The nauseating wriggling of a saproling is exceeded only by the nauseating wriggling of its prey.

It's not slow. It's deciding whether to stomp you or gore you.

The landbound envy the birds' ultimate freedom in the sky.

The joy of rebirth overshadows the sadness of death.

They rarely question their orders. Of course, they rarely understand them.

The last thing a poacher in the Krosan Forest hears is the brutal sound of claws tearing flesh.

When the prey in Krosa no longer satisfied them, the beasts began to hunt their hunters.