Freedom sounded like a curse. Everyone was trotting; they had been awakened, and they were starving. There was nothing nearby, and whatever they had eaten was already gone. Some rolled in the mud, others wallowed, but the majority simply followed their noses.
Nuzzling, rooting out small bugs from the soil, a few roots, a few nuts... very little of anything. They spurned the wild grass growing along the paths, their hooves trampling it into the mud and their own waste as they followed a crystal-clear scent.
Blaring music from a distorted speaker disrupted the night. In that spot, homeless people had built a makeshift camp—one of many places where the reek of the pork plant was so overwhelming it drove everyone else away. When the assault came, they were celebrating their meager daily earnings. Isolated from the city, they had spent the day digging through scrap. They were exhausted and offered no resistance.
By the time the earth began to radiate the morning heat, the herd was done scavenging through the huts, the remains, and the dark corners the streetlight couldn't reach. Some hadn't even bothered to stay for this tiny midnight snack.
Those who fed had already mated. They were fast, securing sustenance for their offspring. Now, the priority was to keep moving. There would be other places ahead that, however little, would yield more food.