Tres Leches lied flat on the dungeon floor and opened his mouth for a big, lazy yawn.
Life was fleeting.
Humans are born. They eat in order to live. They make pups.
Then... they die.
Tres Leches followed the same rules-- more or less.
He was a big chunk of dark iron, hammered into shape by nice people with long beards.
Though he didn't need to eat to survive, he liked being rewarded with treats.
Some sun in the future, he hoped to find a female-awakened-chunk-of-metal.
She'd be very strong-- just like him.
She'd also smell very nice...
They'd fall in love. They'd make pups together.
And just the same... some sun, his consciousness would lull and he'd never wake up again.
Tres was fine with that.
At one point in his life, he declared he lived only for
