CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The molepeople had circled Shershie. Despite all her rage, she was trapped like a rat in a cage. Or a werewolf in a circle of genetically mutated molemen.
They hissed and gesticulated at her. She snarled and snapped back, her ferocious bites causing the attackers to pause a moment and really consider the full implications of the bite.
Shersh was unsure of what was about to happen. She did know one thing, though: for once in her teens she wasn't horny.
Then a fluttering from above. A sound like a sail luffing in a farty breeze.
It was Vonce, wolf-Vonce, gliding down from the surface on his Bilf-a-chute. He landed gracefully on the pads of his paws.
"Shersh," he nodded at her, "Sup?"
And now she was horny again.
She kept it at bay, though.
"Wanna help me take out these mole... people?"
Vonce then noticed the circle of filthy, ugly, stinky motherfuckers.
"Yeah," he said, "let's... rock and MOLE!"
(sorry)
He tugged hard on the Bilf-a-chute straps. It had been slowly settling but with the jerk he sent it down and sideways. Bilf's flayed skin trapped a handful of molemen with a sick, sticky sound.
Vonce charged the skin mound and caromed off it, vaulting into the mole horde. Shersh charged in toothfirst, biting as many grubby legs as she could.
She reasoned it'd be harder for them to fight if they couldn't stand up.
She was right.
The strategy had the added benefit of making it super easy to bite their heads off.
Shersh and Vonce started off actually eating the heads, popping them off like, well, there's not really an analogous human experience for it. Maybe, like, the free samples at the grocery store? But there are way more than you could possibly eat. Also: they're filthy. Eventually you wind up taking the sample, biting into it, smiling and nodding and rubbing your belly at the vendor as if to say, "So good! I would totally eat a million of these!" and then turning around and discreetly spitting the cheese or whatever into a napkin.
Shersh and Vonce didn't have a napkin, though. They just spat the heads onto the ground. And by the time they were done, the ground was slick with brain and blood and lousy with bone and whisker.
Which somehow made the post-slaughter porking even hotter.