The Little Mouth was coiled, asleep, around the dagger that was its child.
The weapon had been a challenge from one of the Meals It Could Not Eat, the smallest of the giants whose hair was spun from star-silver. The Little Mouth had made quick work of the thing; it had made itself Large, and it had chirped well, cowing the blade into submission. The voice in the dagger became still, and slept for a time. Now, when it spoke, it spoke as a sleeper does: in portents and mouthfuls of dream. It spoke of Ras Nsi, who had once held it. It spoke of the flesh it had tasted, so much flesh; it was a topic of shared interest. The Edicts held that the universe was naught but Meat and Mouths, but the dagger was neither - not exactly. Perhaps it was his Tooth, in a way. Perhaps it was his Tongue.
The Giants could not understand his speech; indeed, their understanding was so porous that they did now know he was speaking. It spoke words of comfort, all the same; of a time when the Sanguilith would finish with this plane altogether, swallow it up, and with it all the petty torments mortals must endure.
Today is the International Shipping deadline for Express Mail ! If you want any Christmas Presents you order to actually be presents for Christmas, and you live far away from us, and take a peek. There is some very cool stuff this time around; I have my , , but take a look.