A story by Patience Lindhjem.

The last sun is creeping down the side of the mountain, staining the green grass orange. He squints at it through his small black eyes, and knows he will have to move soon.

The beast must be fed. And though his masters are patient, he is not inclined to test that patience.

Digging into the soft grass with a thick, shovel like toenail he uncovers a rootsucker. Stabbing it with a toenail from the other foot, he reaches down with a leathery hand and, dusting the dirt from its writhing white body, shoves the rootsucker into his mouth. He sucks the creamy insides out as the final sunlight glints off the river far below.

He must move. The masters have lit the lamps in their large rambling cottage and were now gathered around the table.

Manuk lifted his carpeted frame from the large rock he’d been sitting on. Moving slowly down the slope towards the wooden cabin, he could almost smell his masters’ breath as they belched and shouted at each other across the table, tankards sloshing over as they toasted the arrival of the beast and their imminent successes.

The beast. It must be fed. Manuk reminds himself that his presence at that table would not be welcomed until he has completed this task.

Still moving down the side of the mountain, past the glowing kitchen where the four men amused themselves, Manuk made his way by the small outhouse to the hutch beyond.

He could hear the tiny creatures before he saw them, snuffling and scratching in the dirt. Making that strange screeching sound that was so incongruous with their small fluffy frames.

As he approached the fence, Manuk could see they were already bounding over to greet him. So trusting. So stupid.

For a moment Manuk was torn between anger and sadness. The silly wee creatures with their daft floppy ears knew that the arrival of his black matted bulk meant that they would be fed. That they would be petted, if only for a moment.

But didn’t they know too that they were also part of the food chain? That the same creature that came to give them food and water, also came to take their fluffy, pointless lives?

Manuk suppressed the urge to rage through the compound and break their fragile necks. Instead, he got the feed bucket and let himself through the safety fence to ensure none of the hares escaped.

Giant Welsh Hares they were – apparently. Too large for the masters to carry more than one at a time, it was Manuk’s lot to carry the tiny creatures to the beast. That was his role. Just as the planning and the scheming was the role of his four masters.

The beast must be fed.

Manuk shook the dreadlocked fur around his crown, as if to shake his own thoughts loose. He began to gather the hares, starting with the one he had been stroking absentmindedly since entering the compound. The creature nuzzled into the crook of his arm - unaware of what was coming.

Now, with his two huge arms encircling ten or more hares, Manuk made his way to the entrance of the cave.

The beast had already shuffled out from its dank hiding place. Manuk was late - it had already found something to cut its teeth on.

Manuk had no idea why this stupid creature was key to his masters’ plans.

It stood in the twilight with a vacant expression on its muzzle as rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth slashed their way through a crocodile-like creature it must have pulled from the loop of river that ran through the deepest part of the cave. The beast’s whiskers twitched while it ate. The strange feather-scales made an unsettling clacking sound in concert with crunching of bones.

Manuk let out a low gutteral noise behind the beast to let it know he had arrived. Scavenger birds scattered hurriedly as the beast awkwardly heaved its enormous mass around to face Manuk.

Manuk met the creatures keen stare, but he knew it foccussed only on the hares he carried in his arms.

For the first time now, the hares sensed danger, but it was too late.

Manuk placed the hares into a large bucket and hoisted it up into a tree. They made a strange screaming sound as the bucket swang from side to side.

The beast would pick from the bucket like a bowl of peanuts until each of the hares were gone. Then, it would shuffle back into its cave as daylight approached - waiting, just as Manuk did, for the masters’ to reveal the beast’s purpose.

Manuk trudged back up the side of the mountain, trying not to listen to the hares’ screams. He would make a detour to his rock and sit quietly for a moment before taking a place at his masters’ table.

Rounding the bend of the small dirt path, Manuk could see that the feed bucket hung from the fence of the hutch had a small hole in it. Pellets were falling to the ground in a slow steady stream. Manuk calculated that the majority of the pellets were now on the ground and gave the bucket a nudge. With a little push, a pattern appeared. Spirals of feed swished out on the ground until the pellets finally ran out.

Manuk sighed. He would fix it tomorrow.

We’re taking a break from playing shows for a while so that we can focus on writing new material for our next album. More information on that later in the year.