One of the most striking things about Primal Season 3 so far is its patience. This is not a show rushing toward spectacle just for the sake of noise and chaos, though it still delivers both in stomach-churning fashion when the moment calls for it. Instead, Episode 3, aptly titled “Feast of Flesh,” leans into stillness, reflection, and the quiet unraveling of Spear’s fractured mind. It’s a chapter that feels deceptively simple on the surface, yet emotionally devastating by the time the final frame fades.
The episode opens not with violence or terror, but with wonder. Spear, still undead, still broken, still wandering, stumbles upon a tiny, radiant insect glowing in shades of turquoise and violet. In a season that has largely moved away from towering dinosaurs and leaned into more grounded wildlife, this cricket-like creature feels almost magical. Its delicate movements, gentle chewing on a leaf, and vibrant colours instantly draw Spear in. For several minutes, the world slows to a halt as he simply watches.
Spear’s fascination with the insect hints at something deeper stirring beneath his decaying exterior. Memories flicker through his mind, fragments of his past bleeding into the present. By now, those flashes are unmistakably tied to Fang, his lost companion. Whether it’s the insect’s coloring, its wild independence, or the simple fact that it exists alongside him without fear, something about this small creature reawakens Spear’s capacity for connection.
Tyler Bates and Joanne Higginbottom’s score plays a crucial role here, underscoring the whimsical, almost playful energy of Spear’s interaction with the bug. He chases it through foliage, startles when it lands on him, and freezes when it locks eyes with him from his arm. When it crawls across his exposed skull, an image equal parts unsettling and tender, the moment somehow feels intimate rather than grotesque. Against all logic, Primal makes this bond feel real.
The emotional investment deepens when Spear saves the insect from a lurking predator. In that instant, the episode quietly seals its fate. We, like Spear, are now attached. Whether the cricket understands the bond or simply follows instinct doesn’t matter. What matters is that Spear believes in it, and belief has weight in this world.
The calm dissolves into dread when Spear falls into an underground cave, immediately sensing danger but realising it is too late. Small, feral humanoid creatures; grotesque, ravenous, and numerous, swarm him. Even as an undead being, Spear isn’t immune to their brutality. When he awakens, strung upside down, the horror fully sets in: much of the flesh on his hand and arm has already been eaten away, leaving bone exposed. Surrounding him are dangling skeletons, grim reminders of those who weren’t strong enough to escape.
It’s here that the episode pivots from quiet reflection to full-blown nightmare fuel. The flesh-eaters aren’t towering monsters, but their sheer numbers and savagery make them terrifying, their survival instincts are understandable in theory, yet Primal leaves no room for sympathy. These creatures feel cruel, invasive, and deeply unsettling.
Spear’s unlikely rescuer arrives in the form of the cricket. Before it’s even seen, its chirping echoes through the cave, irritating the creatures just enough to create chaos. Anyone who’s ever heard a cricket chirping endlessly in the dark understands how disruptive that sound can be. As the insect flits around the cave, distracting the mutants, Spear seizes his chance to break free.
For a brief moment, the episode teases hope. It feels like this might be a story of survival through partnership, Spear and the cricket escaping together. But Primal has never been kind to hope.
The insect is crushed!
The moment lands like a punch to the chest. Spear’s reaction is immediate and devastating. He stares at the lifeless body of the creature, its legs twitching weakly before going still. The animation lingers just long enough to hurt. Against all odds, the show has made us mourn a bug.
Spear descends into a near-trance, methodically crushing skull after skull. There’s no roar, no triumph, just hollow, mechanical violence. It’s as if his mind disconnects entirely while his body carries out the task. The scene is gruesome, but emotionally numb, reflecting Spear’s fractured psyche.
Once the cave is silent, Spear does something profoundly human, he buries the cricket.
Funerals are rituals of memory, respect, and emotion, things a mindless monster wouldn’t bother with. Spear, despite his decayed form and exposed organs, is clearly feeling again. Grief. Loss. Attachment. The burial becomes proof that whatever curse has overtaken him hasn’t erased his soul.
By the episode’s end, subtle changes signal progress. Spear retrieves his spear and keeps it this time, unlike earlier episodes where it was abandoned. He’s clothed now, even if by force, and armed not just with weapons but with renewed resolve. His thoughts appear clearer. His emotions sharper.
The final moment raises a quiet question: when Spear encounters another cricket-like insect, is it the same one, or simply another of its kind? The episode wisely refuses to answer. It doesn’t matter, what matters is what the encounter represented. The cricket, whether singular or symbolic, rekindled Spear’s purpose. Its sacrifice reignited his determination to find Fang, or at least uncover the truth of what was lost.
Final Thoughts
“Feast of Flesh” is Primal at its most devastating and most beautiful. It balances tenderness with horror, silence with brutality, and introspection with bloodshed. Genndy Tartakovsky continues to push the limits of what dialogue-free storytelling can achieve, proving once again that animation can convey emotion as powerfully as any live-action drama.
In a world defined by violence and survival, Primal dares to say that connection, even fleeting, still matters. And somehow, heartbreakingly, it makes us believe it, over the life and death of a tiny, glowing bug.
Read more: Primal Animation
