Many thousands of years ago, when the world was yet green and the skies were a tranquil blue, the thri-kreen hunted kanks for food. Kanks were the sweetest of all creatures that crawled upon the face of Athas, and the kreen savored their juicy meat like nothing else. Indeed, the kreen loved kanks so much that they nearly hunted them into extinction. The kanks were slow and ponderous compared to the swift thri-kreen, and they stood not a chance in the face of that predator's ravenous hunger.

Then, one day, an Elvish priest of Earth spied a thri-kreen clutch hunting for the last of the kanks. The kreen searched high and low, and the priest followed them. Eventually, they found the kanks, and trapped them within a deep ravine. The kreen hunt leader strode forward towards the first of the kanks, his gythka poised for a strike that would certainly spell its doom.

"Stop!" the elf cried from above, for he could not bear to see the kreen slaughter the last of the kanks. "Do you not understand what you do, thri-kreen? By killing those beasts, you will have destroyed them all!"

The kreen paused a moment, raising its eyes towards the priest. "Begone, elf!" he spoke, his mandibles drooling venom. "Kanks are sweet, and I hunger for them as I hunger for no other living thing. Leave, before I call a hunt upon you!"

The priest was angered, and driven to fury. "I call upon the sacred element of Earth! Let no thri-kreen eat the flesh of kanks ever again! Make kank flesh as to the foulest dung upon the face of Athas, or elsewhere!"

The ground shook as the priest called upon its power, and the kreen looked about, their antennae weaving wild, nervous patterns above their brows.

Still, the kreen hunt leader laughed at the elf. "I fear the earth not for my blood calls out to taste these kanks!"

With that, he brought his gythka down, killing the defenseless kank with a single, mighty blow. Even as the kank fell to the ground, its legs limp and its head split in two, a putrid smell of rot and decay rose from its carcass. So strong and mighty was this fetid odor, that the kreen hunt leader recoiled in disgust.

Even standing on his high perch, the elf wrinkled his nose as the breeze carried the noxious fumes out of the ravine. "I judge that the power of Earth was such that even carrion flies would not touch a dead kank, thri-kreen!" The priest's laughter filled the air, mocking the kreen below. "What would you hunger for now, oh mighty hunt leader?"

It took only a second for the kreen to make up his mind. "We hunt you, elf! We shall see how your flesh tastes!"

The elf, no fool, turned and ran. The thri-kreen pursued him relentlessly, leaving the last living kanks to wander lazily out of the ravine. The elf was cunning and swift, but after several days of running he collapsed, exhausted. The thri-kreen, however, needed no sleep, and they caught up with him while he lay down to rest.

The kreen took no chances, and killed the priest swiftly. After such a long hunt they were famished, and the smell of the freshly-killed elf was quite appetizing. Each of the thri-kreen partook of the elf's corpse, and each came away from the meal with a taste for elf flesh. Indeed, they agreed amongst themselves that the elf tasted sweeter than the kanks had once tasted.

It was shortly thereafter that elves began to herd the kanks, nurturing them so that they multiplied and once again covered the face of Athas. It was soon discovered by the elves that the elemental spirits of Earth, while making kank flesh unappealing to all but the most desperate of scavengers, had also gifted kanks with the ability to make a honey-like substance. Indeed, this honey is a gift to the elves from the spirits of Earth, in return for the elven priest's sacrifice on behalf of the kanks.