Shredder 47
Scissoring slices of slipper-leaf gnashed between considerable lengths of teeth. The pungent punch of the roughage brought the chewer to the brink of retching, but penitence was necessary to maintain the upper hand. One could not allow the curse to take hold. Not fully. Such roads lead to oblivion, and that was a path that must be avoided at all costs. Too much work to be done.
The chewing halted as the figures dropped from the cleft of stone. The penetrating eyes that watched forced a mind geared toward meat to focus on the actions at hand. Cloud cover shifted the rays of light, and the scales which coiled tightly about the watcher responded. A gentle modification of hue and a dulling of the gloss granted virtual invisibility once more.
The smaller figure scanned the area before leading them off into the wilds once more. Eyes followed them for a time, nostrils for a great deal longer. Meat scent lingered that way. Chewing of the slipper-leaf resumed, though with a great deal more moisture present in the mouth. The beast could not be beaten, but it could be tamed. For a time anyway.
The ground trembled again. The violence of stone and earth in conflict. The watcher cared little for events beyond its ken. It had more immediate concerns. Like stopping the pair of landwalkers from hurrying toward their doom. Unsure of how to achieve this goal, the watcher dropped from its perch and rode the buffeting currents, content to bide its time as the ancient blood coursed through its system, screaming for meat.