sharp and hot. Something bit it? No. Another pain, then another. Sharp stabs. Something with a weapon. Something with some fight in it.
Maybe something tasty.
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Rengar held onto the kirai saber with one hand as the razorhide bucked back and forth, trying to dislodge him. With his other hand, he grabbed a knife and punctured the beast's leathery hide over and over. He knew he'd never kill the beast this way, but he'd get it bleeding. Confuse it.
With any luck, panic it.
The razorhide dropped to its stomach and rolled over, taking Rengar with it. It was fast—much faster than Rengar would have thought for a creature of its size. He barely had time to dislodge his blades and jump away.
The two combatants got to their feet. Blood trickled down the razorhide's scales, each one sharp enough to sever a limb. Combined, the scales made for a nigh-impenetrable defense and a thousand small weapons all at the same time. It circled Rengar, sniffing the air. Rengar could tell he'd never win a straight fight against it. It was too big, too quick, too strong.
