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Eyes of the Beast

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The moment the beast meets his eyes lingers for what seems like hours.

Ford knows people tend to humanize wild animals, that they like to pretend that a lioness mourns her cubs, even though she mates with their killer days after they die. It makes nature less alien and cruel, easier to wrap your head around. It fits the ancient drives and forces into boxes, makes them small, kills the primal fears.

No one could ever have done that with this...this...this dragon, this titan.

It's huge, in a way no living thing could possibly be huge, but it's not like the M.U.T.O.s. He can wrap his mind around its anatomy, reptilian and primordial.

He can look it in the eye, and see something there.

There is pain in those eyes, and a bone-deep exhaustion he knows very damn well. Loss, lost-ness, maybe, too, but it's...alien, almost, like looking into a pool of deep water. It pins him there with its lonesome otherness and mystery and danger, a predator of a world long gone.

And then the dust closes in on it. The fallen skyscraper is the blow that forces it down, though he doesn't think that it could have done so if the beast had been uninjured.

It had saved his life. He doubted it cared or noticed. Still, it was a fighter, and he respected that. He got that. None of this made any sense, but this creature, he could almost understand it.

Now to make sure that nuke got the hell away from what was left of his home.