A missive, in graceful hand writing.

There comes a time in every young cyclops life when he, or in rare cases she (females being sacrosanct in cyclopian culture, they are seldom left alone for long and never put in harms way) must brutally murder an elder. I know, as a learned individual, this was hard for me to understand at first. Imagine all that wisdom, the knowledge they could keep! Then again, cyclops are not known for their witty repartee. So, in order to understand these massive creatures and their culture, we must attempt to get inside their heads, as it were and make due with the fact that as intelligent beings, we may never fully comprehend their ways and must take them as they are. Trust me, change is not something they take lightly. One day, while spying a small collective (not truly a village, as their dwellings are mostly taken from other beings, such as humans they've killed and eaten, or fire giants who they seem to be friendly with, for whatever reason) from a reasonably safe distance, in a bush, I saw a most amazing sight. While I do not understand the language of these beasts, it was obvious that a young cyclops, seemingly one of the larger in the collective, was challenging an older cyclops. Now the older beast, he was a shaman of some sort. He kept waving a stick about in the face of the younger one, who laughed repeatedly at the older cyclops and made, what I can only assume, was a very rude gesture to him. The shaman, incensed, called down the wrath of their dark gods. After that, the fighting was shockingly brief. The large, young cyclops lashed out, caught the older cyclops around the throat and squeezed until a pop (audible from even where I hid) and gurgling emanated from the older, now presumable dying, shaman. A short time later, after screaming his laughter at the sky, the younger cyclops, surrounded by his kin, wrenched the two large canines from the mouth of the now, absolutely, dead shaman. Without a moments hesitation, he shoved one and then the other through his lip. Ignoring the blood that drenched his chin, he grinned horribly at the surrounding cyclops who stamped their feet in approbation. The young cyclops, who now seemed to have taken the role of the recently dead shaman, grunted something and a bright light surrounded him, confirming that suspicion. This passing of the torch, through the murdering of an elder is proof positive that the cyclops are a fearsome and dangerous bunch. In fact, even as I write this from the safety of my bush, I cannot help but to feel that there is a cyclops hovering over meahda-- -The writings end here, the missive covered in blood-