It is a strange hunger that drives them. Their bellies already bulging from their previous meal, they attack the next one with a fervor unnaturally bright in their eyes. Teeth rip into the kill, devouring, snarling. Claws extend, sinking into the flesh of another that got too close to what is theirs.
Barely able to stand, its belly is so large, so unbalanced, one of the feeding creature gorges, choking down flesh with eyes wilder than nature intended. More, it wants. Always more.
And when it finishes, it can no longer move. It lies down next to the carcass, uncaring of the vultures that swoop, of the bones that will soon begin to reek of decay. Despite its expanded stomach, its face is unnaturally thin, skin and fur stretched over sharp bones. It lies there, breaths short. Its lungs are barely able to expand. Its tongue lolls, eyes unfocused.
And as a storm approaches, it is unable to move to safety. It bears the winds that bite, and the sand that tears. It bleeds uncaringly and the ground soaks it up, forever thirsty.
It only lifts its head when the scent of wounded prey approaches once more. It drags itself forward, a pathetic sight. Battered, swollen with greed, it hunts once more.