We of the sea have a considerable buffet to choose from when we become peckish. The waters teem with life in every corner of this world. Fish of varying sizes, whose meat fall away from their tiny bones with varying degrees of difficulty. The shelled swimmers that make a deliciously satisfying crack when we pierce their armor with our teeth. There are those of us who dare to prey on the larger sea life - the whales and sharks - and tell us of the tenderness of their meat and the thrill of hunting these large, powerful beasts. They often bear the scars of these hunts with pride, and their eyes seem to glow brighter as they show us their trophies: necklaces and weapons made of the fallen beasts’ bones and teeth.
But there is a craving inside each of us to partake of a creature more cunning, more dangerous, and entirely more tasty than those of the sea. I speak, of course, of the earth walkers. Or rather, those born on the land. Many venture out onto the sea, into our domain, and claim it to be their “true home.” But this is simply a demonstration of their high opinions of themselves. The sea has never been their home. It has always been ours. We simply give them permission to wander our place of residence and only ask the smallest of tolls: their flesh and, most enjoyable, their blood.
It is a common misconception among humans that we require their meat to survive. This is untrue, but an entertaining idea all the same, so we do not deny it. After all, theirs is a tender and sweet meat with a variety of flavors depending on the area you take from. For example, the meat on hands and feet are tough and the flavor less enjoyable, so we tend to leave those alone. The arms and legs are softer, but have just enough resistance to make a satisfying tearing sound when we rip it away from the bones. The flesh of the stomach is soft and gives way easily to the sharpness of our teeth. Etcetera, etcetera.
What we truly need to survive is blood. Meat sustains us, gives us energy and strength, but blood is what makes us live. Just as smaller streams and rivers feed the larger ocean, we too feed on the river of life flowing through every living creature. We are the ocean: we must have the lesser rivers and streams feed us so that we may continue to exist. The energy that hums through their veins fills us with greater ecstasy and peace than the blood of any creature that dwells with us in the watery deep. When I say peace, I truly do mean tranquility and stillness. The act of hunting and feeding is a violent business, a frenzied and heated rush. The blood we feed on is almost like a...what is the word the humans use? Ah yes: a tranquilizer.
The fascinating thing about humans is that they never taste the same. Some have a sweeter, thinner blood that sings prettily as we feed. Others have a bitter taste that whisper dark notes. There are some that have a tantalizing mixture of both. Still others have a sourness to their blood. Though we mostly find that in sailors. We believe it to be some kind of intoxicant, for when we partake of this sour meal, our peace is replaced with giddiness and rowdy mischief. It is not a bad thing, and in fact we rather like it. It’s simply more fun if the sourness is accompanied by another kind of flavor.
Often we seek out the neck when incapacitating our meals. The meat is especially rich, having many passages for blood to course through. It is a delightful preface to our eventual feast on the liquid itself. I have heard of others that have had success in finding an abundance of blood in the arms. I have not attempted this myself, as arms are much harder to control than a neck, but I hear there is ample supply. Supposedly there is a river that runs through the legs that also provides much nourishment, but once again, legs are harder to control than arms, and much harder than a neck.
But the ultimate delicacy for us is the human heart. The most tender and moist piece of meat from the human body, and completely soaked in life-giving blood. If one has the chance to take it from their meal while it still beats, savor every bite of it. It is a messy ordeal, there can be no doubt, but it is worth every stain. While there is life in the heart it is soft and slick, and the quivering in one’s hands is almost as electrifying as the hunt itself. Once the heart ceases to beat it becomes tougher, the blood begins to dry and harden. This does not make the heart any less delicious, however. It simply lacks the same type of experience as a live one. Nothing can quite compare with consuming one as it lies humming, drumming in your hands, and beats against your lips and teeth as you tear it apart.