I haven’t done this for a while. 101 words. Sometimes a beginning, sometimes an end. Or even a frustratingly pointless middle.
“Are they ready?” Drax asked as they passed silently through space in the shadow of the moon.
“They are” replied Altama. She spread her tentacles and began to purr as she bathed in the glorious warmth of the sun.
“Anything to be concerned over?”
She laughed and watched him unfurl, his flesh pulsing iridescent as he warmed after so long in the cold of deep space.
“No. They are ready to be harvested.”
So many lifetimes had passed in getting here and now he felt suddenly alive. Suddenly hungry.
“Good” Drax replied as he turned towards Earth. “It’s time to feed.“