Bread is broken and torn as the gluttons chew, slurp and belch their way toward a surly contentment. By nature, a distrusting lot, they hover over their keep like vultures with an eye to the side ready to repel an enemy combatant or a fellow vying for extra scraps. They sleep. Heavy and loud but always, always with an ear to the ground, monitoring the perimeter.
Drawn to battle, like eels to water, trouble finds them quick and often. They fight and growl and gnash teeth, clashing metal and flesh in an enraged storm of natures most volatile child. Man.
When the opportunity to beat another does not present itself, they scrap each other. Naturally, they are brothers. Born into a competition of ancient, biblical proportions they are powerless to resist. But, as hard as they go at it, at no time are they more powerful, more invincible as when they fight back to back. Swords arching to defend the family against all that comes.
When things look bleak, their knees weakened and the end near, look closely, you'll see the most amazing thing of all. They are smiling.
