Smoke and ash cloud the sky and fill me with delight. I stretch out my grasshopper limbs out. Humans call them 'arms' when I cut theirs' off, but I don't like that. 'Arms' is such a lack lustre term for these limbs that remind me so much of the little grasshoppers that leap on the sparse grass fields.
I bend down the grass, copying the green fellow in the field.
Hippity Hop!
I hop along with it, my blade feet digging into the grimy dirt.
The creature doesn't barely moves its head at my direction. Simply twitching the sticks on top it's tiny head.
I don't kill it. There's no pleasure in ripping apart such a tiny being with just a flick of my chain. No pleasant friction of meat against metal nor shrieks that echo in my ears.
I hop along with it for awhile before it disappears in a burrow.