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** M30 787 Confronting Hatchlayer**
> XXI viewpoint
The Primarch licked his lips with indulgence, they were red of vitae.
He had had no other vision that his first glimpse, but he had inferred where the beast would have attacked him. From this information he had extrapolated premise of the beast tactical instinct.
Hours ago, he had buried himself for a long time under the ice of an underground lake, if rock could not be breath, water could. Small life form, smaller that him had attempted to steal small insignificant part of his skin. He disliked it and killed a few, they apparently fed upon their own instead of confronting him, choosing the easier path. A future ploy he would use for… something he did not distinguish of yet. He needed to move to survive, it would generate enough heat.
He swam at the bottom, teeming with various object and recognized a hatch, the design being strangely familiar, a damming hatch, for a reservoir long broken. Protruding from it, a winch. It was made of some composite he did not know of, akin to something call plasteel. The concrete around it was damage by erosion, he needed to flex his muscle, calculate the right angle and synchronise a push with his foot. Only calculation of Euclidian geometry mixed with basic Vitruvian construction.
He was ashore, drenched in cold and held a winch of plasteel. He became the hunter.
The Primarch licked his lips with indulgence, they were red of vitae, sucking blood on his finger with greed, the beast was dead, and quite tasty. He even knew about the eggs that the beast had hidden nearby.
His omophageaic membrane tasted the flesh of the beast, a hatchlayer in its own language, analysing them as instinctively as a chef would know the past and textures of a deer. There was alien blood spilled on the ground too, a waste.
He remembered the last days of the beast and its every thought, the hunger, the surprise, the fear, interest of about him, the pursuit, his deception, the anticlimax and the pain.
He viewed himself through its very eye of the she- beast, the steel winch in his hand, a few chisel stone used as projectile, his hand a sling moving faster that anything she had ever seen.
