Megatherium & Glyptodon, Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins
The woods are dense and dark. Massive forms move through the shadows like smoke, billowing silhouettes of hair, claws, and armor. For behemoths, they are quiet. No grunting, no sighs, no moaning songs. Only the rustle of foliage and occasional gurgle of digestion betray their presence between the trees.
In one shaft of light hang green fruits, but they are small and still maturing; their flesh is yet bitter and tough. The fruit will be ready in a matter of weeks. Avocados are slow to ripen, but the leaves are always in season.