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Day 255

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Another few dozen bullywugs showed up some time during the day. The new tents were clear next to the crude cabin-like huts of the bullywugs. Smoke rose from a cooking-fire inside their little town.

It was clear that the bullywugs intended to stay. The crude palisade now held a little town of huts. The huts were made of logs stacked into little box cabin shapes. They appeared to be digging a canal from the river to their palisade.

They intended to flood their new homes underwater. What a strange and organized people. They were very advanced with their bronze axes, spears, and leather armor. They made nets and fished in the river. I stole a net lying near the riverbanks, in the dead of night.

I and the hunters crept around during the night, collecting a few more of the poison frogs and river mud. I began to make a crude oven for food in the burrow. I need real clay for it. Shit-mud didn't work.

I'd been inspired by the fire. The idea of further evolution seemed a long way away. I'd best start advancing in other ways if I wanted to survive.

The Stoatling Mothers were producing a prodigious amount of young. 50 a week were being born. I had the hunters training at night, hunting far and wide. Our numbers were growing quickly.

I began to search for a new place to move the burrow.

I found the perfect place a few miles downriver.

The wolves den. A cave at the bottom of a massive hill. It would give us the room we needed to grow. We could live safely above the ground if we kept a good watch on the surrounding area.

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Day 257

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The wolves numbered two dozen. A massive pack, led by a gray grizzled beast as ugly as it was big. They were not like the thin fierce beasts of my old world. They were large and muscled, with jutting fangs. They slumbered in the dead of night.

We all swarmed into the cave at once. Fifty stoatlings blew darts into the awakening wolves with ninja-like efficiency. The darts struck all of the pack in seconds. They were dropping as soon as they stood up.

A Stoatling hunter is a deadly thing. A single Stoatling was strong enough to drag the massive alpha wolf all the way to the river and throw it in. A single stoatling could fire a dart every few seconds and put down any animal with it's poison. Many stoatlings had wet pussies and loved to fuck atop the corpses of enemies.

In the dead of night, we seemed invincible.

We began to move immediately that night.

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Day 259

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Morticia and I ate the rest of the eggs alone as the rest of the hunters led the Stoatling Mothers to the new cave. I fucked Morticia repeatedly and stuffed my face between rounds. We had an orgy amid the busted bullywug eggs.

I fell asleep exhausted.

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Day 260

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She was gorgeous. With glossy black fur and pink swollen nipples, she was a vision of stoatly beauty. We celebrated her evolution. She waddled home to the cave, bowlegged.

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Day 262

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We began to dig into the back of the cave. We used the dirt, mixed with shit and spit to close off the entrance of the cave. We dug a new entrance a few yards away, small and hidden. The dark of the cave was like day to our sensitive eyes.

My hunters split into groups to explore the surrounding area .

Morticia gave birth to our first batch of Skaven kits.

I left the males alive Three males. Five females. Two of the males had boon born dead. I'd eaten them with great regret. Skaven were not like stoatlings. Skaven were...

People.

Not beasts.

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Day 264

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My only 'real' children were impossibly small. The Skaven young were almost the same as the newborn stoatlings. I put them in the new nesting chamber with the breeders. I would need them in the future. I would need every Skaven I could get once the bullywugs found us.

They were breeding an army in my territory.

The idea of thousands of those frog headed man-like people in rows of armor made me shudder. I needed some way to kill them all. The darts wouldn't work against armor and shields. The same problem for our little trowing spears.

Our only real weapons against them would be our little bone knives, and bone-tipped thrusting spears. We would need numbers.

I began to teach the little stoatling girls how to make string out of sapling bark. Chewing the figers and twisting them together. I fucked them silly for awhile and gloried in their terrified squeaks as Ny huge Skaven cock filled their little bodies full of spunk. Then I showed them the net made by the bullywug's net and asked them to copy it.

I rebuilt my oven at four times the size of the one in the other burrow. It seemed that my tribe loved the cooked meat as much as I did. Digging, hunting, or scouting is what we did for most of the day. Or they did. Fucking is what I did for most of the day.

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Coming to the conclusion that numbers were what was needed for the bullywugs didn't take me long. Numbers was something we could do. I'd have stoatlings maturing at 25 or so a week soon. My hunters already numbered 60. there were more young than there were hunters once more.

I had the ones too young to hunt start learning how to make string and dig. Those too young for that still had their eyes closed. I found that the young seemed to be smarter than previous generations.

The stoats seemed to be evolving in more ways than the rapid transformation of specie. Nutrition probably played a large part in that, but I liked to think it was the fact that they were second or third generation daughters of mine, making them smarter.

I made a room set of rooms to keep rabbits in captivity.

Catching the rabbits was easy.

Keeping them alive was hard.