ã€ŠThe Saga of Vivex [Survival Progression Fantasy]ã€‹


 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 1: Neonates

    Every step must be a struggle, even hatching. Such will force the brood to be strong. This is good.

    -From Vocationals: 1:3-5

    Tok, the titanic Blackscale, carried out the duties of a Provider, watching over the Greenscale eggs day and night. The lizardkin prepared the hatchery, clearing out the most dangerous predators, which added to his food supply. Skinning and drying them and then tanning them with both brains and bark.

    He found it nostalgic.

    I found it frustrating.

    Once done, he did not leave the island.

    He just waited and turned the eggs twice a day. Counting them each time. His foot long claws surprisingly delicate with the task. Even he didn¡¯t know why he did it. That wasn¡¯t a question. He must. Nothing more.

    His Instinct guided him in his task, changing how he thought, making him better at this crucial job for this other brood. He would count them even after they hatched, until they passed this trial, or died.

    As he did, he grunted softly, reassuring them, sometimes even reciting the scriptures and tenets of his people.

    Even after the food ran out.

    He survived on the stores of fat he had accumulated, and any overly dangerous beasts that made the mistake of coming too close to the island. He was glad for the barrel of dwarf grease he had rendered.

    Meanwhile, the hatchlings faced a similar challenge. Each feeding on the yolk within. For most, it was the last gift their mothers gave them. Within the calcified shell of their eggs, each began to develop.

    Then it came. After a fortnight.

    Awareness.

    Conscious understanding of sensory input.

    Of the space they occupied.

    Not to all of them at once, but close enough to make no difference. Each could feel their neighbor shift and bump against their own vessel. Each could feel the Provider, turning the eggs. Their Instincts told them that they were part of a group, even if they couldn¡¯t see it. It was just what was to them. Isolated, but together.

    Sound was next for the hatchlings. And they heard the Provider¡¯s voice. A soothing bass rumble when night fell, and the world became dark as pitch.

    But there were other times too. Times when the noise was terrible. Frightening. The Provider had to fight off other apex predators, searching for their own nesting sites. Or smaller ones, that dashed in to snatch the eggs before trying to dash out.

    The unhatched could hear these things. Hear when some of their neighbors were crushed into paste under the challenging predator¡¯s heel. Hear when one of their neighbors was snatched up and taken away, never to be heard again. Something that happened several times.

    They were lucky though.

    Lucky to live, to be laid from high-caste mothers, and to have a Provider that was one of the best.

    And none would ever know that vengeance for their fellows had come almost instantly. Swift and terrible. At the ultimate cost to the perpetrators. Supplementing the supply of meat that the obligate carnivore required.

    And he was a model Provider to all of them. Even the smallest egg. The one he was convinced was not even fertilized. Which was good for the hatchling inside.

    When the rain came, and horrifying lightning and thunder followed, the brood was collectively terrified. They all squeaked in their egg-vessels, fearful of the unknown. A common trait across sentient beings. The Provider was there though, grunting back, his massive skull moving over the eggs to shelter them from the rain. Soothing them.

    He could have built a more permanent structure. He was capable of it. But for the warrior, part of doing his duty as a Provider was returning to his roots. To the simple ways of the past. Both as a reminder, and as a challenge.

    And it was that challenge that made the brood strong, a virtue craved and misunderstood by the Truescales. A misunderstanding that, with luck, might be rectified in the coming years.

    For all the changes in their societal structures though, some things were still the same. Like warmth.

    Temperature was a crucial aspect in their development. It interacted with key enzymes, changing their shapes, determining sex. By the very nature of their spatial arrangement, some of them were warmer while others were colder. That in turn determined the sex of each individual, seemingly with the figurative cast of a die. All except the smallest of them, near the center.

    Only the gods would be petty enough to possibly care about such things. It had happened before. And would happen again, with time. However, whether or not they had taken a claw in this development, was not for mortal ken.

    Which is, in my opinion, unfortunate.

    Irregardless, she knew something new about herself after those developments.

    Light.

    She was suddenly aware of light!

    Even through calcified shell and undeveloped retinas, the light of the outside world marked the next step in the brood¡¯s collective development. She was only aware of her own though. Her growing awareness making my intervention in this tale unnecessary. Something else that I think is a shame. But I am not so rude as to overstay my welcome.

    In tandem with the unseen happenings, she became aware of the cycles of the world.

    The Bright and the Dark.

    The Bright and Dark fascinated her for reasons she couldn¡¯t explain. Why did they come and go? Why did it travel in a line? For the most part, she enjoyed this part of her life. Especially when it was quiet. Which wasn¡¯t often.

    Soft periods of continuous pattering against the vessel, scorching heat, and thunderous noises assailed her within her confining shell. A warm squashy sack pressed against her, both a part of her and not, comforting and providing sustenance. It was something to hold, to cling to in times of fear. Alone.

    As time progressed though, her body pressed against her confines and the comforting sack shrank away. She was forced into a tight little ball around it before it disappeared entirely. She clung to her own tail after that. Pain racked her, and she was aware that her belly was empty. That she was starving before even hatching.

    It distressed her, and she squeaked to signal it. She had grown¡­ louder? Comparison was difficult to comprehend. It seemed the same was happening with her neighbors, or so she thought.

    Break free! The impulse was sudden and violent.

    She couldn¡¯t deny it.

    She pressed against the walls, flexing muscles in her limbs and tail, and also strange unknowable ones in her skin. She flexed again, then curled back around herself, exhausted. The cycles continued, and pain started to fill her, she knew hunger before cracking the shell of her prison.

    Her growth stagnated, something she knew was wrong. The why didn¡¯t matter.

    Escape! She growled in anger. Stubbornly forcing her withered body to push against the shell.

    She could hear the crackling sounds around her. The others were breaking free. She had to join them.

    Quickly! Advantage!

    She didn¡¯t want to be last. To be left behind. To start life at a disadvantage! She strained even harder.

    Live! Hatch!

    Somehow, even devoid of language in her infant state, it was as if someone or something was speaking in her mind. Urging her forward. Like a gentle shove on her back.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Food¡­ Find food! Now!

    Guided by the feelings, she struggled with all of her strength. Shoving, straining, jerking her head, bouncing a small spike on her snout against the confining calcification that entombed her.

    Snap. A soft sound. She tried again!

    Crackle.

    She shoved with her hind legs and tail, smacking the hard bony nub on her nose against the shell over and over.

    Tick. Tick. Tick. Crackle. Tick.

    Survive! Help is not coming.

    She was frantic now, unaware at first that she was grunting loudly in unison with her other broodmates. A louder deeper rumble shook her body. It reminded her of the warm yolk, long gone. A comfort. It was outside the shell. Waiting for her.

    Break free! Live!

    She redoubled her efforts. Straining her tiny muscles to their limits and pushing past them. Rocking the slimy space that had been her entire world. Her stomach gurgled loudly in her confines.

    Crack!

    The whole vessel shook as it fractured, some small pieces breaking away. Only the stretchy internal membrane kept them in place. She snapped at it with her tiny teeth, pulling, tugging, tearing the membrane. She struggled, stretching, pressing against the walls of her home turned prison. She needed to get out! Had to.

    Fight!

    The tip of her snout burst through the tear, her forked tongue tasting the air, sensing¡­ something she wanted, something she needed, a voracious unignorable snare!

    Sustenance! Get out now!

    The pulsing drive inside her was as unignorable as the throbbing pain of hunger.

    She rocked with the agony of it, and her vessel bounced against something hard.

    Snap!

    Cracks formed on the other side of her vessel. She tried again to force more of her head through, but to no avail, though she could feel the cracks below stretching, spreading.

    Her Instinct scrambled around inside her. Filling her limbs. Time is running out!

    If she didn¡¯t manage to break free soon, she would die. Trapped by her own weakness. Before she even got a chance to live.

    Survive! Fight!

    She shoved again in despair and frustration, and the vessel rocked. She found the rhythm of it. Used it.

    Crack!

    It bounced against the hard alien object outside, the cracks lower down expanding!

    Success! Learn! Again!

    Not hesitating she changed strategies, adapting to her needs, rocking back and forth, still grunting frantically. Something¡­ deep¡­ and¡­ colossal¡­ rumbled¡­ and Instinct pressed harder against her.

    Break through! Food awaits!

    With one last sinuous movement of her whole body, she slammed the vessel against the foreign object outside.

    Crack! Snap! Crackakle!

    It shattered! And the Bright assaulted her.

    She slid out of her confines, slimy and wet. Her own weight disoriented her as she bounced off the stone that had helped crack the egg. The Bright made it hard to see, and she struggled to get her bearings.

    Remember this lesson. Always learn. Now, find food, little one! Find food now!

    The voice, silent, genderless, and languageless, spoke directly to her in her mind. It conveyed meaning so seamlessly that the lack of language was a boon rather than a detriment. Her Instinct was¡­ satisfied with her performance.

    Squeaks surrounded her, and she joined in the chorus. She struggled to her three-toed feet, albumen spattering onto the mud. Another hatchling came over, sniffing, hissing softly. Her Instinct recoiled from the idea.

    Danger! Competition! Fight!

    She hissed, swinging an awkward clawed hand at him, connecting with his green and black scales. The strike was pitiful, barely turning her rival¡¯s head. In retaliation the larger hatchling hissed and knocked her prone onto the ground. She squealed in pain.

    He is large! Flee!

    She scrambled, but his clawed foot pressed her down into the mud. It hurt, and he leaned into it to put more of his weight on her. She struggled, unable to push him off. Her eyes roved, desperate, searching for help, something she could use to strike him. For anything at all as long as it made him stop.

    All she saw though was a stone too large to lift, and that the rest of the brood was much larger than she was. They all watched, evaluating.

    Fight! Don¡¯t become prey! She knew if she did, she would die. Compete!

    Her squeal turned into a snarl as she bit the male¡¯s ankle. She tasted blood. It was sweet, making her stomach gurgle. He yelped pulling his leg free. His black pupils became vertical slits, yellow eyes sharp with anger.

    He snarled, stalking closer as she got to her feet and started to scamper away. All of them were larger. Dread filled her.

    She had been bested in front of them all.

    She was now a target.

    That rumbling returned.

    A cavernous¡­ resonant¡­ growl. She felt her body shake before she heard it, and it reverberated through her mind as well.

    They all looked. Including the Neonate. She started squeaking loudly with them, for some reason expecting food.

    She looked up to see a gigantic form, his thick scales as black as the Dark, and a jaw large enough that she could stand inside it without having to duck. A predator. A master of life and death. A feeling of comfort tamped down the feeling of terror at such a powerful individual being so close.

    Provider¡­

    He had blazing crimson eyes, half lidded, but attentive. He looked lazily at the group¡­ no¡­ at her, with what looked like mild reproof. Or was that evaluation?

    She squeaked at the massive being with the others, making the first few¡­ apologetic? Yes, apologetic, but quickly returning to begging, to demanding. Her stomach groaned and she squeaked even louder.

    They all were hungry, and knowing his role intuitively, they all begged for sustenance. But she only cared for her own pains, trying to push closer to him while also trying to avoid getting knocked down again in turn. The neonate felt her need overcoming any fear that she could possibly have of him in her foolishness.

    He protects, he provides, he judges the trial ahead. The fact that he was a different species was expected and accepted by her Instinct. It just made sense. The way things were supposed to be.

    She glanced around at the others, her broodmates. Most were bigger than her, like the one who had knocked her prone. Where she struggled to stand upright on her hind legs, they stood tall, some even leaping to draw more attention to themselves.

    They will make it hard to feed. Remember the first lesson. Adapt.

    She would. But she would not blindly follow the drives of her Instinct. Or she would try not to. The first one had gotten her injured, something she could not afford, especially if she was runtish compared to her fellows.

    She had been the last one to hatch. There were no more whole eggs left. She looked back at the Provider.

    The Blackscale leaned over, head jerking rhythmically. She could hear the glugging sound and pushed forward, joining the swarm as they surged closer. She bit the tail of another to make her get out of the way. Sweet blood filled her mouth again.

    Consume!

    She was jostled this way and that.

    The Provider regurgitated the food that they all so desperately needed, and it splattered onto the ground, mostly digested. Pungent and enticing. The hatchlings rushed the reeking pile, squeaking, eager to feed. There was barely any left by the time she got there, only a few mouthfuls that she bit a third hatchling to get at.

    She squeaked louder, angry that she had been denied a full belly. Glaring up at the Provider.

    His red eyes regarded her. Calculating.

    She hesitated.

    Then her stomach emboldened her with its own growl, and she started squeaking loudly at him. Snapping her jaw in frustration. There had to be more food. She was not the only one begging for more, but she strove to be the loudest.

    The Blackscale¡¯s red eyes blinked. He grunted deep in his chest and the neonate and several of her nest-mates shied back before redoubling their efforts.

    He rolled over lazily, revealing that he was even larger than she had first thought. He wriggled and slid along the mud into the river with a splash, disappearing. His mighty tail propelling him into the depths of the water behind him.

    She hissed, panicked. Why was he leaving? She didn¡¯t like him leaving. She moved into the shadows. Away from the others. Not trusting them with the Provider gone.

    Hide, wait, look for an opening. Must survive. Her Instinct hissed inside her soul.

    Some of the others pushed and shoved at each other, biting and snapping. Spurred into action by her own failed attempt. Those that were bit and scratched squeaked in surprise, fighting back, learning both through success and failure.

    See? Watch them, see how they fight, learn quickly, or die.

    All the scuffles were awkward, but she felt like she could see a way to improve her technique already. She pulled even farther into the shadows as she studied her peers. Her stomach was already painful again.

    She watched the others, climbing up along the bark of a tree.

    Good! Height! Her Instinct growled.

    Something loud croaked from the treeline.

    They all stopped, looking.

    The neonate saw it first.

    It was massive! More than three times her height at three feet tall. Its bulbous head was speckled brown over dark green. Its bright azure eyes highlighting the amphibian¡¯s pitiless double oblong pupils.

    Mawfrog! Her Instinct named it.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 2: Mawfrog

    Always revert to predation.

    -From Aphorisms: 6:1

    The mawfrog croaked again, scanning the group. It closed its eyes. Throat swelling with muscle.

    Splurk!

    Its tongue shot out, grabbing a female hatchling with a wet sound and sucking her into a jaw that was a nightmare of teeth. All pointed backwards towards the throat.

    She died with a squeal. The neonate saw her skull crumple, brains spurting into the amphibian¡¯s mouth.

    The others hissed, backing away, squeaking for help from the Provider. The mawfrog turned, and they fled to the underbrush.

    Her stomach gurgled.

    She looked out over the water, joining their squeaking. But the Provider wasn¡¯t there. Where was he?

    Feeding. Her Instinct hissed. Happy to have her stay in the tree. Away from danger. Something deep inside felt wrong about that though.

    The mawfrog¡¯s tongue shot out again, catching a male this time. He was swallowed whole. Frustration built in her. That sense of wrongness growing.

    No, hide!

    She shook her head, joints crackling back into place as she glared down at the beast. Her stomach rumbled again.

    She was hungry.

    That mawfrog was made of meat.

    And it was not going to eat them all.

    She squeaked. Then growled. Trying to find the sound she wanted. Squeaking again.

    Then she found it.

    She roared.

    It was pitiful. Pathetic. But it was her battle cry. The first for any of them.

    The others looked up, their confusion plain, and she roared again. Louder this time, glaring at the beast. She was hungry. They all were. And they all could get their own food right now!

    Her Instinct caught on and shifted into her lungs, expanding them, forcing the sound from deep in her diaphragm. It thundered out of her as she found a vine, sliding down. Getting back to the ground and charging the beast.

    Why were they waiting? Food was right in front of them.

    She ran into the clearing.

    Alone.

    Pathetic roar lacking all menace. But not lacking conviction.

    The mawfrog turned to face her. Its eyes closed.

    Now! Her Instinct gnashed.

    She zig zagged, dodging around the tongue, leaning into her speed. A strange joy filled her as she sprinted forward, even as dread at her stupidity grew.

    She heard a collective hiss from the others. Could feel them watching her rush towards this mighty foe. Imagined their contempt.

    Another roar. The biggest female there, her jaw massive and already muscular, rushed forward from the underbrush.

    Another, and another. They all screeched defiance at the amphibian. The neonate roared in unison, relieved that they had joined her.

    The mawfrog looked at the neonate, the stupid animal unaware of the danger it was in. Its eyes closed, and she leaped into the air as the tongue shot out under her, sticking to the dirt before retracting. She landed on the beast, biting into its rubbery hide viciously, wrenching back and forth and trying to tear into it. But it was too thick for her!

    It croaked and shook, throwing her off. She started to scramble but it pinned her under a heavy warty forelimb. She yelped in pain. Scratching at it with tiny claws.

    SNAP!

    The big female¡¯s jaws bit down onto the mawfrog¡¯s leg, breaking the skin. Blood sprayed forth. Spattering onto the Neonate as the beast lifted its leg and tried to get away. She scrambled out from under it. She climbed up her broodmates back, stepping on her head to get even higher. Still Snarling.

    The others swarmed the beast, slashing, biting, tearing. The beast kicked and tried to flee, leaping with powerful legs. She clung to its back as it shot forward almost five whole yards. Snarling and biting into the skin at the back of its neck.

    Deathroll. Her Instinct demanded, and she spun. Using her whole body. Not letting go. The flesh tore free and more blood sprayed onto her face. She chewed and swallowed, biting again with her eyes closed against the blood.

    The mawfrog squealed, starting to leap again, but the rest of the brood was already on it. Shredding, wrending, feeding while it still lived.

    Thum! Thum!

    She bit in again, tearing free another hunk.

    Thum! Thum!

    She registered the sound, but her ire was raging through her. She wiped her face and looked down. She could see bone.

    Thum! Thum!

    She snarled, and bit at it, tearing with her little claws. Its croak went high pitched and it rolled. Trying to rely on its bulk to squash her and the others so it could get away. She managed to leap off. The others managed to get out of the way.

    Thum! Thum!

    As a horde they charged, snarling, snapping, growling. Little more than mouths with legs as they tore into the beast. The larger of them tore through the hide, making way for the smaller so they all could feed.

    She found her way to its belly with the long clawed male. She pointed and he slashed, then she bit into the abdomen. Tearing.

    Thum! Thum!

    She didn¡¯t have time for the sound now.

    Others joined her, ripping, shredding, eating. The stomach of the mawfrog burst, and their nestmate splattered onto the ground, squeaking and alive. Joining the assault as the mawfrog keeled over.

    The Provider burst through the underbrush, growling, and the pack squealed and fled from the sound. The neonate got knocked aside and fell, scrambling up. The last to leave.

    Had they done wrong? Why was he angry?

    She skidded to a halt behind a fern. The other hatchling that was there hissed and kicked her back out again.

    The Provider was looking at the mawfrog though. Flipping it over with a massive claw.

    He sunk the claw into the beasts skull. Grunting.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    He looked at her. Grunted again.

    She didn¡¯t waste her head start and rushed back to the beast. She didn¡¯t have to wait for the others this time.

    The whole horde returned, and the squabbling over meat resumed. He had a still squirming snake in his other hand, already skinned, head removed. He tossed the squirming tube of muscle into his maw, chewing it thoroughly. Grunting in approval the whole time.

    He spat that onto the ground as well, and they all swarmed it obligingly.

    The neonate was finally full. Backing away to not be targeted by the others again. Licking the sweet blood off of her forelimbs before finding a space to tear into the chewed up snake as well. Happy to eat all she could. To gorge herself.

    It was not to be, however. And not just for her.

    The largest of the hatchlings all snapped and snarled at the smaller ones, which obviously included her.

    The big jawed female gnashed at her, swinging a clenched fist and knocking the neonate down into the mud with a painful Thwack! She yelped, and scrambled back. Glaring. She had once again, gotten some food into her belly, but it wasn¡¯t enough. She was still targeted because of her size.

    She growled, but immediately backed away into the shadows as several of the larger hatchlings turned to look at her.

    Think. Learn. Compete! Her Instinct insisted, shifting the position she perceived it into where the strange muscles were in her skin. On an impulse she flexed them.

    Her scales, bright green and black in coloration, shifted into bluer hues, surprising her. She flexed her skin in a different way, and it shifted to red. Again, and she suddenly was darker, blending in with the foliage and shadows.

    She explored this new ability. Guided by her Instinct, her hindbrain. It picked up how to replicate each transition without requiring a lot of thought. She practiced, focusing on getting the hue just right to best blend in, her whole body shifting to the most advantageous color.

    How long she could hold the colors increased each time. She hissed in pleasure at her progress. It was as if the muscles in her skin were limbering up. The neonate knew that even with her Instinct, practice would be necessary for all things.

    But she needed that food now.

    Hissing quietly to herself, the neonate slid back into the shadows. Prowling around the side, moving towards the back of the meat.

    Good! Learn! Adapt! Now eat!

    She could feel someone watching her as she moved, glancing up. The Provider stared at her. A cicada buzzed in the background. He didn¡¯t move, so she continued.

    She got to the back of the mawfrog, shifting to be the same color as the sandy soil beneath her three toed feet.

    Carefully, she got low, crawling forward on all fours.

    The corpse shifted and shook as the others ate and fought over it.

    When she got up next to it, she shifted to match its dark green color.

    More! Her Instinct urged.

    She strained harder, and parts of her shifted to match the brown speckles! Moving to perfectly mimic the beast. Her tongue flickered out, her mouth slowly opening. Drool dripped to the ground. She could smell the blood, she wanted to taste it again. She was next to the hole she had made killing it.

    Feed!

    She couldn¡¯t hold back, and she ripped into the food, latching on and slashing with her claws as much as she yanked and pulled at the flesh. Ripping free gobbets so she could keep her head on a swivel. Her yellow eyes peeled for any that might want to try to pick on her.

    Blood soaked her as she tore into the beast, slicing past the rubbery flesh to get to the gory pinkish meat with her claws before moving in to tear it free. She strained the muscles in her skin, her body turning pink, matching the muscle, adding red for blood, and a different brown to match the muddy ground.

    One of her peers was getting closer. The big female with the jaws. She felt worry fill her, but need compelled her to keep eating, gorging, consuming as much as she could in barely chewed hunks.

    Think!

    What could she do? It didn¡¯t seem like the big female could see her. But it wouldn¡¯t be long before she would be able to smell her.

    She spotted the male with the long claws circling around, slicing at the hind legs of the mawfrog.

    Slowly, shifting her scales as she moved, she found a stone.

    Good! Compete!

    She waited for the big female to be looking away from her and then threw the rock. It bumped the back of the clawed male¡¯s head. He spun with an angry hiss, seeing the big female and charging her.

    She blinked and snarled back, rushing forward towards him.

    The Neonate tore at the carcass with frantic zeal, trying to get in as much food as possible before any others showed up.

    The pair sprung at each other, snarling as they squabbled. Their attacks drew blood in the form of a multitude of superficial cuts and bites. She shifted as she continued to stuff herself, her belly a little distended, focusing on the combat as she ate.

    The pair were naturally suited for it, she could see. Jaws and claws flashed in the sun. They rolled in the dirt, snarling and whining in turn as they tried to determine dominance on their first day of survival.

    After she had eaten as much as she possibly could, feeling a little nauseous, she scurried away from the carcass. She wanted to remain out of anyone¡¯s focus. The neonate decided to stay close to the Provider. He wouldn¡¯t protect her from the others, but maybe standing near him would signal she was done eating.

    Good! Her Instinct hissed.

    She dropped the camouflage, returning to her default greens, browns, and blacks. As she moved, she paused, noting that once again the Provider was evaluating her with his carmine gaze. She knew what it was now. He had seen her change to hide from the others.

    She looked back at him.

    He didn¡¯t blink.

    The Provider¡¯s red eyes slid in their sockets to continue his inspection of her as she got closer to him. Different aspects of her Instinct warred with each other. She could have stood easily in his hand, and he would have no trouble at all crushing her as well.

    He wouldn¡¯t.

    She knew that.

    At the same time, she recognized a true predator, a monster of the swamp more than twenty times her size. As tall as the trees. Something that could kill and eat her like a snack without breaking a sweat. It was intimidating.

    Instinctual knowledge won out though. The neonate eyed the Provider¡¯s black scales, cocking her head before flexing. Her coloration shifted to match his, black as the Dark. She strained again, and matched the red coloration splashed across his throat. Something in those red eyes changed, the focus behind the look lessening before they slid to observe the horizon again.

    He grunted.

    Trepidation gone, and wanting to get a higher vantage point, she clambered up his massive arm. The rippling muscles and thick black scales made it easy to get up to his shoulder, providing places for her claws to get a grip. The food in her belly had already given her enough energy to make the climb.

    Yes, height. Good. Her Instinct rumbled, content in her stomach now.

    She sat, away from the others, who were starting to separate and curl up, ready to sleep. The meat had been almost completely devoured, not much left. Many of the smaller members looked hungry. Battered and bruised by their fellows. But not her. And that was what mattered.

    Proved my worth. She let her tongue slide from her mouth, licking some of the blood from her snout.

    Something in the air changed. A vibrant tapestry of scents.

    Watch the others, learn their techniques. The little ones. Instinct pulled her yellow eyes down, flattening her body against the Protector¡¯s shoulder.

    As she watched she saw one rip and tear off several large chunks before running away from their pursuers, outrunning them. Another clambered up into the canopy with his food, climbing higher and higher until a branch broke under one of his pursuers, who had to grab a vine or fall to her death. A third was scooping into the hole the Provider had made, slurping up fatty brain tissue before some of the other larger hatchlings noticed and gave chase.

    She took note of the fights as well. Watching with unblinking eyes. She would have to learn and learn quickly.

    Survive. Or die.

    She squeaked. Missing her egg.

    After a while, things died down, and many of her peers took to sunning themselves. They squabbled over the best spots. She lucked out. They didn¡¯t see that the Provider was an option, and a very good one at that. His black coloring radiated heat wonderfully. And so long as she maintained a similar coloring, so did she.

    He had dozed off. His eyes still slightly open, but his long slow breaths were soothing. She gripped his scales with tiny claws. Feeling full and content. It wasn¡¯t long before she was dozing on the back of the Provider. Saving her energy for the days to come. Her tongue flickered out.

    The new cascade of scents was stronger.

    It grew darker, and something cold splattered against her, making her jump, squeaking. The others were soon also squeaking. As a collective they all looked up, realizing that it was water falling from the sky.

    Rain.

    The others scrambled, hunting cover, squabbling over that as well. She didn¡¯t rush. Observing. There was a section of the Provider sheltered from the rain under a tree. She moved there. Laying down on his bicep, which was still warm from the sun.

    He grunted deeply again, his whole body vibrating under her.

    The dark mass of his body kept her warm as the foliage kept her dry. The rumble of his grunting changed as the Provider opened his mouth. She didn¡¯t understand the purpose right away. The neonate could tell there was more to this vocalization than just making complex sounds.

    ¡°Tok, hatchlings. My name is Tok, and you all will prove you are worthy of life, as was decreed of old, or you will die.¡±

    It would not be long before she and the rest of the brood would understand it as language. It would only take them a few days under his tutelage.

    And so ended the very first day of her life, the trials to prove she was worthy of it only just beginning.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 3: Strength

    Never underestimate the value of a lesson learned. Double the value if it is learned with minimal guidance. For both the scaled and unscaled.

    -From Canticles: 4:10-12

    The days passed quickly, and the hatchlings developed even quicker.

    Those that survived, anyway, and the neonate felt lucky to be one of them. Many of the smallest of them starved, too weak and too slow to get enough food in the crucial first few days. But not her, the smallest of the hatchlings.

    Though she was constantly hungry, her tail thin and visibly bony compared to the others, she managed to make it through. But she knew determination and stubbornness alone could only take her so far.

    The neonate relied heavily on her camouflage in the beginning. But she also tried to rush in and back out again like the other smaller hatchlings. She needed the practice, seeing as flight was her only chance of avoiding injury if caught.

    She had liked sprinting. The freedom of it. The speed. The action. And it only took two days for that to be stolen from her by the claws and teeth of the rest of the brood. Especially the male she had tried to strike the day she hatched.

    He showed a cruel streak towards all of the smaller hatchlings. Always striking one more time when the others would back off. Always targeting existing wounds. Always searching her out to show dominance.

    She hissed thinking about him. Him and his hate filled eyes.

    Her stomach gurgled. Another pain to endure.

    Need food. Growth! Her Instinct insisted. But she didn¡¯t know what to do about it.

    The neonate tried to use her camouflage even more than before, taking her time, finding a shadowed space to start at. But it wasn¡¯t foolproof. The others could smell her. And if she was ever caught eating out of turn¡­

    She cringed.

    She remembered ruthless clawed feet, kicking her over and over again as she tried to crawl away. Scales torn away from her hide. Bruises that left her limping the next day. Teeth knocked out. Pain becoming her constant companion. Her pride shredded into ragged tatters.

    Her teeth grew back. Her bruises healed. But that was time, resources, and energy wasted. And her anger only continued to grow. With the others, with the world, but most of all with herself.

    Fight! Her Instinct snarled, frustrated.

    That wasn¡¯t an option either. The injuries were only getting worse as the others grew faster than her. It forced her to rely more and more on her camouflage. And the more she used it, the better she got with it. But it was never enough since the others could smell her.

    She felt trapped. Trapped in her own tiny body. Useless. Weak. Pathetic.

    Live! Her Instinct snarled, smashing against her depression with the vindictive pride of an apex competitor.

    The neonate bared her teeth, growling as the cicadas buzzed.

    I hate them all.

    Learn.

    She grunted. She would try.

    Feeding became a part of her instruction, if only for her to squeeze more use out of it. The neonate watched the others, seeing how they moved, fought, ran. All of it. She started miming the movements she saw at night. Hiding her practice at the behest of her Instinct.

    Hidden skills are a surprise. Use that.

    She did the same with her camouflage. Straining to increase how long she could maintain it. How quickly she could alter her pattern. How accurate the colors were. And while it did yield some results, it never seemed to be enough. It was like she was missing something.

    She continued to observe from the shadows. Searching for something, anything, that might help her survive. She found that she was able to understand and analyze their techniques much more thoroughly after eating. It was like hunger stifled her thoughts too, not just her growth. She took note of techniques that worked well, but also what ones did not. Finding both very instructive.

    Good! Learn!

    During this time, it did not take long before the basics of their language sunk in, mostly through their interactions with Tok. None of them wanted to interact much with the others, their Instincts calling for competition, pushing for solitude.

    But Tok forced them to spend time together. To learn their language and culture. He explained that if an outside threat came, he could rely on the fact that they could all understand his directions.

    ¡°This trial is for you each to prove worthy of a place within the brood and earn a name. It is a struggle against each other, not against the apex denizens of the swamp. You are not ready for that. Not yet,¡± he said.

    In the days that came, while they gorged on the food provided, or tried to not get beaten, scratched, or bitten again in her case, Tok also spoke of their culture. In particular, his sacred position as their guardian and the observer of their trial. It was less about the instinctual things that they understood and more about the why of it. Why such things were right.

    He held a gulper as he spoke. A large fleshy fish with feelers and a wide thick lipped mouth. Nearly eight feet long.

    ¡°Mothers have shown favoritism in the past. Such things are bad for the brood,¡± he stated, tearing free a great chunk of flesh and swallowing. ¡°Your sire¡¯s caste determined who would provide for their offspring during the trial.¡±

    He tossed what was left of the carcass to the multitude and they all swarmed it.

    The neonate was punched in the eye and then tripped by another¡¯s tail. Left to be trampled by the others. She yelped and squealed in pain, curling around herself and trying her best to protect her head. By the time she limped to the carcass, there was barely anything left.

    Again.

    She could feel the bruises swelling under her scales. She stripped the ribs of the remnants, searching the mouth and finding some tongue to eat. It curbed the pains, but she was in no way full. And what was worse, there was even less than last time.

    This cannot continue. I will not last. Need to grow, to catch up, to become competitive.

    Compete!

    Eating and learning were not the only things that the brood did with Tok. They joined him in basking. She always matched his coloration, finding it warmed her faster when she mimicked his black scales. And she remained the only one to ever climb onto him to sun herself, a relief from the constant torment. A chance to recover if only slightly. His eyes rested on her again, before sliding back to scan the crowd of hatchlings.

    His silence pained her. No grunt. No approval. He could see she was dying.

    I might not even be worth the effort of eating¡­

    Live! Learn! Her Instinct snarled, filling her claws and making them clench.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    He looked back at her again and she let go of his scales, squeaking apologetically.

    He looked at her for a long time. Half-lidded sanguine eyes unreadable. They looked away from her and slowly closed as the sun continued to rise towards midday.

    Later, Tok gave a lesson about why challenge was a key aspect of their lives.

    ¡°The world that the gods have made gives us all challenges. Trials and tribulations to overcome to prepare us for the Kzik¡¯hassezm.¡± Tok said with a paternal growl, basking on his belly as his lazy eyes observed.

    Why can¡¯t the gods make us ready? She kept the blasphemy to herself. Her Instinct growled in disapproval.

    ¡°Kzik¡¯hassezm?¡± One of the others asked. The big male. The one she had tried to strike at. First amongst her bullies. The one she wanted to die.

    The Provider turned to him, ¡°When Haan-Kezk al¡¯Shezd¡¯s bloodlust and desire for great challenges will finally be sated, and yet more will come.¡± He turned back to face the whole brood, ¡°When Sch?nezk shall charge forth once again and slaughter the demon Falsescaled by the thousands, only to have thousands more vomited out of their still gnashing maws. When the very seas dry into plains of salt, and Salinnia¡¯s corpse will rot on the earth. When the prey will grow fallow and there will be naught to eat but our enemies and the weak.¡±

    His voice grew in conviction, captivating and terrifying them as it became a snarl, ¡°When even Ravo will despair at the multitude entering her domain as they die. So much so that she may choose to open the faceted earthblood gates to release the worthiest warriors back into the world of the living. A desperate attempt to keep the endless ring, the cycle of cycles, turning.¡±

    The collective grunted and hissed. The neonate could feel her Instinct quiver at that idea. Such unnatural things were not to be.

    ¡°We must be ready. It is our duty. The one we have been bred to face. For a thousand-thousand years and more this has been in the making.¡±

    The neonate liked stories of battles. She always hoped for more hints to improve her own methods. But this wasn¡¯t that. It was¡­ anathema.

    Calm. Be calm.

    The Provider continued with a long hiss, ¡°If the brood is weak, then cataclysm will be the outcome. A terminus to the outflow of life.¡±

    A fish jumped in the river, splashing loudly before there was the hollow snap of an alligator¡¯s jaws. She turned to look, and saw roe floating on the surface, unfertilized, underdeveloped.

    Not given a chance to live.

    ¡°Not just the brood, but all of Szez¡¯tek Vooznal¡¯s children. All life. Scaled and unscaled, flora and fauna,¡± Tok lifted a massive, clawed hand, fingers spread, palm towards the sky, ¡°even the eyes of Zasa¡¯avi, the very stars, would be put out. Falling from the heavens to crash, smoldering, into the earth.¡± His hand shot down, slapping the ground so that the reverberations shook them all with the force of it.

    Most of the hatchlings squeaked in surprise.

    ¡°Time would cease, all would freeze. And the very construction of everything would unravel.¡± He looked around the group. ¡°If that were to happen, not even if the other gods freed Baha¡¯an would there be any saving us. No weapon stolen would fix the world then.¡±

    He looked to make sure that the point was made before ending his statement. ¡°So the first genera said, and so it will be if we are not prepared.¡±

    ¡°The first genera do not lie. The first genera do not mislead.¡± The neonate joined the chorus, and her Instinct also took up the mantra within her belly as it grumbled again. ¡°The first genera were betrayed. The first genera cannot be forgotten.¡±

    ¡°So we fight from the start?¡± One of the brute-hatchlings asked after the catechism. A male who was a little more than twice her size already. She recognized him, his longer claws, the one who had been squabbling with the female with the overdeveloped jaws earlier.

    Slash. Her Instinct named him, which made the female Biter, who she saw already had a healing cut along her broad muzzle.

    ¡°In all things.¡± Tok replied, shifting slightly, shoving a boulder into the river with a slight splash. He could have lifted it, but he instead used a wedged sapling to lever it out of the way. ¡°It does the brood little good to have a weakness in its members.¡±

    This seemed to encourage the largest of the brood, but something about how Tok spoke of strength told her that he didn¡¯t just mean physical might. She looked at the sapling that had been wedged under the boulder.

    In all things. She pondered that before bedding down for the night. Curling up right behind the Providers head.

    A few days later, he started teaching them what he called ¡®The language of the smoothskins¡¯. Apparently, there were beings out there without claws or fangs. They had skin as smooth and rubbery as the massive gulpers that lived in the muddy waters of the swamp according to Tok¡¯s own teachings. They sounded hideous to her, and it was one of the few times that she had asked a question in front of the others.

    Worse still, their language didn¡¯t use prefixes to indicate emotion, and was difficult to pronounce at the best of times.

    I could be resting. Saving my energy for the next carcass. She ground her freshly regrown teeth.

    ¡°Why would we need to learn their language? There are none here to speak with,¡± she asked, trying to ignore the attention the question placed on her.

    Tok¡¯s lazy red eyes slid to regard her. ¡°That is something for you to learn if you survive, hatchling.¡±

    That rankled.

    The smoothskins were clearly less than the brood, which could survive from hatching. From the sounds of it, they were parasites even before they were laid. Feeding off the mothers before even being hatched, and then continuing after that. Stuck in clutches of one or two at most.

    They were weak!

    They were less than all of them!

    They are less than even me¡­

    Her Instinct roaring with approval, she spoke up again, her words heavy with dismissive and hate filled prefixes, ¡°But why not use them as fodder? Why not use them as the example of what not to be? Are they not cursed? They are clearly some mistake of Szez¡¯tek Vooz-¡±

    ¡°They are cursed for the stupidity of their forefathers!¡± Tok snarled, and they all flinched. Worse, the others pulled away from her so that she stood alone, highlighted by a gap of several yards. She fought back a shudder. She hadn¡¯t meant to imply dislike of the Provider. Had she done that?

    Fear gripped her as he stared at her.

    Hide, run, exposed. Her Instinct rattled her spine as she stood in the open, singled out by the Provider¡¯s gaze, all the bravado drained from her in an instant.

    ¡°I-¡±

    ¡°Be quiet, neonate. In your heart as well.¡± Tok continued, his red eyes no longer lazy as he continued to stare at her, an explosive sigh pouring out from his nostrils.

    The attention of an Apex¡­

    She wanted to sink into the mud, to become water and seep into it, to hide. She realized her scales had lost their saturation, going grayish, almost white with fear. She flexed her skin and forced them back to the rich dark black, but the damage was done.

    The others were starting to learn to use their camouflage, and she saw orange amusement in their skin. Knowing what it meant just like how she knew the smell of water.

    ¡°Once they were our equals. Fellow receivers of Baha¡¯an¡¯s favor.¡± Tok lifted one massive hand, palm out, wiggling a thumb, and by rote they all mimicked the gesture. ¡°But no longer.¡± He lowered his hand. ¡°They are to be pitied. They have no Instinct anymore to guide them.¡± He hissed softly.

    The whole group froze. The neonate¡¯s eyes went wide. What?

    She couldn¡¯t comprehend that. Her own Instinct gibbered at the thought of being silenced. How did they know what to do? How to do it? How to¡­ anything?

    Deformed monsters¡­

    Tok continued with a hiss, ¡°They deserved it at the time, but in some ways, they have proven that they can overcome that blight of their bloodline.¡± his prefixes signaling his anger at the scaleless.

    He sat up, and took out a thing of the smoothskin world, a ceramic¡­ something¡­ It was oddly shaped, had a lid, and a tube-like spout on one side.

    ¡°They craft. They build. They are multitudinous.¡± With one hand he deftly slid a reed over the spout. ¡°They are our holy rivals, and I thank the gods for such fine competitors. Never underestimate them, no matter how much better the brood is than they.¡±

    What is he doing? Making something? A tool? Why?

    He wound a vine around the join of reed and spout, before placing the device amongst his belongings with a satisfied grunt. ¡°We lag behind them in such matters for now, but that does not mean that we cannot catch up.¡± His red eyes met hers again.

    A mawfrog croaked loudly in the distance.

    He isn¡¯t talking about the smoothskins anymore, is he?

    Compete. Her Instinct hissed gently in her mind.

    He turned to slide back into the water. To hunt their next meal.

    Strength in all things.

    An idea struck her. What if she started getting her own food? He couldn¡¯t plan to feed them for the rest of the trial. Not completely. And if she got her own food away from the others, they couldn¡¯t take it from her. At least not as easily. All she had to do was¡­ figure out how to kill something.

    The brood has been shaped by the gods for that. It shouldn¡¯t be too hard.

    Adapt. Learn. Survive!

    She slunk into the shadows, away from the others, mimicking the ferns and underbrush as she searched for something to eat. Her stomach gurgled. She would have to.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 4: Kingbill

    The world wants to teach us all. All broods. Predators and prey. The lesson is simple. Live.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:38-42

    The neonate lay under a fern. The sun was glorious and warm. Perfect to bask in.

    She was constantly tired and hungry, so it was a treat to rest like this. She was still figuring out how to feed herself. Hunting took energy as well, which was a depleting resource. Adding to the pressure to figure it out with each passing minute.

    Food. Her Instinct gurgled from her empty belly.

    She shivered, remembering her last attempt to feed at the nest. Her bruises still ached.

    The neonate did get scraps, but that¡¯s all they were. Scraps. She needed more if she was ever going to catch up to the others in size.

    She pushed the worries from her mind. Wanting to take some time to nap. She refocused on how to find quick filling meals.

    Perhaps termites? She had thought of a possible method using a stick, but she would have to try it first.

    A river emperor dragonfly hummed past. That would be a meal. As big as she was and packed with delicious protein. They were far too fast though, and in some respects it would be a shame to kill off another predator like that.

    Fool! Other things do not think that way. Meat is meat. Consume! Survive!

    Something rattled off in the far distance. Too deep to be a woodpecker. Another rattle answered, this one a little closer.

    That made her think of eggs. She had yet to find any of those.

    Birds make excellent prey.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    Something rustled through the underbrush. The neonate¡¯s eyes snapped open.

    It wasn¡¯t loud, but something about it was¡­ sinister. Something made her muscles tighten. She let her tongue flicker out for a moment.

    No scent. Wind is bad though. Her Instinct hissed suspiciously, sliding from her nose to her eyes, making them rove in all directions.

    It feels like¡­ being watched¡­

    She shifted colors, hoping to hide. She continued to search for whatever it was, not moving her head. Only her eyes. Not wanting to give herself away.

    RADADADADADADADADADADADADADADAT!

    A shadow blocked out the sun.

    Run! Her Instinct screeched, slamming into her legs.

    Mud churned. Dry leaves crackled. She shot forward. Acidic fear burned in her belly.

    The predator slammed into the earth. The avian beak scraped the top of her tail before she was out and away, sprinting.

    A massive taloned foot pinned her down for a moment. She wriggled madly, squeezing out from under it as the beak crashed down again. The sides of it were razor sharp, cutting her leg as she fell onto her back to get away. Facing the predator.

    She looked up into the terrifying gray eyes of an enormous bird. More than four times her height, nearly five and a half feet. She could almost have fit entirely in its domed beak. The single hook at the tip glinted as the mouth opened slightly.

    Run! Kingbill! Run! Her Instinct demanded.

    RADADADADADADADADAT!

    It rattled its beak together, and she hissed in terror. Her hand landed on a rock as she was scrambling back. She threw it at the beast, making its head lean back. She scrambled to her feet.

    Dodge, now!

    She dove to the right and the beak crashed next to her. She ran the other way, hoping to confuse it.

    It rattled again, head swiveling. Searching. She slid into the reeds, burrowing in as deep as she could. Her hand landed in something slimy. Her tongue flickered out.

    Eggs!

    A huge mass of amphibian eggs. She would have to remember this location if she wanted to-

    The sun grew brighter. The Bird had started snipping the reeds with its beak! It spotted her and lunged in. She dove into the slimy pile of eggs to avoid it, going deeper and getting into the water proper.

    A long toe pressed her down, she gurgled, but wriggled free once again. Through the water¡¯s ripples she could see the wobbly shape that was the Kingbill. It moved closer, feeling with its long toes for her.

    Getting worse! Land!

    Her Instinct was right, she wasn¡¯t fast enough in the water, and she didn''t want to get sucked downstream. Away from the Island and the protection of the Provider.

    The beak plunged again, and it was only the reeds that kept her from being bifurcated by the obsidian sharp edge.

    She squealed as she was lifted high, the beak opening as she was tossed to be facing head first towards the throat.

    No! I am not dying here!The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Fight!

    She dug her claws into the fleshy tongue, snapping with her own jaws. It was hot, slimy, and she felt her teeth sink into the flesh. Blood.

    The massive bird squawked, deafening her as it opened its mouth and shook its head, sending her sailing through the air.

    She tumbled painfully into the dirt, the Kingbill¡¯s saliva and blood making the soil into mud as she scrambled back to the safest place that she knew.

    The nesting site.

    The bird followed.

    Other hatchlings saw the bird chasing the neonate and fled. It flapped its wings as it ran, nearly eight feet across. The wind generated blew one hatchling off of a rock as she tried to run.

    She was small like the neonate.

    She watched in horror as the other little female splashed into the river, screaming as the current pulled her away from the island.

    Distraction! Run!

    The bird didn¡¯t slow, focused on the neonate. She turned away and ran even faster, gasping. Needing Tok. She hoped just his size would make the bird leave.

    She crashed through the ferns into the clearing of the nest, and saw¡­ nothing.

    He wasn¡¯t there!

    Just the remnants of the eggshells and the stripped bones of the last meal the Provider had given them, another gulper.

    The bird swooped into the clearing. Landing and striking again in the same motion, making her scramble.

    RADADADAT!

    She could feel its frustration as it continued to lunge at her. That vicious hook glinted each time.

    It kicked her and she tumbled, cracking her head on the gulper¡¯s skull.

    The Kingbill flapped its wings, stalking closer, turning its head one way and then the other.

    In! Now!

    Desperate she clambered into the reeking bony gulper skull.

    Seeing what she was doing, the Kingbill rattled and shot forward. Its beak banged against the skull of the gulper, but she was inside.

    It snapped again, shaking her this way and that. She snarled as the point of the beak broke through the skull, scratching her calf. Light shone in through the new hole.

    The skull cracked, then lifted.

    Yelping she dove through the throat of the fish and hit the ground running. The Kingbill noticed her and dropped the skull, squawking now.

    She grabbed a rib, tearing it free of the dried connective tissue. Long and thin, it came to a point.

    She spun and jabbed it at the massive bird¡¯s eye. Hissing in defiance as the Kingbill launched forward yet again.

    The bone sunk in! The Kingbill rattled and shook its head, beating its wings. She was blown backwards and ran into the ferns. It remained behind, head low, the bone sticking form its closed eye, scratching at it with a foot.

    She scrambled up into the canopy, going up as high as she could. She shifted to match the colors of the mangrove, turning to watch.

    The Kingbill managed to pull the bone from its eye. Unfortunately another hatchling had chosen that moment to try and flee from their hiding place. The Kingbill turned, tilting its head to regard her peer with its remaining eye.

    The hatchling zigzagged, trying to double back into the ferns. The Kingbill seemed to consider for a moment.

    RADADADADAT!

    It startled the other hatchling and he fell.

    The beak came down. There was a short sudden cry as the hook of the beak caught the hatchling. The Kingbill flipped the little Greenscale in the air and caught him by his head, snipping it off.

    The neonate¡¯s broodmate was dead. The head landed on the ground, eyes already dim. Rolling slightly so that they stared right at her.

    The neonate watched, both horrified and a little smug as the bird picked up the rest of the body, orienting it to be head- well¡­ neck first. With a single swallow, the corpse was gone. It then looked down at the head, tilting its head this way and that before plucking it off of the ground, consuming that as well.

    With one last terrifying rattle, the Kingbill flapped its wings. Running awkwardly for a few steps it was soon in the air, circling the clearing before heading out over the trees.

    Wounds. Her Instinct insisted, never missing a chance to remind the neonate of things she already knew.

    She would have to wash them as best she could, but later. The wounds, while painful, had already scabbed over. She wanted to breathe and recover from her fright for a moment.

    There was a buzzing hum. Another river emperor! It landed on the branch below her. It was eating a beetle.

    She froze, staring at it. Her mouth watered. It would still be something of a fight for her, the insect was that large.

    So much meat. She crawled closer.

    Learn! Kingbill!

    She stopped, her shadow almost covering the insect. She remembered. That was what had alerted her. She thought about how she had escaped as well.

    Good. Where it will be. Her Instinct hissed from her jaws. Eager to crunch down on her target.

    Her tongue flickered out. She observed the branch. A small branch to the left. It would go forward or right. It couldn¡¯t go down, and she didn¡¯t expect it would go backwards.

    Best be safe. Aim for the middle. Not the head.

    She estimated the distance one last time, coiling her hind legs behind herself.

    She waited, searching for the perfect mom-

    It wiped its forelimb over its large compound eyes.

    She sprung!

    Arms spread and jaws wide.

    It started to fly backwards and to the right!

    She tried to shift in midair, eyes unblinking. Her claws tore into one of the wings. Her other hand grabbed one of the middle legs.

    It fluttered and writhed in her grip. She ripped through the wispy thin membrane. Laming its ability to fly. It still writhed, mouthparts working as it turned its head.

    They fell down another branch. It crunched slightly and it¡¯s movements became weaker. The neonate snapped her jaws onto its neck. Chitin crackled and the gooey innards were rich and delectable.

    Finish! Her Instinct purred from her belly, waiting eagerly.

    She tore the head free, crunching down on it. It was too large to swallow whole, but it took only two bites.

    The dragonfly continued to twitch, shaking her, but weakly. Squirming now. Her stouter terrestrial build was enough to keep it under control now that it was dead.

    Why does it twitch afterwards?

    Body doesn¡¯t know it is dead. Her Instinct hissed, licking its figurative chops as she tore into the gelatinous insides of the insect. The neonate had torn the wings away, discarding them and taking another bite.

    She took her time, making sure to eat all she could. Eventually the only thing left were the glittering wings. Sparkling in the midday sun.

    Satisfied for the moment, she crawled out onto the branch, basking again. She shifted her scales to match the mangrove even better than they already did. Putting in striations of color and pattern.

    She thought she might try to get that nap now before she went to clean out her wounds.

    Off in the distance, there was another rattle, and a chill clattered down her vertebrae.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 5: Infection

    Strive to improve. Strive to be the best. Hone yourself like a fine earthbone blade so that you may cut deep into the enemy when the time comes. You will be notched, you will bend, and eventually you will break.

    -From Vocationals: 2:1-4

    Time passed, and so did those hatchlings that were, by their death, clearly proven to be weak. And the neonate was not amongst the fallen.

    What was interesting to her was that some of those that hadn¡¯t survived were some of the more brutish of the brood, confirming to her that Tok had meant a more complete meaning of the word strength when he spoke of it. It seemed that, for some, their initial advantage in size became a detriment.

    They couldn¡¯t maintain the intake that they needed to survive. Eventually finding it hard to fight off the multitude of others that were squabbling over the same resource. It served as further evidence that she was on the right track as far as finding her niche and overcoming her stature.

    Like the others, she grew explosively, doubling in size in the first twenty days, though that only added to the pressures to compete for food. A larger frame meant a greater need to eat. It was an issue for all of them.

    She continued grazing, relying less on regular meals and more often catching insects and nightcrawlers as she explored her surroundings. But she found herself having to expand the area in which she roamed. Not just for more prey, but also to avoid the others. They too had started branching out, which led to occasional squabbles that she would rather avoid.

    So the neonate traveled even farther away from the nest. Though she did so with care after her encounter with the kingbill.

    That was why she started to prioritize the use of the canopy more. It pleased her Instinct, even though it forced her to slow down while she got used to navigating up there. And it kept her up above many of the predators that prowled through the undergrowth.

    She needed to stay ahead of her appetite. It helped her grow, it gave her energy, and it cleared the fog of hunger from her thoughts.

    All three were crucial.

    She knew that she had to rely on technique more than pure brawn. She would never survive if she just tried to out muscle any of the others. She had to learn from the sidelines first.

    Good. Adapt.

    What was more, they all grew stronger. The squabbles growing more and more deadly. Which led to more of the weak culling themselves out of the brood.

    One hatchling, who had slashed and bit at the smaller hatchlings viciously, had spent so much time fighting others off that he didn¡¯t eat enough. Too focused on not letting any of them eat that by the time he turned to eat the other apexes had finished off the food and left.

    Several hatchlings seemed to overestimate their abilities based on size alone, trying to pick on others that were too close to their own size.

    While they had won the scuffles, it was at the ultimate cost, albeit days later as their wounds became infected. Their skin and scales went dull, the slashes and bites oozing stinking rotting pus, the very skin itself flaking away before they eventually became too weak to move.

    And in spite of the threat of infection, Biter and Slash were constantly going at it. Fortunately for the dueling pair, they only ever landed glancing blows. Even at their tender ages, they could easily tear each other apart.

    Slash spun like a whirlwind, forcing Biter to jump back, hissing.

    He charged forward, his technique near perfect.

    Hips twisted, shoulder rotated, bicep propelling the forearm forward, claws hooking to lacerate.

    And Biter still dodged, stepping into it and grabbing his arm, her own hips twisting, throwing him.

    He nimbly landed on his feet, toeclaws digging into the dirt as he charged again.

    Snap!

    He had to pull up short as Biter¡¯s powerful maw made an audible sound, gnashing on the space he had just vacated. She used the reversal to begin her attack.

    And so it went for hours.

    The neonate didn¡¯t think that they were holding back. Not with the speed and viciousness they were fighting with.

    They are both just that naturally talented.

    Learn! Her Instinct snarled, sliding into her eyes and helping her keep track of it all.

    It seemed both were trying out new methods of camouflage too. They had stripes of green paste smeared on their bodies in a few places.

    Perhaps to hide their smell? She would have to explore her botanical options at some point too.

    The conflict made her concerned for her own prospects. She would die if she fought either. Part of her hoped they would kill each other.

    Such a loss would be a boon.

    Not to the brood, idiot neonate. The snappish reply from her Instinct stung more than if it had come from someone else. Challenge! Make me stronger. Find a way!

    She hissed thoughtfully at that. Combat was one of the things she couldn¡¯t afford to do. Not yet.

    They all feared infection. It added tension to the squabbles that was felt by all of the hatchlings. As more died, even Biter and Slash started to dodge attacks. And the neonate always made sure to skulk nearby to watch, seeing new and better ways to move, to duck and weave, and to regard any strike as possibly fatal.

    That came into play much more than counterstrikes, as the others started focusing on her as a weak link every time she tried to feed. Thinking of their own survival. Expecting her to try to fight back.

    She was frustrated by it at first, until she realized that it was helping her hone her reaction time and teaching her the fundamentals that practice alone couldn¡¯t manage.

    She still got small cuts and bruises though, and each one filled her with dread. Her nightmares became full of her body going gangrenous and necrotic, the flesh sloughing off, the white bone beneath becoming visible. What was more, as time went on, the amount that a difference in size played as a determining factor in how much food each hatchling could acquire started to fade.

    ¡°Water is the source of all life. It quenches thirst, it washes the corruption from the body, and it houses the most ancient bloodlines of the endless ring,¡± Tok said during one of their lessons.

    He showed them how to pay homage to the gods with it. A ritual bath, a scrub with sand, a bask in the light of the sun. She took to this fervently, desperate to do anything to keep the infections at bay, her wounds clean. And any favor with the pantheon was just an added bonus.

    She saw it wasn¡¯t enough though if the wound was too severe, a male who bathed multiple times a day got mauled by the bully male. It didn¡¯t happen as quickly, but the infection did sink in.

    He willingly surrendered his life to the Provider when the pain got too bad. Tok had made it quick.

    The slightly smaller individuals became sneakier about how they fed, or became quick, darting in and ripping off portions before dashing out of reach. That meant they were getting faster and faster, able to outpace her in her own attempts. And still she struggled, ever desperate to go faster, to keep going.

    To sprint!

    She craved to enjoy it again.

    Faster! Her Instinct always snarled from her legs.

    Her thighs and calves became taut with muscle, and she ran through the treetops at night, trying to keep away from the others, to keep her nocturnal training a secret. To master the canopy and moving through it.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    I need every edge I can get.

    So long as it cuts. Her Instinct hissed.

    She would have ruminated on it more, were she not facing her own issues. She was quickly falling behind in size compared to the others. This was all in spite of her complete mastery of her camouflage, her true talent.

    Her skill there was much greater than all the others, letting her move and shift her pattern so that she stayed hidden at the same time. Despite that, she was falling behind her broodmates, starting to starve. The problem was that the food was always placed in the open, away from cover, and there was no other way except dashing out to get close enough to eat.

    And the other hatchlings could still smell her. That was becoming a major issue.

    It kept her fed, it kept her alive, but she was in a strange transitional size where the insects and smaller creatures were too small for her, and the larger ones would turn her into prey. And she was using too much energy in her training. Not enough of it was going to fuel her growth. But the neonate worried that if she stopped, the lack of skill would be what killed her.

    Trapped forever running just to maintain my position. This will be the next thing that cuts out the weak.

    Her Instinct grunted in agreement from the back of her mind.

    That would be fine, but the neonate felt like she was one of the ones getting cut. Pain started to rack her body, which screamed for more food. Despite her best attempts, she was easily knocked away or viciously attacked when the Provider brought a fresh kill. And it took too much energy to catch insects to justify the effort, especially with the brood decimating the population of them.

    Even trying the other strategies she had seen work yielded mediocre results. It was because she was the smallest specimen left, and by a growing margin. All of the other hatchlings that were close to her size kept dying off. And the others were becoming more and more dangerous. She couldn¡¯t just mimic them and expect to compete with her weaker body.

    Find a niche. Her Instinct insisted, and while she vaguely understood the concept, her hindbrain didn¡¯t have any details on how exactly she was supposed to do that.

    She had found that she could eat the berries on the island and supplement her diet with those. She had been painstaking in hiding this knowledge from the others, not needing competition there too.

    But she had to eat something more.

    She was starving.

    Survive.

    Tok dropped the smashed and bloody remains of a medium sized crocodile onto the nest. As he did, a Greenscale leg and tail dangled limply in his massive jaws, signaling that another of their peers had died. The Provider tossed his head like the kingbill, tossing the corpse in his mouth, swallowing after positioning it to his liking.

    He always consumed those that failed to prove their worth, and seemed to have something of a sixth sense of when it happened.

    He crunched lazily, heading off away from the carcass as the fittest rushed it, gorging frenziedly. Blood dripped from his left forearm, a terrible rent in his thick hide. It was only after looking at it in horror that she reevaluated, considering the Provider¡¯s massive scale. It only looked so bad because Tok was enormous.

    She watched him walk off, ripping an entire bush out of the ground as he went, one with variegated white and green leaves.

    Why did he do that?

    Feed! Her Instinct hissed from her empty belly, gnawing at her insides with hunger. Yanking her legs towards the tumult of the others ripping into the thick hide of the crocodilian.

    Her stomach snarled indignantly.

    Drool slid down her muzzle, spattering onto the ground below. Her tongue flickered out. She could smell the pungent blood of the beast.

    She had to eat. But how?

    Biting the kingbill¡¯s tongue.

    Fragrant crocodilian blood.

    She looked at the beast¡¯s mouth, and her eyes widened.

    The blood! Mask my scent.

    She had to move, now!

    Compete!

    Her yellow eyes looked from one of her peers to the other. Looking for an opening to dart through. She crept forward, closing her eyes to mere slits, hiding the bright yellow of them that would give her away.

    Hide in the mouth¡­

    She moved around one male, who was face deep in the bloody meat of the crocodile¡¯s hind leg. He paused and she froze, but it was only to swallow before biting in again. Two females hissed at each other, snarling and splitting their attention three ways between eating, swiping at each other, and keeping an eye out for others. She stuck to the shadows, making her way closer¡­ closer¡­ closer¡­

    She ran in, clambering into the mouth of the beast. She couldn¡¯t fit!

    It was the first time she was too big for something. But that wouldn¡¯t matter. She shifted her lower half¡¯s coloring to hide better and stared at the massive tongue. Most would be fighting over the easier portions anyway, so she took a chance. Tearing free gobbet after gobbet. Using her claws and mouth to rip into the soft meat of the tongue. Shredding, tearing, gorging herself as quickly as she could.

    Meat! It was so much better than the insects and berries she had been scraping by with. Fresh, juicy, unctuous, and sweet.

    More! Her Instinct demanded and she obliged with gusto.

    She kept an eye out as she gulped down huge chunks of flesh, barely chewing, getting as much down as quickly as possible. Mid bite, through the snaggle toothed grin of the dead reptile, she saw another rushing at her, hissing and snarling.

    Her bully.

    The one who always targeted her, flashing a pattern of black and red they had all started using for challenging others. The one who¡¯s wound had eventually killed that other male.

    Shit!

    She tried to get away, stumbling back out of the mouth, hissing. Trying to dazzle the other hatchling with a sudden bright prismatic flash of her scales. He jerked at the sudden vibrant display.

    Fight! Her Instinct gnashed from her claws. She had to slow him down. An injury would do that.

    Her hate for him boiled up and she snarled.

    Like Slash!

    She remembered.

    The neonate stopped her retreat, letting the bully close the distance in one stride. She planted one foot, twisting at the hips, her shoulder rotating.

    The bully blinked in surprise, still dazzled by her ongoing display. He clearly had thought she would keep running. She could see him pulling back. His eye already closing in preparation.

    Too late.

    She snarled, bicep shooting her forearm forward, and her claws connected just behind his temple. Slicing through scales. Blood welled. Mostly superficial cuts. For the moment.

    Now!

    She hooked her claw at just the right time, still mimicking Slash. She felt her middle claw dig in, tearing into the eye. Felt the eyelid part. Felt the hot gel burst as she drove the strike home. The sticky wetness of her fellow¡¯s blood spattering against her arm and shoulder from his face.

    She paid for standing her ground though.

    He snarled. Fear welled inside her and she tried to jump back. His slash went along her ribs, his size making up for the lack of technical skill. His claws dug deep and even though she had known to dodge, he still almost disemboweled her. Aiming for her guts.

    Sharp icy pain ripped through her as her own hot wet blood poured out.

    No! Nonononono! Instinct flooded her with fear. Despair. The pain almost washing away with the amount of both. Life! Live! Must live!

    Her squeal was high pitched, and she fell wetly to the ground, forcing herself to try and scrabble away. Staggering. Feet churning the earth and her blood into mud that mashed into the open wounds on her chest and made her lose traction.

    The male kicked savagely, and she squealed again. She managed to sweep his leg with her tail, knocking him to the ground. His empty socket splattered into the mud when he fell.

    He staggered up. His one eye closed and oozing grossly. She had already pulled herself far out of the engagement. Limping away as fast as she could, whining gently and placing her hands over the cuts along her ribs. He started to follow.

    Frantic she searched and grabbed a stone, throwing it at him and hitting him right in his bloody socket. Making him howl in agony.

    She kept staggering. Gasping as she tried to process this disaster. Tried to comprehend the pain.

    Live! No!

    Others watched her leave. She could see the expectation in all of her broodmates¡¯ eyes.

    She would die.

    It didn¡¯t matter that she had eaten her fill, she had been effectively killed. The infection would finish her in time with a wound this grievous.

    She was in shock.

    She couldn¡¯t hear the desperate screams of her Instinct. Staggering into a sapling and leaning there. That, or some part of her just didn¡¯t want to acknowledge them at that moment.

    She saw Biter. Smeared plants on her body. On old wounds.

    What?

    She met the apex¡¯s eyes. She snarled at the neonate and shoved her on her way.

    ¡°Go die, runt.¡±

    She stumbled, looking down, seeing the messy hole that had been created from Tok ripping up the bush earlier.

    Was that important?

    Her Instinct was still in shock at her imminent death.

    Curiosity won.

    If she was going to die, might as well sate that as well. Who knows, maybe Tok would appreciate her being so close to hand all things considered. Her meat would be fresher for him. And she would rather he have her than one of the beasts of the swamp.

    The resignation of it quieted the thrashing drives within her.

    She staggered forward, blood dripping onto the ground.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 6: Flora

    Sometimes the true challenge is learning how to not give up.

    -From Canticles: 1:16

    She followed the trail created by Tok¡¯s constant travel. Worn down to hardened dirt already, shaded by trees. He always came to the nest along the same route.

    That¡­ is important..? She wasn¡¯t sure.

    Pain¡­ Thoughts are¡­ hard¡­

    Blood spattered to the ground with each staggering stride forward. The mud caked on it had slowed the bleeding, but it hadn¡¯t stopped it.

    Leaving a trail¡­ That didn¡¯t matter now.

    The wound twinged as particulate in the mud ground deeper into it.

    Infection, in the soil.

    The neonate knew. It was what would kill her.

    She couldn¡¯t discern her thoughts and the drives of her Instinct anymore, the pain was that bad.

    She found the Provider, and his lazy red eyes slid to regard her. Gritting her teeth she forced herself towards him, whining.

    Did the pupils dilate?

    Does that matter? Why would that matter?

    The bush lay discarded next to him, completely denuded of all its leaves. She quirked her head and saw that he was chewing, more leaves still in his mouth¡­ and a green paste on his arm?

    Seen that before¡­ where?

    She struggled, pressing her hands against the wound.

    Biter and Slash¡­ The paste. Pain spiked as she breathed in, and the thought skittered away. Forcing her to hunt it down.

    He continued chewing. His movements looked rehearsed, a behavior that had been done many times. He spat out some leaves, smeared the paste on his arm. The one with the cut.

    Learn.

    Pushing through the fog of pain, she looked at the other scars along his body. They were under thick scales, but she could tell where they were.

    Then it clicked, and her eyes went wide. Realization undamming her thoughts.

    Wounds! Leaves! Healing!

    Survive! Instinct screamed, slamming against her pain. Wrestling it down. Fighting to keep herself alive through action!

    She rushed forward, climbing onto him.

    He rumbled threateningly.

    Bloody mud spattered onto his forearm as she went for the hand with leaves in it. She reached out to grab some for herse-

    Smack!

    Tok¡¯s other hand collided with her form. She squealed in pain, sailing through the air. The neonate bounced three times off of the ground, finally skidding to a stop. Whining in pain, she curled in around her slashed abdomen. It had been jarred horribly by his strike and was bleeding again.

    Why? No¡­

    ¡°I will not help,¡± he growled, throwing menace at her with a casualness that was far more terrifying than if he had been malicious. And she knew he was right.

    Everything he had taught them had made it perfectly clear that he would not. He judged. He brought food. He taught basic lessons. They had to struggle through the rest.

    Panting in agony, she clenched her jaw. Her survival was within her grasp.

    I deserve to live¡­ I need to prove it.

    Adapt! Survive¡­ Her Instinct gasped from the cut.

    He nodded and took some of the leaves he had been chewing and smeared them into the gash on his arm. She knew what the plant looked like¡­ she had to find it¡­

    Her Instinct whimpered in her subconscious, white and brownish yellow fear wafting from it.

    She forced herself to her feet. Catching one last glimpse of the shape and color of the leaves before struggling out into the island. She found some fresh mud, smearing it over her wound painfully in the hopes it would slow the bleeding like before. In her mind she chanted the shapes, searching with staring frantic eyes.

    Variegated raindrops. Green ringed with white. Wide bush.

    The neonate hadn¡¯t done such an exhaustive exploration of the island before. She had mostly been sticking to just looking for berries and insects as well as hiding from the others. Nor had she thought to ask Tok about the plants of the island. Why would she care? She wasn¡¯t prey.

    At least, she didn¡¯t want to be.

    Her tongue flickered out.

    Predator!

    She hissed and hid under a willow root, pressing against the bark. A Tikabo slunk out of its wallow of mud that was little more than an oversized puddle. Wide head, stubby snout, she saw two rows of teeth as it gulped air. There were several wicked bladelike teeth at the front of its mouth in both rows.

    They were supported by much smaller peg like ones. The blade-teeth intersected, and she wouldn¡¯t be surprized if they were self-sharpening.

    It was a salamander, an amphibian. She remembered the eggs she had seen running from the kingbill.

    Damn¡­ Forgot to eat those.

    It had stubby legs, maybe only four inches long each compared to the creatures almost forty inch long body. It did grip things with its tiny hands, but for the most part it used its sinuous body to slither across the ground. Its long-finned tail helping it maneuver through the mud. Towards the river.

    She winced as the wound throbbed again.

    Hurry!

    She stayed still, scales dark brown and striped like the root, eyes almost completely closed to hide their shine.

    She was glad the wind was blowing towards her, and away from the Tikabo. If she hadn¡¯t been injured she would have easily outrun the creature. But now she wasn¡¯t sure she could get away from it. Even with it being so awkward on land.

    And as she was hiding, she saw her prize.

    There! Her Instinct crowed.

    One of the bushes with variegated white and green leaves.

    Impatiently the neonate waited for the Tikabo to leave, gurgling wetly as it struggled over land. When it was gone she limped over, groaning and snarling quietly against the pain. Tearing some of the leaves free. She tried not to make more noise than needed, not sure what else was lurking in the nearby brush.

    She shoved some into her mouth, chewing franticly. As she did, she staggered to a shaded part of the river. The water, typically lazy and somewhat stagnant, was fast flowing and clear for once.

    Soon. Her Instinct hissed.

    The neonate ignored that, just happy for the fresher water. She used it to wash away most of the mud. She hissed at the pain, fighting it, struggling against it.

    Her teeth were not designed to chew the leaves efficiently. There was a lot of juice. She swallowed a tiny amount before spitting the bitter substance out.

    I will not die here! Gods grant me strength! Let me be a champion! She regretted the blasphemy.

    I rather enjoyed it.

    Survive! Her Instinct gnashed, fighting against the agony. Against the terror.

    I am worthy of a name! I am worthy of the brood! I will prove it! To all who need to see!

    She would be the pinnacle of the Truescales! She promised herself to make it clear to the world someday. She would prove it. Prove it to her rivals, to Tok, even to the gods.

    But most of all, she would prove it to herself.

    As she started smearing the chewed leaves over the wound, there was a sudden stinging bite of pain, worse than earlier when she scrubbed out the mud.

    She hissed, but kept going. Not long after, cooling relief washed over her and the bleeding started to subside. She took advantage of the lessening pain and gathered some more leaves from the bush.

    Instinct pushed its way to the fore of her mind again. That¡¯s enough. I should find another and take from that one. Keep them alive so they can do the same for me.

    She couldn¡¯t fault the impulse of her hindbrain.

    She had resolved to truly think about the drives her Instinct forced upon her, even more so than she already had been. It would be hard, but she had almost died, and that was not acceptable.

    The thought of doing her best to live sent her Instinct into a litany of mantras that she ignored, which surprised her. She had to come up with a way to eat though. That was her most pressing concern if she survived.

    The neonate spent the day searching for the herb, traveling through the underbrush of the island and memorizing where the various bushes were. She thought about how she would get more food, periodically chewing up fresh leaves and replacing the poultice on her injury.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    She couldn¡¯t compete at all. Not wounded like this. But she would need to eat.

    Tikabo eggs. Her Instinct suggested.

    She had forgotten about them again. She wondered what they would taste like. Starting to relax with the jagged edge of her pain smoothed down.

    Heal first. Food later. Hunger wouldn¡¯t kill her as fast as compounding injuries. With that in mind, she felt she should find a secluded space. Somewhere away from the others.

    Somewhere warm. She might as well be comfortable. She slunk through the underbrush, shifting patterns as necessary. Her tail twitching.

    The neonate¡¯s movements were slow, letting her pause when five of the others sprinted past. She crouched lower, behind a stone, and became a part of it. Gray with clear crystals in it. It wasn¡¯t hard to match.

    She liked matching colors.

    What?

    She shook her head, vertebrae shifting back into place with quiet pops, and she moved to the shadows, matching their hue. Continuing her trek.

    She had an idea of where she wanted to go. It wasn¡¯t too much farther. She stumbled on a stone, catching herself, and not making much noise.

    Good, still quiet.

    The brood might take advantage of her weakened state. She had seen it happen to others, getting used as sparring practice. Never to the death, at least, not in the moment. But until she got those Tikabo eggs she couldn¡¯t afford the energy it would take to get away. She had to only spend energy on healing.

    CRRRROOOOAAAK!

    Mawfrog!

    Fighting down a snarl she forced herself up into the canopy. Climbing desperately. Pain thumped occasionally through the numbing effect of the leaves, and she forced herself to work through it.

    I will not get killed by an amphibian!

    She turned to watch, needing to know where to flee to if it somehow proved able to climb. She watched as it hopped by below.

    A kingbill rattled over on the far shore and both she and the beast froze. Was the pattern of its slimy skin¡­ changing?

    Odd¡­

    There was another rattle, and Tok bellowed back. It was a wall of sound, and she nearly fell out of the tree. The mawfrog croaked and fled, hopping back the way it came. Fleeing to the water.

    Pale orange amusement flickered through her thoughts, her pattern reflecting that with the same hue. It blinked like droplets falling into water, the ¡®high points¡¯ of the ripples also changing. She observed it with a strange contented feeling for a moment. As the territorial roar subsided, she could hear the distant sounds of wingbeats.

    Good. Hate them too¡­

    She climbed back down. Her clawed feet scraped against the muddy ground, and her expression tightened with pain.

    Need more leaves¡­

    Yes, chew! Now!

    Ruin first¡­

    She finally found what she was looking for. A leaning structure made of shaped stone blocks. Four sided. It looked like the top had fallen away. Vines climbed to the top, and she used them as easier holds to do the same herself.

    She had spotted it in one of her expeditions to find food, and it seemed to be the perfect place to rest. Not near anything of note, and under the canopy of trees. Only just enough to hide it from above, the sun¡¯s rays shining through the leaves to make the area bright and verdant green.

    She kept getting distracted on her way up to the top, but she made it, flopping down on her back to stare up at the leaves and enjoy the heat of the sun that pushed through them. She stretched out, facing the sky, panting.

    It hurt to lay down. It hurt to breathe. Her entire existence was that of a creature in constant agony. Not as bad as it could have been without the leaves, but still painful. At least the stone was warm from the sun.

    The heat bled into her, not reducing the pain of her wound, but soothing the aches of her muscles. Acting as a balm to her frayed nerves.

    White clouds drifted aimlessly out of reach above her. The neonate caught glimpses of them through the fluttering leaves. For once, she let herself forget about the life and death struggle of the trial.

    The warmth is nice.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    She hissed out a soft sigh of mild relief.

    She stretched out on the rough stone, grunting in the back of her throat. Doing so eased the pressure on her wound. She ran a hand against the rock, its jagged furrows a fitting counterpoint to her pain.

    She took advantage of the position and delicately cleaned the cut with her claws. Plucking out twigs and pebbles. Scooping out remnants of mud. Wincing and gasping as she did. She packed it full with more freshly chewed leaves, the flavor cold in an odd way in her mouth.

    She wondered again why Tok¡¯s use of the same route to bring the food every day was so important. Even full, the day¡¯s events made it hard to concentrate on the idea.

    She sighed, placing her hands on the stone, struggling for a moment before matching its hue and pattern. Perhaps letting the idea stew for a while would allow her to come to a conclusion.

    So warm, so¡­ soft? She pondered the odd sensation. Realizing that her head felt top-heavy as well. It didn¡¯t matter. She should think¡­ She liked thinking¡­

    She had noticed something else. While the amount of food brought by Tok had steadily increased as the brood grew, it wasn¡¯t proportional to their needs. She had seen more and more of the others being pushed away from the food, even though there were less of them. Even though the creatures the Provider brought were much larger.

    Probably to force us to hunt.

    Her Instinct grunted, sliding through her skin, feeling how the stone pressed nicely against her body. When had the leaves turned blue?

    Concern flickered into her thoughts. Something was wrong. But the feeling faded quickly.

    She found she only had room for one line of reasoning in her mind at the moment.

    The amount of energy that they each had to exert to get any food from what was provided was on the rise with them all getting more deadly. Sneakier. More skilled. And their growth required more food as well. A cycle of ever compounding difficulty.

    It is time to start providing for myself. Reliably.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    She looked at the clouds through the canopy, losing track of time for a moment. She was beginning to suspect that her current languor was from the healing leaves.

    The ratio of food might even begin to decrease again, depending on what the target number of successful hatchlings would be allowed to pass the trial. She was sure that, eventually, they would have to start supplementing their own diets with things they gathered on their own.

    Her yellow eyes moved lazily as she watched a dragonfly hum past, its wings iridescent and distracting. She felt like she was spinning slowly.

    Definitely an effect of the herb.

    She¡¯d have to let the latest batch of leaves sit for a while.

    The lazy floating feeling her mind was wafting through was in its own novel way, pleasant. Still, she knew this languor would only make her more of a target for the others.

    There was a loud croak of a mawfrog in the distance, answered by another even farther away.

    Or any swamp predators.

    She doubted that would be an issue.

    Too far inland. Too high up.

    She shifted on the stone pillar, wincing slightly, appreciative of the indifference granted by the leaves. How she wasn¡¯t stressed about anything at all. She was also glad that she had managed to eat her fill today. It would grant her more time to figure out a different strategy before she would starve to death.

    Tikabo eggs? She remembered those. Maybe she could sneak over and get some. She started to sit up, but quickly laid back down as her head spiraled even faster.

    Cicadas called again. The sun moved through the sky.

    Her vision started to blur a little bit as she stopped focusing on anything. That was fine.

    She lazily slid her forked tongue out from between her lips, tasting the air. Not thinking of much. Her thoughts replaced by a pleasant buzzing. Or a sort of hum?

    She wanted to eat something.

    Unfortunately, she wouldn¡¯t be able to search for food right away, as she needed to focus on healing and rest.

    She was sure that there were more methods to surviving. She just had to find them. The healing herbs proved that there were other secrets and learning opportunities on the island. She also could learn much from observing the others from afar. Watching their struggles and their successes.

    They might also have their own secrets that she could find out, which could play a key role in her survival. And not the ones that were currently dominating the trial, but the ones like the neonate. Ones who already were supplementing what the Provider brought to them.

    True, success through struggle. Her Instinct mused, pulling at her hand to take more of the leaves into her mouth. She did so, chewing slowly. Swallowing the juice.

    The wind played across her scales, and she let herself doze as the clouds drifted by. Losing track of time and resigning herself to spending more time healing. As she basked in her stupor, a shadow loomed over her resting form.

    She was supposed to do something when that happened, right?

    A massive hand reached down, scooping her up.

    Such a lovely feeling¡­ being held¡­ Her thoughts were jumbled.

    The world twisted before her eyes. Wiggling shapes of every color.

    Beautiful¡­

    Her Instinct grunted.

    Her tongue slid out languidly. Wanting to smell them. Smell the colors.

    What the neonate could smell was a powerful predator. A reassuring scent. Something glittered, ivory white in the sunlight. She couldn¡¯t move, but everything felt so¡­ peaceful¡­ She could see the black scaled hand beneath her as she flopped almost bonelessly in its grasp. She tried to move, but everything was so¡­ heavy.

    She sighed contentedly. A bright blue worm wiggled in front of her and she tried to snap at it. Wanting to catch it. A fleeting impulse as she was mesmerized by its bright color. Flopping over and nearly falling out of the massive hand holding her. More orange amusement filled her fuzzy mind.

    Something muffled in the background screamed for her to run, to move, to do anything, but all she could manage was another sigh.

    The movement stopped, then a massive finger pressed on her and she squeaked in surprise, rolling over. The hand lowered her back to the top of the ruined stone pillar, pulling away. The shadow moved as well, no longer shading her.

    Time ground on, and it became evening. Her mind less fogged, she forced herself to stand. The leaves had scattered around the foundation of the rock pillar.

    Using the carvings in the four sided structure as handholds, she descended, scooping them back up irritably when she was back on the ground. She chewed only a few, not wanting to feel like that again, pushing the poultice into her wound and spitting out the bitter juice.

    Food¡­ warmth¡­ now¡­ Her Instinct grumbled. She could sense that it wanted her to feel that way again.

    The neonate knew of only one place that would provide consistent warmth. She made her way back to where Tok stayed in between his periodic rounds of the island and deliveries of food. He had a fire there.

    As she staggered and steadied herself against the ground, she almost vomited. Feeling horrible. She could feel the appraisal in the lazy red eyes that followed her as she managed to stand up straight, stiffly moving closer to the fire. Leaves still gripped in a fist.

    She moved cautiously, both because of her injury and also because she didn¡¯t want to get hit again. He didn¡¯t stop her, and soon she was crouched in an empty space next to the smoldering coals.

    She curled up close enough to get some ambient warmth from it, and Tok didn¡¯t stop her. His eyes slid down to her hands, seeing the leaves in them, then he looked back up at her face.

    He grunted.

    He is impressed!

    The tiniest fraction of pride filled her body, washing over her as the sunshine yellow of satisfaction flashed through her scales in thin stripes.

    Still silent, he slowly looked out across the water, towards the setting sun. She found herself also looking in that direction.

    They shared the moment in silence.

    The crimson-orange sun slowly sank below the horizon, illuminating the river as it did so. A heron flew across the river, mawfrogs croaked, and cicadas buzzed loudly as night slowly descended.

    Tok lifted the strange device he had made a few days ago, pushing dried brown leaves into it and, taking a glowing coal from his fire in pinched claws, lighting them. He breathed in through the reed, and soon smoke wafted out of his maw and the device. It had a rich scent, almost sweet.

    ¡°I have needed a pipe for some time now.¡± He rumbled.

    She didn¡¯t answer. She didn¡¯t need to.

    They both sat in silence together, enjoying the natural world for what it was.

    The next day would be difficult, but for that moment before sleeping, she felt accomplished and acknowledged. He wouldn¡¯t help her. As a Provider he couldn¡¯t. But knowing that he approved of her ability to adapt was all the strength she needed to push herself forward.

    She would go see if she could steal those Tikabo eggs soon. At least before they became tadpoles.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 7: Hunger

    The first part of that lesson is harder. Feed. Harder because you must learn what to feed. Obviously your stomach, but what else?

    -From Aphorisms: 1:43-46

    The next day the neonate¡¯s head throbbed. It felt like Tok had stepped on her skull. She groaned, rolling over and clutching at it as she curled into a ball.

    Unhatched position.

    The aftereffects of abusing the herb were just as untenable as the side effects.

    Her head rattled with a fresh spike of pain, and she hissed. Her mouth was dry. She needed to drink. To hydrate.

    Staggering and dragging her feet, she walked around the still sleeping form of Tok. Heading for the bank and squatting next to the river. Tok¡¯s lazy red eyes opened, following her, evaluating.

    She could feel them on her, and his silence felt like judgment. She ignored that feeling, trying to convey indifference. She flinched as a fresh wave of pain pulsed though her skull.

    He grunted. A different kind. Amusement she thought. Her tail drooped a little before she could stop it.

    Trying to distract herself, the neonate carefully inspected the river.

    It was still flowing quickly, maybe even faster than the previous day. Clouds of silt washed by in between large sections of clear water. Clear enough to see all the way down to the bottom. She couldn¡¯t see any predators lurking under the surface, so she drank deeply. Lowering her muzzle under the water and slurping it up.

    Cold! How odd.

    The water did help a little with the pounding of her head. Both drinking it and the coolness splashing against her pounding forehead.

    She winced as one of the sun¡¯s reflections caught her right in the eye, spiking her headache.  I can¡¯t believe I slept out in the open like that.

    She scooped up some sand from the bottom, scrubbing her face clean with it. She was starting to get a bit chilled with all the water though, so she moved to bask on a nearby rock.

    Later, after she had warmed back up, her wound itched. She cleaned out the old poultice with a claw, wincing as it scraped. Sliding off of her rock, she went to where she had piled the herb leaves last night.

    Yes! Chew! More! Her Instinct wanted to go back to that blissful feeling.

    Her head throbbed and she growled, only taking a small amount. The pain working to bolster her resolve. Her Instinct whined.

    I will get killed using that much again. She mentally gnashed at herself, making sure to spit out the juice. Even without swallowing she could feel some of the effects, though not as potently as before. It soothed her wound.

    She thought she was starting to figure out how much to use without getting the side effects from them. Her head throbbed from the previous day, so she was glad that she had figured out the dosage.

    More! Felt good! Her Instinct pleaded with her, the tone becoming demanding as it yanked at her hand again.

    Absolutely not.

    The leaves had made her stupid. Made her dangerous to herself. Made her uncaring of the real dangers of the island. The neonate knew she couldn¡¯t have this happening again, distracting her from the deadly dangers of the swamp and island.

    Her stomach gurgled with need.

    Focus. I must find something to eat. She let her tongue slide out, tasting the air, hoping to smell something close by. There was nothing. She¡¯d have to relocate and try again, and she didn¡¯t like that prospect.

    Movement! Just a flash of it.

    Her yellow eyes locked onto it. Under the water, something small.

    Prey! Her Instinct snarled, pulling her closer.

    What, though?

    There had been a vague impression of long claws dragging. Long antennae. The creature moved backwards in darting pulses.

    She saw it again, for just a moment and moved into the shallows by the bank. Happy for the sun with the cold water around her ankles now. She moved slowly. Trying to disturb as little as possible.

    Can¡¯t go too deep. The current was already yanking at her, and she wasn¡¯t even up to her calves. She had to grip onto the stones and mud of the bottom tightly with her toeclaws.

    She thought it was somewhere around here. She remembered the Tikabo. Hiding from it. Under exposed roots.

    She paused, leaning closer, slowly reaching in to move a small river stone aside.

    There!

    Her hand shot forward with a splash, like the kingbill¡¯s beak. Snatching the crustacean. It pinched her viciously. She hissed in pain, dropping it with a snarl.

    Kill kill kill! Her Instinct snarled, still enraged from being denied the leaves.

    She saw the shiny wet shell for just a moment, a pair of powerful claws, before the crustacean splashed back into the water and zipped under another stone.

    Snipbug! Her Instinct gnashed as she splashed forward. Ripping aside stones and impatiently grabbing at the thing. Fighting through the pain of her injury and her headache.

    She got it, not letting go as it pinched. Snarling in triumph she yanked it out of the water, only to have to fumble at it when the claw detached from the creature¡¯s body.

    Hissing, tossing the claw towards land, the neonate snatched at the beast. It bounced from one hand to another. Its fanned tail snapping against them with enough force that it shot up into the air. The neonate hissed in frustration. Staggering on uneven ground and stubbing a toe on a jutting rock.

    With a growl she clapped both hands together, finally catching it. Soaking wet and cold, but successful in her hunt.

    Tok grunted. Approval this time. She turned to look at him but he was already sliding into the water himself. Off on his own hunt.

    The snipbug¡¯s powerful tail slapped her arm, the spikes of its shell leaving shallow cuts and punctures in the scales of her hands.

    Why did it drop its claw? She wondered, frustrated, sloshing back to the bank.

    Defense mechanism.  She stamped on her Instinct, frustrated by its timing in providing that crucial information.

    It wriggled harder, pinching her again and again with its claw, not improving her mood.

    ¡°Enough of this.¡± She growled, snapping at the thing¡¯s head. It crunched as she chomped into it several times. She kept biting even after it went mostly limp to make sure.

    She could taste the meat, the fluids, rich in both flavor and protein. She started drooling, but she wanted to inspect it more closely now it was dead. The better to spot more of its kind in the water during future hunts.

    Her stomach gurgled.

    Where did that¡­ ah! She spotted the claw in the shadows of a thick vine growing up the side of a tree. She plucked it off of the ground, crunching into it first as she inspected her prey.

    Fully stretched out it was as long as her hand. Armored with chitin, it was full of meat inside. And savory juices.

    Feed! Her Instinct gurgled from her stomach.

    She wondered at all the legs and at how it breathed underwater, but she couldn¡¯t resist any longer. The neonate crunched into the head again, ripping it free. Eating all of it, including the shell.

    She shivered in ecstasy at the rich fatty brain and internal organs, the eye stalks bursting with bright flavor as she chewed. As she bit her way to the tail, she found that it became a bit gritty, but it didn¡¯t ruin the taste for her.

    It was a good start. But she needed more.

    Her headache was starting to feel better, and with some food in her she remembered the Tikabo eggs again.

    Consume. Fuel recovery. Isolate.

    For once, both her forebrain and hindbrain were in agreement. She would try to use her unknown status to her advantage.

    The neonate looked down from a cypress tree, down into the kingbill cropped reeds.

    The eggs were still there!

    Drool dripped from her jaws, but she didn¡¯t move. Not right away. She searched nearby, looking for the adults. She could not chance facing them in the water. Sure enough, there was a big adult, lurking there in the dark mud.

    She only saw it because her extensive practice with her own camouflage had made her very attuned to the slightest variance in shade and hue. It skulked there, underwater, almost six times her size, five or so feet in length. Much bigger than the one she had seen walking on land.

    Bigger than the mawfrogs.

    An apex. Guarding its brood.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Like Tok.

    She couldn¡¯t hunt that thing. She didn¡¯t think the whole brood could.

    Too big.

    Her Instinct snarled impatiently, pulling her eyes to the huge cluster of eggs just beneath the surface.

    She would have to lure it away somehow if she was to get any of them. They floated there, the black yolks tempting. Her wound twinged and she hissed softly. How was she going to manage that?

    Hunt. Her Instinct demanded.

    She pulled back. Remembering her promise to herself to evaluate the urges of her Instinct.

    No. Too dangerous for me right now. It pained her to leave all that wonderful food just laying there, but she needed to stick to safer meals for a while.

    I¡¯ll look for more snipbugs. Maybe rats. This was one of those times she would have to suppress her Instinct. Maybe she would gather a few leaves as well, to keep changing the poultice.

    Her Instinct growled in frustration as she left the Tikabo eggs where they were.

    For several days she took it easy, stirring only to gather more of the leaves and drink, occasionally catching one or two snipbugs.

    She learned that she could use some scraps from the main meal, long after all the others had picked most of it clean, to lure many of the crustaceans into the shallows. She only did so in the dead of night. Avoiding the carcasses completely during the day and observing from the canopy while camouflaged instead.

    She was glad she did.

    Her old bully, the male she had injured, was even more violent than before. The loss of his eye made it harder for him to keep the others away, but he made up for it by being even more vicious when he did catch one of them. Shredding their scales, biting off fingers, even hurling rocks if they got out of reach.

    His empty eye socket looked swollen, oozing slightly. Infected. And he didn¡¯t have any leaves on it at all.

    Good. Doesn¡¯t know about them. She hoped he would die soon.

    One-eye. Her Instinct dubbed him, a fitting name.

    She checked the meat scraps that she left in the water before dawn every day. And it seemed to work, attracting the little crustaceans. She would have gone out deeper, but she remembered the female that had been yanked away by the current. Knocked in by the kingbill¡¯s flapping wings.

    Her terrible screams.

    And the current was stronger than it had been then, the river was a deathtrap. She would just have to become a generalist. She couldn¡¯t afford to specialize into the water. Not while recovering.

    Survive.

    A few days later, the neonate watched Tok bringing in the food for the others, mighty footfalls shaking the ground as water sluiced off of his thick scaled hide. She knew she was starving now. She could see the vertebrae of her tail. She felt weak. Her muscles had begun to shrink, her body cannibalizing itself to keep her alive.

    The only reason she hadn¡¯t died already was because she still occasionally managed to grab snipbugs, beatles, and even a small rat snake once to sate herself. That had been a wonderful hunt.

    She had stalked the snake for two days, noticing the sinuous line that was its track in the dirt. Learning its habits. Guessing which stones it would likely use to sun itself in the morning.

    She had given up, hunting rats instead by the light of the moon. Struggling to keep up with them in her weakened state. Then she saw the sinuous length of the other predator. Its scales a bit too shiny in the night, her sharp eyes catching the gleam of them.

    It was long, entirely meat. And heavier than any five rats. Not venomous, a little constrictor. Too small to hunt her. It was perfect! She charged at it, energy renewed.

    Enemy! Destroy! Her Instinct snarled from her claws.

    The final chase and capture was a bit of a scrabbling mess. She tripped over roots, catching herself with a hand as it tried to hide. Her tongue flickering continuously to follow its scent. Smashing through the ferns and trampling shrubs as she chased the thing down. Finally she pounced, getting both hands on the writhing thing.

    The hard part, shockingly, had been killing it. It surprised her, the fact that she struggled with exactly how to do it.

    Bite! Her Instinct snarled as she grabbed it with her claws.

    The snake hissed, startling her, loud enough that she almost dropped it. She snarled and squeezed it tighter as it writhed in her hands, biting at it. Its hide was thick for its size, she couldn¡¯t bite through its scales. It bit her face with tiny fangs, leaving scratches.

    Snarling in pain, the sound muffled with the little vermin in her mouth.

    Die!

    She bit down harder, but it just bit her back again. Almost getting her in the eye, teeth getting stuck.

    With a hiss of her own she shook her head violently to try and dislodge the stinger fine teeth.

    Snap!

    The beast went limp. She had broken its spine. Frustrated she grabbed a stone, spitting the slowly coiling beast onto the ground. Slamming the rock down on the snake¡¯s skull several times. Crushing it. Making sure it was dead. Not just faking.

    And something about killing it just¡­ felt right to her.

    She pulled the head free, pulling the hide from the snake easily in a long strip, turning it inside out. She tore into the organs with ravenous jaws before she started on the muscle.

    She basked in the joy of acquiring a meal that was mildly substantial, ripping off hunks of flesh as the corpse tried to tie itself into knots.

    Fresh meat. Sweet blood. She licked her chops greedily. She was overjoyed to find eggs inside. Thick fatty yolks dripping down her chin as they popped in her mouth.

    She made sure to wipe what dribbled out back into her mouth, not wanting to waste anything.

    That had been a great day.

    But she still needed more, and was still slowly but surely starving.

    Survive!

    It was on the fifth day that she decided to spy on the others again. The wound was still sore and raw, but it was healing nicely. She could have done with it healing more quickly but she was doing everything she could.

    Her Instinct continued to push for chewing more of the herb, an impulse she had to keep fighting down again and again. The impulses encouraged but not sated by changing the poultice as she healed.

    Eventually she had to give in.

    Once.

    Just to shut it up for a few days after. There were too many things to worry about to let it become a habit. She didn¡¯t even have an accurate count of how many of them were left. She was not the only one who had started avoiding the provided food and One-eye¡¯s growing ruthlessness. So there was no telling who might stumble onto her while she was in a stupor, or how likely that would be.

    She was using that to her advantage though. She knew that the others would have made her recovery nearly impossible. Avoiding them, in spite of reducing the amount of food she was getting, had probably been the best move.

    It also is helping to keep the secret of the leaves too.

    If she had been eating with the others, they could have put it together like she had. She knew that Biter and Slash knew of it. It made her consider the interaction between her and Biter when she had first been injured.

    I looked at the poultice. She mused.

    The implications of that event changing hue as she did. Had Biter shoved her away to try and keep that medicine a secret?

    Even if not, it seemed to be a solid plan to the neonate.

    Deny them my tools. Force her rivals to either overcome, innovate, or die.

    Weaponize the knowledge! Her Instinct hissed in pleasure. Compete¡­

    She noticed her hand moving on its own to pluck another leaf from a herb bush. With a snarl she pulled it back and bit herself. Not hard enough to break the skin. But hard enough to be painful. Painful enough to get her frustration out, to try and reduce the craving. It failed on both counts.

    Shaking her hand for a moment, she made her way slowly through the underbrush. The neonate stuck to the shadows, keeping her eyes mostly closed to hide their bright yellow color. She flexed the tiny muscles in her skin as she moved to match the background she passed by. It meant that she had to split her focus to both observe it and keep an eye out for dangers.

    She would have rather gotten up into the trees, stayed away from the mawfrogs and other hatchlings. But most of the prey she was hunting was down on the ground. Occasionally she even crawled on all fours, sticking to cover and making sure that each step was as silent as possible.

    She constantly tasted the air with her forked tongue, ever hopeful and ever vigilant for a possible meal. She snapped up crickets, nightcrawlers, and even a mouse that she managed to pounce on, but still her stomach grumbled and groaned. It was never enough to fill her belly for long.

    Hours passed like this.

    Her tongue slid out of her mouth again.

    She paused. Her tongue flickering out again.

    Smoke?

    She tasted the air a third time.

    It was smoke. She could smell a roasting cooking type smell too.

    It had to belong to one of her rivals. She was nowhere near Tok¡¯s personal nest.

    She crawled closer, almost but not quite dragging her belly as she pushed aside ferns, her claws sliding into the slots of cut stones as she did. More ruins. A path.

    They were fitted together in a patch just wide enough to let her practice the quite regular pattern for a few strides before she shifted back to the irregular browns, yellows, reds, and greens of the soil and foliage.

    The smell drifted into her nose again. Has one of us learned how to make fire like Tok? Or is it outsiders?

    Discover! Learn. Adapt!

    That would be a valuable skill indeed.

    She slowed even more, climbing up a partial wall of shaped rocks, wanting a better vantage point to observe from. A vine grew from the top of the wall to a thick tree branch above, and she climbed up there.

    Just to be safe.

    As she got higher, the food smell got more potent.

    She looked down on a little clearing was close to the water. It wasn¡¯t connected to the bank. It looked like it had been at one point recently though. And it was just a short hop to get to the miniature island.

    A breeze continuously played against her scales, and she made a point to head into it as she stalked closer.

    Her tongue flickered out.

    Greenscale. Strong scent. But not too fresh.

    It seemed one of the others had built their own nesting site like the Provider.

    Jagged unworn stones lay in a tight circle next to a large buttress tree, and a small pile of coals was in the center.

    There was an organized pile of dead wood stacked next to the tree and fire. Broken to all be about the same length as the others, or near enough. Just big enough to fit in the stone circle.

    Some bulbous spherical objects were in the coals, charring slightly, some smoke rising from them. They were the source of the rich earthy cooking smell.

    It seemed that the tree was funneling the smell and smoke up its trunk and away from the ground while something was cooking. An ingenious way to maintain stealth while having a cookfire, though she wondered at how one of the others had managed to create fire as if they were the Provider.

    Look for the simple solution.

    Theft. Her Instinct guessed, and she nodded to herself.

    This hatchling must have stolen a burning branch from Tok early on and just kept the fire alive all this time.

    She looked at the cooking¡­ things. They looked like some kind of tubers. They smelled delicious. Especially to a stomach that hadn¡¯t had much in the way of food for a long time. It gurgled loudly. Each was skewered on a stick.

    She reached out to grab one.

    Snap!

    Shit!

    She placed her hand back against the tree and froze, almost totally closing her eyes and mimicking the grayish blue bark with all of her ability. She couldn¡¯t scurry higher. The other might notice her. It was too late to run, whoever it was would give chase if she moved.

    The breeze was still in her face.

    Good!

    She had to hope that her concealment was good enough to not be seen.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 8: Feeding

    Meat is meat. Food is food. But members of the brood are not to be hunted down with no cause.

    -From Vocationals: 1:10-12

    The neonate recognized her from the dark markings along her muzzle and forehead as she left the underbrush. She was one of the ones who had gotten fast, rushing in and tearing out as much as she could before running back away.

    Her scales shifted back to the brighter natural green of the Greenscale from the darker green that they had been, and it was then that the neonate could see how this particular hatchling had changed.

    She was much larger now, not quite the same size as the brutes, but healthier, more nourished. Thin scars ran along her arms and one shoulder, and her tail was thick with fat reserves. In wide hands she carried several grasslike plants that her Instinct named whiptails under one arm, the large bulby root ball of each prominent.

    Harvester. Her Instinct named her.

    Eating well.

    The river sloshed slightly against the shore, the current playing around a large stone so that it burbled and splashed with a constant rhythm.

    The other hatchling seemed to sense that she was being watched and paused, looking back and forth for a moment, even glancing up into the trees. Something had her peer on edge, and it was more than what was justifiable by the regular competition of it.

    My scent. The healing herb. Her Instinct hissed quietly, as if the thought might be heard and give her position away if it was too loud.

    Idiot, should have waited longer to climb down. Her Instinct chided from her nostrils.

    There was nothing for it now.

    She stayed perfectly still, not moving a muscle. If she was spotted she would surely be chased out of the tree, possibly falling to her death. She held her breath, becoming the bark of the tree, listening as much as watching through eyes only opened to slits.

    The moment came.

    A cicada called loudly in the distance.

    The moment went.

    Harvester relaxed slightly and began stripping the stalks and leaves off of the whiptail bulbs. She picked up a stick, burnt at one end and sharpened into a point. The neonate noticed a rough stone coated in char that was probably where the other hatchling had sharpened it. Spearing the blackened masses she pulled them out of the fire, setting them aside still steaming slightly.

    She placed more wood on the embers of the fire before adding the freshly denuded bulbs on top, then piled on still more wood. She left the new ones to roast, turning her attention to the already roasted ones. Taking the sharpened stick, she ripped each one open with the utensil.

    The flesh inside was a pale purple like water hyacinths, and steamed softly, the earthy smell intensifying greatly. She felt her mouth water looking at it, but her Instinct piped up again.

    Make sure they have eaten it before first.

    She swallowed her drool and began looking around for evidence that they had been eaten before through mostly closed eyes. It took her a moment, but she spotted discarded outer casings, charred from cooking, off to one side.

    She has been supplementing her diet with them for some time now.

    She would have to also start gathering these whiptail bulbs.

    Harvester tested a cooked one with her claw, seeing if it was cool enough to eat before tasting it. She nodded, licking her muzzle clean before taking that tuber away, leaving four others to cool. Sunshine yellow flashed from her facial scales for an instant as she did.

    So they must be fully cooked then, it seems.

    Harvester walked away from her campsite, climbing up into a tree and looking around from a higher vantage point.

    Checking for others that might be watching.

    As soon as the other Greenscale hatchling was out of sight, the neonate rushed forward and grabbed her own stick, spearing through the holes that already existed in the tubers, planning to steal them.

    No. More. Compete! The compulsion from her instinct was so powerful it made her jerk to a stop.

    It had a point¡­

    She could sabotage the chances of this other hatchling, not just by stealing the tubers, but also¡­ The neonate thought, fighting against her hunger. She could also put out the fire! Take away the tool needed to use this resource.

    She looked at the flames.

    Should I? She hesitated, trying to think of a way to take the fire as well.

    It seemed like such a waste to not take both things.

    If only I had a pipe like the Provider.

    Idiot, stop wasting precious time!

    Her Instinct was right, she couldn¡¯t dally overthinking things, she had to put out the fire. There would be other chances to steal fire from the others, with her camouflage being as good as it was.

    Grabbing the mostly intact husk of a previous tuber she scooped up water from the river and dumped it once, twice, three times onto the coals. They hissed and sputtered loudly, spitting out boiling water that burned her, making her yelp.

    There was a snarl from up in the trees, and ignoring her wounds she snatched up the cooked tubers and bolted.

    She could hear the other hatchling rushing back, and quickly made her way to the shore, trying to stick to hard rocky ground that wouldn¡¯t leave much in the way of footprints, thinking of how easy it had been to track that snake in soft muddy ground.

    The other hatchling was faster, longer legged, and the neonate could hear her gaining, somehow not getting thrown off.

    How?

    She didn¡¯t cram the food into her mouth, that would just leave more of a trail to follow with the smell alone from the bits that didn¡¯t make it down her gullet. That¡¯s when it clicked. She had forgotten about the wind again. She could use that her against her pursuer, use the prevailing winds to blow away the smell.

    Need to get higher, more wind.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Quickly! Adapt! Thrive! Climb!

    Holding the massive tubers all in one hand she leaped as hard as she could, also pushing off with her tail in her desperation, reaching for a branch. She fought through the pain and forced herself to yank her whole body up and into the dense canopy of the cypress tree.

    Scrambling, she took a sharp turn down a different branch and sprung across to a different tree. Panting she climbed even higher before turning again and dropping down to a squatter one.

    Ignoring the jarring impact, she slid to a stop on a branch, pulling some wizard¡¯s beard moss on top of her. She flexed her skin hard to match the hue and tone of the bark and moss. She shut her eyes completely, not wanting to give anything away, listening intently to try and hear the other Greenscale. The wind blowing across her, not back towards Harvester.

    Her lungs screamed for air, and she chanced several quiet gasps before she held it, not wanting the movement to give her away.

    She heard the other one doppler past her hiding spot and go rushing off in the same direction, but she waited, giving it a few moments.

    The other hatchling paused. She cracked open one eye, spotting the others back, the bright black and red of dominance and anger pulsing through her rival¡¯s scales.

    Harvester swore under her breath and continued on, snarling and hunting for the neonate, not knowing she had passed her by already. The neonate decided to wait, and took the chance to rest, letting herself breathe again. She couldn¡¯t believe her luck.

    Not too long though, prolonged examination is the enemy. Her Instinct admonished.

    Just until I catch my breath.

    After some time resting, and eating two of the delicious tubers, she decided to risk the fall and stayed up in the canopy, taking her time and only taking leaps that she was very sure of.

    She did notice something strange, another dead hatchling, but with the hind leg and part of the tail missing. She wanted to inspect it, but it was on the ground, and she wasn¡¯t sure she could get back up into the trees without adrenaline powering her body. It was odd though that there were pieces missing from the corpse though.

    Could there be hidden dangers I don¡¯t know about?

    Plenty. Her Instinct answered unhelpfully.

    She left the corpse where it lay, unconcerned. It was just the mark of another that was less worthy of life than her.

    Eventually she realized that she wasn¡¯t going to make it back to the Provider, it was getting far too dark, and she needed her rest. Her body ached from the exertion, especially her wound. Luckily it hadn¡¯t started bleeding again, though that didn¡¯t mean she wanted to chance it.

    She didn¡¯t want to go back to the ground where she might be the target of bullying, so she decided to spend the night up in the trees. Luckily for her the tubers were still warm, and eating them should help her make it through the cooler night. She finished one more, stuffing herself before curling up against the trunk of the mangrove tree. The neonate closed her eyes and drifted off soon after.

    As she slept, she woke once in the night, hearing a screech of pain off in the distance, the fear combined with the lingering pain of her injury making it hard for her to get back to sleep.

    The neonate stared into the night, so dark in the middle of the canopy that she could only see for about twenty yards.

    There could be anything out there past that.

    Something big slithered along the ground below her, the hiss not the same as one of the brood, and she quivered with terror.

    As if to make it even worse, it started to rain several hours before dawn, forcing her to shift position again to get under cover. She had been out of her egg long enough to know from the nature of this rain that it was going to be a long soaking rain as well.

    The others wouldn¡¯t be overly bothered by it, but she would. The chill brought on by being up away from the ground, which absorbed so much heat from the sun was harsh to her injured body. Add that she was up in the wind, which lower down was blocked by the underbrush, and wet from the rain, and it was a recipe for sickness or death from exposure. Food or no food. Especially because of how small she was.

    The silver lining was that she still had a few of the cooked whiptail tubers, so she had something to eat, and while it was cooling, the rain didn¡¯t stick to her in quite the same way as it did with mammals. It was something she would have to deal with sooner rather than later though.

    Warmth, now. Instinct interrupted her thoughts as she was digging into another one of the tubers, which were now the same temperature as the ambient air.

    Her body wasn¡¯t that of a true reptile, it did have some exothermic tendencies. Digestion adding warmth being one of them. But she shivered all the same in her treetop vantage.

    Tossing the charred skin of the tuber aside, she licked the rest of the purple food off of her claws as she thought of ways to solve the current issue.

    Find cover. Need to find cover.

    Adapt, survive. Exposed in the elements. Change that.

    She climbed lower, and the wind became less of a problem. As she did though she started to realize something else. The rain would make it difficult to track things, either by smell or by prints, because the water washed both physical traces and scent trails away.

    Adapt! Solve the problem. Her Instinct was right, there had to be a way to hunt even in the rain, Tok managed it.

    In fact, most of what he brought was out of the river itself, so water wasn¡¯t an impediment. For now she would spend the day looking for a good place to keep out of the wet and get dry.

    She made her way back towards where Tok spent most of his time, taking a different route to continue to familiarize herself with the island.

    Establish a knowledge of your territory¡­ Instinct hissed to the tempo of the unending rain. Her tongue flickered out.

    A horrible reek!

    With a crash like thunder her Instinct screeched Danger! Death! Murder! Oblivion! Find it!

    Even in the rain she could smell it, tasting the fetid rot and unique pungent signature of death that she knew in her bones was the death of another hatchling. This was usually a good thing, something to celebrate as it meant that she had outlived another competitor, but this was¡­ She could smell so much blood¡­ and the blood smelled like fear.

    And there was a musk that she knew in her bones was a blight on the earth.

    It was a different carcass than the one she spotted earlier, and it was a much more grizzly one at that.

    Instinct took full control forcing her forward, off the path that she had been traveling and towards the foul reek of death.

    She didn¡¯t want to, it scared her.

    There was something killing them on the island, and Tok hadn¡¯t yet found it, so it could easily kill her too if it was still nearby.

    It endangers the trial, it must be found at all costs. Shared genes. Self sacrifice. Collective fitness.

    She didn¡¯t understand any of that, but the sentiment was so powerful that she couldn¡¯t resist.

    She climbed slowly over a log, and saw him, one of the broodmates. She recognized him as well.

    Striker!

    One of the more brutish individuals who was vying for the top spot amongst the Greenscales who dominated the food brought by Tok.

    He had been one of the more impressive physical specimens, and was clearly in good health. Apart from being dead. His tail was thick with muscle and fat, and his limbs had rippled with whipcord quick muscle.

    Now, his body was torn, nasty rents in his back and neck, which had a bloody gobbet ripped from it. She looked, compelled by Instinct, examining the wounds. For some reason they didn¡¯t make sense¡­

    Whatever did this came from behind¡­ and¡­ and had claws¡­

    She held her own hand up to the rents in the male¡¯s back, thinking of how it could have happened.

    A strike from ambush¡­ Why is his tail still intact? All that fat, wasted¡­

    Then she realized, hands still held up to the wounds¡­ five clawed hands!

    One of the others had done this!

    The ground shook, branches snapped, a deep rumbling hissing growl split the silence like an ax.

    Run! Now! Her Instinct shrieked, and she scrambled away into the shadows, staggering over a root and stubbing a toe painfully against a half buried river stone.

    She hid beneath a tree, panting and trying to catch her breath, skin flexed to match the dark brown and green of the floor below her. She thought she had gotten away from whatever it was.

    With a horrible snap and wrenching sound, the tree was ripped out of the ground by its roots, showing Tok looming over her, bright red frill at his neck extended, a warning and a challenge.

    She squeaked in pain as a massive hand shot forward, unavoidably fast. Wrapping tightly around her. The claws pressed into her scaled hide, not piercing the skin, but it wouldn¡¯t take all that much more force to do so.

    ¡°N-no! Stop!¡± She begged, unsure if her plea would be acknowledged let alone heeded.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 9: Dangerous

    Of course the mind is the next thing that must be fed, for without a fed mind you will feed nothing at all besides what kills you.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:47

    ¡°I found him!¡± she squeaked ¡°All I did was find-¡±

    Tok¡¯s fingers tightened, cutting off the sibilant of her words into a gurgle.

    She tried to explain herself again, and Tok silenced her more roughly this time. Her vision started to go red before the pressure lessened, all of the blood surging up into her skull.

    ¡°Quiet.¡± Tok hissed, red eyes no longer lazy, wide open.

    The gravity of his full attention made her urinate, the reek of it strong before the rain washed it away. Her scales locked into the white and dirty yellow of fear. He didn¡¯t even register that. A red frill under his chin had extended, a bright challenge to something he saw as a threat. She trembled in his grip.

    Live! Cringe! Grovel! Beg!

    Her Instinct was whimpering deep inside her mind, both it and her forebrain resigning herself to a sudden violent death that she hadn¡¯t earned.

    Tok¡¯s forked tongue slid out of his mouth, smelling her, and she winced, trying to pull away. His teeth were huge and sharp.

    ¡°Stop squirming.¡± Tok rumbled, punctuating the statement with yet another squeeze, making her yelp in pain as her body locked up.

    The tongue came out again, smelling her one last time, before she was lifted up towards his face.

    His mouth! He¡¯ll eat me!

    Live! flee! Swim! Hide! Her Instinct gibbered.

    She could smell his breath. The death of what he had last killed. Something that was itself huge and powerful. Not like her.

    The neonate squirmed violently. Claws digging in, biting his scaly knuckles fruitlessly, not strong enough to get through his natural armor. Trying desperately to escape. She knew that without the island, without Tok, she was unlikely to survive.

    But I won¡¯t be killed for something I didn¡¯t do!

    She was determined to take that choice over the certain death that was the Provider''s jaws. Lightning split the sky, the thunder coming almost instantly after and rattling inside of her.

    This was it.

    She was going to get eaten!

    She closed her eyes. She didn¡¯t want to see it coming. He had probably wanted to cull her from the start because of her size. Hope stopped twitching in her mind as it finally died¡­

    Her feet rested on something solid.

    What?

    The Provider released her.

    She stayed still, then opened one eye and looked around.

    He had placed her on his shoulder.

    She blinked, looking at him with yellow eyes, seeing that his red ones had become lazy once again.

    He¡¯s not going to eat me?

    ¡°How did you find him?¡± he questioned without preamble.

    She stared for a moment, but quickly found her voice again and she relayed what had happened. She stammered because of the adrenaline coursing through her, but he didn¡¯t seem to mind.

    He rumbled deep in his throat as she finished. ¡°Hatchlings are not to kill hatchlings at this stage.¡± The lazy red eyes regarded her again, and there was a momentary glint of focus in them, the vertical slit of his pupil contracting before widening again.

    ¡°Stay vigilant. I will warn the others.¡±

    She nodded, mouth dry.

    Perhaps I shouldn¡¯t be so comfortable around the Provider anymore.

    Her Instinct was hissing and muttering, not sure how to cope with the idea of Tok, the Provider, almost killing her out of hand. Anger replaced fear.

    ¡°Why did you think it was me?¡± She hissed. Feeling¡­ disappointed?

    No. Betrayed.

    He looked at her. The rain rattled against his scales. Sturdy as turtle shell.

    Lightning flashed again, illuminating those massive red eyes of his.

    ¡°Because you are more dangerous than it seems even you realize, little one.¡± He said finally.

    Thunder boomed in the distance. She wasn¡¯t sure how to take that.

    Tok nodded and picked up the pile of meat and bones of the corpse. For the first time it almost disturbed her as he took it into his mouth, crunching down loudly.

    That was almost me¡­

    It was not as abstract as it had been anymore.

    It wasn¡¯t a strong feeling. Meat was meat. But the fear, the pure terror of knowing that her life would end so easily, so¡­ wrongly¡­ It had changed things forever.

    ¡°Go.¡± Tok hissed, as his red frill retracted back into his neck.

    She clambered back down as he started moving on, purpose in his heavy strides. One of his hands shot out, pulling a massive python out of a hanging branch. It coiled around his arm, squeezing, but not as powerfully as he.

    Crackle pop!

    She heard the snakes neck snap in the moment of quiet between the bouts of rolling thunder, blood splattering onto the ground.

    He wouldn¡¯t kill us. The statement by Instinct was almost a question, but not quite, it seemed to have re-evaluated the certainty with which it regarded the Providers protection.

    There was a fresh crack and boom of lightning and thunder in the sky, and she quickly searched for shelter. The neonate spotted a bush with the healing herbs and grabbed a fresh handful.

    She moved under a wide leafed shrub, laying low to the ground, next to a tree. Out of the rain and already chewing up a fresh poultice for her wound, taking solace in the intoxicative effects of the leaves.

    Just to relieve the stress.

    Yes. Relax. More leaves.

    It was only when she was settled, ready to wait out the storm as it raged around her, that the implications of Tok¡¯s questions sank in. There was a murderer amongst them. More, trying to actively kill any of the others was prohibited.

    And I am¡­ Dangerous? His words at the end resonated in her mind again.

    Her Instinct stirred slightly, but she ignored it as another flash of lightning lanced through the sky. The neonate pressed fresh leaves into her injury.

    So I need to be indirect, if I am to compete. Infection and claiming food and other things.

    Compete. Her Instinct growled.

    Can¡¯t hunt the others. The effects of the herb started to seep in, her mind circling back to Tok¡¯s compliment.

    Dangerous huh? I like the sound of that.

    Feeling bright yellow about that before her thoughts were interrupted by her hindbrain.

    Kill if needed as defense. Better to kill to live then to die. She hissed thoughtfully as she settled in, sliding under the roots of a tree.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The lightning, thunder, and rain continued for the rest of the day, and two days after on top of that. It was most of the way into the third night before it started to ease up.

    She spent all that time moving from hiding spot to hiding spot, not sure if the murderer had been found yet or not, but deciding to not take any chances regardless.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    It was not, however, content with the amount of food she was providing herself.

    Eat! It insisted from her rumbling belly.

    But she had eaten all of the roasted tubers the previous day and only managed to scrounge up some earthworms she found under a rock as food. She had almost eaten a bright orange salamander with sky blue spots out of desperation, but her Instinct had screamed at her for even thinking it.

    Poisonous! Colors!

    Her injury, on the other claw, was feeling much better. It wasn¡¯t fully healed by any stretch, but the number of times she had to reapply her poultice had decreased. Which by extension reduced how dizzy and drugged she felt from chewing the leaves.

    She couldn¡¯t wait to be done with the medicine.

    More leaves¡­ Her Instinct demanded, again.

    No! Vigilance!

    Feeling restive after being out of commission for so long, she decided to go for another careful exploration around the island, see if she could learn something new. Find new prey.

    The neonate traveled towards the river, knowing that whiptails would be there and she could try digging up the bulbs. What she hadn¡¯t counted on was just how much work it would be. It had taken her a few hours on her own with only her claws. And when she finally had one in her hands and bit into it, she nearly vomited. Spitting it out.

    So bitter. It was to the point of being inedible.

    I¡¯ll need a way to make fire before I can use these as a resource.

    Her tongue flickered out. Her eyes narrowed.

    She could smell food. Close.

    Where?

    The neonate scanned the area she had been digging in.

    Her eyes widened, and she splashed forward.

    Eggs!

    Clear, gelatinous, the little yolks starting to reshape as the embryos grew. Hundreds of them. All in a big clump the size of her tail, stuck to a reed that had been bent with the weight of them.

    Food at last!

    The neonate scooped up a handful and shoveled them into her mouth. Her eyes closed. So squashy and rich with fat! Her roaring stomach quieted.

    She shoveled more in, and again. Starting to gorge.

    Wait¡­ She paused, mid chew. Some of the eggs fell into the water with a goopy splat.

    Consume!

    No. There is something wrong with this. Too easy¡­

    The water rippled behind her and her eyes went wide.

    Screeching she sprinted towards the shore!

    Splash!

    The huge Tikabo burst from under the surface, jaws wide, double rows of teeth glinting in the lightning. Its eight foot body writhed, stubby arms helping to push aside the whiptails, and she awkwardly splashed forward.

    Have to look! Timing! Her Instinct demanded.

    She glanced, then jumped.

    Snap!

    The jaws slammed shut under her. She had avoided the second strike. And landed on the Tikabo¡¯s back!

    Shit!

    The creature writhed, and she was flung into the deeper part of the shallows. The beast¡¯s domain.

    Live!

    Scrambling underwater she pumped her legs and tail, getting lost in the muck stirred up by the beasts lunge, not sure which way to go.

    Swim up! Look!

    She started too.

    Something getting closer! Something about the water¡¯s movement!

    No! Dive! Her Instinct reevaluated.

    She dove! Turning sharply.

    Bang!

    The Tikabo¡¯s head slammed into the mud. Stunning itself by hitting a rock. Its jaw snapping.

    She swam along its belly to avoid the lashing tail.

    It¡¯s too long, I can turn faster! She¡¯d have to use that. She couldn¡¯t outpace it. She broke the surface and sucked in air. Looking wildly, spotting the bank before diving again and darting left.

    The Tikabo breached the surface, two third¡¯s of its eight foot length writing in the air as it snapped viciously, stubby forelimbs waggling with the fury of a Provider.

    Hide!

    She shifted her scales, going brown, like the silt, green vertical lines like the reeds.

    Current. Her Instinct whispered. Tikabo sense swimming.

    She let the slow current through the vegetation pull her along, her heart pounding. Keeping an eye on the beast.

    She only moved to gently redirect herself towards the bank.

    It thrashed, prowling through the water like the apex it was, hunting for her.

    Please¡­ Just a little farther¡­

    She could see the dark outline of the bank.

    She was so close.

    The Tikabo¡¯s eyes slid over her and she froze. But they kept going.

    Then they turned back and locked onto her! She had forgotten to close her eyes!

    She scrambled away, dropping the camouflage and the beast boiled forward, jaw opening as it gained speed.

    She bumped into the bank. Scrambled out, rushing up a tree and onto a branch.

    The beast breached again, this time completely leaving the water.

    Jump!

    She leaped and grabbed a vine above her as the teeth of the monster crunched into the branch she had been standing on, nearly fifteen feet in the air.

    Crack!

    It broke off, the weight of the giant salamander too much for the limb, and it splashed back into the river. Droplets splattered against her body as she hung there. The neonate pulled herself up and climbed even higher for safety.

    The beast lingered there, waiting. Amber eyes stared at her as she gasped and tried to let her heartrate slow down. She could see the beast thinking.

    It slithered out of the water, gulping air, rearing up and placing its stubby forelimbs onto the trunk of the tree. Climbing! Quick considering its bulk.

    It can¡¯t run through the canopy, I¡¯ll just- she looked around, seeing no escape.

    With a hiss of frustration, the neonate realized that the tree was isolated. Too far from the others for her to jump across. And she couldn¡¯t get down with the beast climbing up.

    Run! Live!

    Wait¡­ I don¡¯t need to! The beast was too heavy. Quickly she climbed higher, getting to the thinner branches.

    It kept coming.

    Other salamander! Her Instinct suggested from her scales.

    She shifted her pattern, taking on that bright orange coloring with the blue spots. Hissing down, not hiding, trying to look larger.

    It paused, the second eyelids sliding over its amber eyes as it stared. She made the pattern more vibrant and forced herself to snarl at it. Bold, not frightened.

    It¡¯s an amphibian, can¡¯t be that smart.

    It shifted, as if to ponder.

    Snap!

    Another branch broke and it fell backward, impacting the earth with a wet slap. Right on its back. Writhing, getting back onto its pale belly, it seemed to glare up at her.

    With a snap of its jaws, the Tikabo squirmed back into the river. She was apparently too much work for the beast.

    She sighed, resting for a while before climbing back down.

    The Tikabo snapped its jaws again with a splash, making her jump. When she looked, she saw a strange too-large rodent in its mouth. It squealed in pain, blood dying the water a desaturated brownish red. The titanic amphibian swallowed the unlucky mammal whole.

    Need to get out of here.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    Slinking down, she searched for a better tree to climb. One that connected to the rest of the canopy. Once there, the neonate went back to trying to calm herself before she went back to searching for some of the others. Hunting skills she could use, skills she clearly needed.

    Never eating amphibian eggs again.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    Later, prowling through the branches, the neonate heard something moving through the underbrush. She peered down with mostly closed eyes.

    It was only Harvester, and she was looking hungry. Not as well fed as before, picking through he undergrowth. The neonate hadn¡¯t realized she was still so close to the other female¡¯s territory. She looked towards where she knew the nest was.

    No smoke.

    No fire. Her Instinct confirmed with orange smugness.

    She hadn¡¯t realized just how effective destroying the fire would be. She¡­ She had competed! She was dangerous!

    There have to be other ways to compete with the others!

    Learn!

    She would think about that later. For tonight she wanted to find new skills to start practicing. After she managed that, maybe she would try to deny resources in this way for another broodmate.

    If I do it to enough of them, I¡¯ll make things easier for myself! Less competition meant more for her.

    Adapt, survive, thrive! Her Instinct had taken on a much more confident tone now. Hissing from the base of her skull.

    She slunk into the forest, climbing through canopy into the heart of the island, planning to start her search there.

    She moved slowly, shifting her patterns, maintaining stealth. Not wanting to be seen by anything or anyone.

    Something tightened around her wrist. She jerked away instinctively, and it became painfully tight, not letting go. Cutting off circulation.

    Constrictor! Danger! Her Instinct screamed, and it only tightened its grip the more she struggled.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 10: Line

    Just as keeping methods and skills secret as a means to be a challenge to others, we must also strive to steal their secrets. Doing so forces them to innovate new ones while giving us a new tool to better ourselves.

    -From Canticles: 1:4-5

    The neonate yanked, and the creature constricted tighter, its thin vicious coils digging into her scales, her hand starting to go numb.

    Thin? She paused, and the beast didn¡¯t tighten more.

    Lightning flashed, but the dense canopy kept things dark, making harsh shadows in the sudden light that made it hard to see.

    She felt at it with her other hand.

    A vine? No¡­

    As she calmed, no longer pulling her arm away from its confinement, the whatever-it-was stayed limp. She looked closer smelling and tasting the air around it, her forked tongue flickering out as her bright yellow eyes inspected.

    Lightning flashed, and now that she was closer, she could see the twisted fibers.

    Rope. Her Instinct provided, guiding the claws of her free hand to hook under the loop cutting into her wrist and pulling.

    It loosened the line so that she could get her hand out. She could tell that it used to be natural material, but it had been worked, twisted into a strong line and then knotted into a simple noose. It confused the neonate though.

    Why is this up here in the tree though?

    She followed the line back to the branch it was fastened to, unknotting the thin rope and collecting it, if only to take it apart to try and figure out how it was made.

    My hand is the head, and the wrist the neck. Her Instinct said, confusing her.

    It had been crafted though, so she would take it. There had to be a use for it. And that would deprive one of the others of their resources.

    Her Instinct grunted in pleasure.

    The neonate looped the line loosely across her chest, looking for the next branch to leap to.

    The brush below rustled loudly. Twigs snapped, and an animal squeaked and snarled several times.

    Quick as a flash she pressed against the large limb of the mangrove she was in, skin tensing and shifting to the gray and brownish gray stripes of the bark.

    What now? Another thing trying to kill me? She snarled silently in her mind.

    One eye fully closed, the other only open just enough to look down, the neonate shifted around the branch slowly so as not to alert anything on the ground. When she saw it was small enough to not be an immediate threat, she opened her one eye a bit wider to get a better view of whatever it was.

    She saw fur, smelling the musky wetness of it in the night. It was one of the parasites, a mammal, thrashing in the underbrush. It looked like the same kind of creature the Tikabo had caught.

    Need to get closer, inspect further. Consume. Her Instinct said cautiously from her hindbrain, sliding into her jaw and the tips of her claws as if checking they were still there.

    The neonate waited for her Instinct to name it, but it didn¡¯t, which was a bit strange.

    Can¡¯t see it, maybe that¡¯s why. It seemed reasonable enough logic.

    She could only spot glimpses of the beast¡¯s muddy fur here and there as it tried to pull free through the fat drops of falling rain. Judging by how it was trying to get away though¡­

    Its head is stuck in another noose! Her Instinct¡¯s explanation about her wrist being the neck clicked when she saw that. Animals would get caught by the snare and not understand how to get free of it, strangling themselves to death. That or they would get a limb stuck and would have to be dispatched. Ingenious!

    But what makes them walk through?

    Bait. That, or the lines are hidden.

    Did that mean most creatures used the same paths over and over again? Interesting.

    She looked down at the mammal. Not just blood, hot blood. She started to drool.

    The neonate was about to head down and take the creature for her own, perhaps speed the process with a rock or by yanking harder on the line, when a fresh crashing came from below.

    She was already plastered back up against the tree when the larger than average male rushed in, snarling and leaping into the air, claws extended, jaw open wide.

    Lightning flashed in the distance, the flickering light strobing the strike in immaculate detail.

    Brilliant assertive crimson blood splattered the ferns below.

    A sudden jerk of the male¡¯s shoulders and neck.

    A clenching of vasculated muscles.

    An unclenching.

    Then, like undisturbed waters, all was still.

    The neonate couldn¡¯t help but admire the exquisite form of the kill.

    With a wet squelchy ripping sound, the larger than average male tore free a bloody gobbet of flesh. He chewed it perfunctorily before swallowing it, mostly whole. Tufts of fur stuck to his bloody snout, and he shook his head, some of them floating off to the ground.

    She swallowed her saliva. Envy filling her from her stomach outwards.

    He was slicing away the furry hide of the creature with his claws. Looking closer, the neonate saw that his hands and fingers had thick scales, the muscles in them very developed.

    Why?

    The male lowered his head, clearly about to take another bite. His nostril twitched.

    He froze, his bloody muzzle lifting, pupils contracting slightly before expanding wider. She could see them reflecting light back. Earie green glow. Just like her own.

    He¡¯ll see mine if I don¡¯t move! She shut her eyes at once.

    But she couldn¡¯t move quickly, that might draw more attention. So with agonizing slowness she pulled back behind the branch, hiding most of her body. She flexed again, fighting the exhaustion, forcing her skin to match the bark of the mangrove once more.

    Need more exercise. Her Instinct cajoled.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    She listened intently, focusing every ounce of herself on hearing what he was doing.

    A heavy intake of breath. She could hear him sniffing, searching for her scent with his nostrils.

    Getting closer¡­

    A quiet hiss of his outgoing breath. His tongue also tasting for a scent.

    Stay still, be calm.

    He was good at moving quietly, but his size made it difficult for him to negate all noise. She heard the wet sound of feet in mud, something slowly brushing against ferns.

    His tail most likely.

    A claw against bark, not quite directly below her, but close enough.

    Shit!

    Soft prickles of fear ran down her spine to the tip of her tail as she heard the larger male make his way up the side of a nearby tree.

    The rain was cold on her back, but she didn¡¯t dare move.

    Not with him so close.

    She even held her breath.

    He could be the murderer!

    The realization was horrifying. She was cold, sluggish, trapped high off the ground. He was warmed by a fresh kill and was so much bigger than she was.

    She wanted to run.

    To bolt.

    The two others she had seen killed had been much larger than she was. She wouldn¡¯t stand a chance if he was the murderer. And that kill had been so well done.

    He could be. Yes¡­ be ready¡­ Her Instinct hissed, pulling at her to go higher still, but not with the same imperative as usual. It was more in the way of a hint. A reminder.

    His weight! He can¡¯t go as high as I can. Like the Tikabo! There was that at least. Though he could climb much higher than that beast.

    She stayed perfectly still, not even moving as lightning cracked the sky open above her, thunder reverberating deep in her chest. She looked through the barest crack of an open eye, only seeing shadowy forms. Any movement would give her away to a skillful hunter.

    She was lucky the wind wasn¡¯t strong at the moment. She thought he might be close enough that any errant breeze would instantly give her away.

    The neonate could see his form through what little of her eye was open, looking back and forth. It was slow, careful.

    He hasn¡¯t seen me, has he? The way he was looking¡­ it could be that he was staring right at her. But he wasn¡¯t charging in. No way to know for sure without opening her eye more, which would give her away.

    He froze.

    Run! Survive! Flee!

    She almost did. But there was something that held her back. His head was slightly tilted. Like he was listening.

    No, wait¡­ There is time¡­ She hoped she was right.

    Lightning flashed, thunder crashed. The thick raindrops continued to assault the canopy.

    There might have been a frustrated cry from some beast off in the distance, but she was unsure.

    Then came a slow scraping sound, and she could see the silhouette of him lowering back down. Sliding as he gripped with his claws.

    She waited just a moment before chancing a glance. He was already heading off into the underbrush, carrying his kill over one shoulder like Tok. He still scanned his surroundings, but didn¡¯t look up.

    She chose to name him Ropemaker then, and her Instinct agreed.

    Remember that¡­ I hid above, others will too. Her Instinct hissed from the back of her head.

    Taking note of her own advice, she hung back for a while before pursuing Ropemaker. The neonate wanted to see how he made the rope more than anything else. It seemed like a useful skill to have.

    Passive hunting of small game. Instinct hissed, but she felt like there could be more than that, outside of gathering food. More complicated uses for it.

    I¡¯ll have to experiment. She examined the line she already had, running her thumb along the tightly twisted fibers. It could be the beginning of a true change in her chances of survival if she was right.

    Adapt. Her Instinct basked contentedly in the warmth of her creativity.

    The neonate took the other snare as well, climbing down for it before climbing back up. She followed the male deeper into the foliage of the island, making sure to keep him in sight. She could smell the rain, the mud, the damp moss, which was surprisingly pungent in the downpour.

    It wasn¡¯t long before she could see Ropemaker¡¯s nest, knowing it was his by how he slowed down. Steps becoming more confident. Bending low and sniffing at the ground.

    Checking if others have come this way. She realized.

    He had made his shelter up in a sprawling mangrove tree, ropes and vines woven together to make hanging platforms between branches. All screened from below with the natural foliage of the tree itself. Hours and hours of crafting, knotting, twisting and tying was the only explanation for all of it.

    The ground around the tree was pruned and trampled flat, and the space had been cleared of debris ten meters out from the trunk of the tree. Any approach from the ground would completely expose her.

    It¡¯s going to be difficult to steal a skill from him.

    He was moving even more slowly now, picking at the carcass, eating pieces as he went.

    Quick, use his strategy against him! It is clearly his weakness. Her Instinct hissed in her ear. Pulling her eyes to the canopy.

    I could get there first! Hide in the nest above where my scent wouldn¡¯t be as much of a problem!

    The neonate flowed through the branches, looping around through the canopy so that the wind would be in her face as she approached.

    She camouflaged herself only generally, moving too quickly to perfectly recreate her surroundings. It was a relief to not have to flex in such complicated patterns so quickly.

    More-

    Practice I know, I need to focus.

    Different browns, greens and blacks spread like silt in the river across her body, asymmetric patterns forming. They were meant to break up the shape of her silhouette instead of make her disappear. The neonate looked down, and couldn¡¯t tell where he was looking, shaded as he was.

    She begrudged her inability to know if it was the patterns or Ropemaker¡¯s lack of vertical vigilance that were the cause of her success in outpacing him to his nest.

    Scrambling, sliding, and leaping her way through the wet canopy, it would be a near thing getting there before him. She leaped across a gap before seeing several dead branches that had yet to drop on the other side.

    Damnit!

    She dug in her claws, bark peaking away in spirals as she came to a stop just before them. Quickly she stepped over them and pressed against the trunk of the tree. The neonate was on the far side, opposite of Ropemaker, peering around to keep tabs on him.

    She saw him tear free another hunk of muscle from his prey, hearing the meat rip, and she took that chance to start climbing.

    There was another flash of lightning, flickering for several moments. The thunder rumbled, and she used the sonic cover to scramble ever higher. Wanting a bird¡¯s eye view of Ropemaker¡¯s tree.

    She ran towards the edge of the branch, meaning to use it to spring across.

    Her plan was working!

    I¡¯m gonna make it! I¡¯m-

    PAIN.

    She flinched, the cut along her rubs twinging horribly, trying to kill her once more.

    It was too late to slow down.

    Her feet slid on a bare patch of bark just before the leap.

    The jump went wrong.

    Frigid horror boiled into her mind as she reached out to grab the branch she had meant to leap to. Brushing it with her claws but finding no purchase, just cutting into the moss that grew on the bark.

    Live!

    Her stomach crashed into her chin as she became weightless. She fought down a primal urge to scream, just in case she didn¡¯t die in this moment, time seeming to slow as adrenaline flooded her body.

    It didn¡¯t look good.

    She was almost eight meters up.

    Enough to be fatal.

    No! Reach! Instinct screamed.

    There! She saw a branch in reach rushing up from beneath her, humid wind blowing into her face.

    She snatched at it. Getting a firm hold!

    Fresh pain racked her. Body jerking. Shoulders screaming as the joints nearly popped out of their sockets, her full weight wrenching them painfully.

    As she bounced and jerked, there was a loud POP followed by a SNAP as the branch fractured then gave way, and her plunge continued once more.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 11: Moss

    Learn to utilize everything, then you will be unstoppable.

    -From Vocationals: 1:9

    Fighting down the nausea as her stomach did more acrobatics in the fresh free-fall, the neonate opened her eyes as wide as she could. She needed a handhold, she needed one!

    Where!?

    She frantically searched with dilated yellow eyes.

    Scouring the darkness.

    The ground getting too close too fast!

    LIVE! Her Instinct shrieked.

    There!

    Another branch even farther down was rushing towards her. The ends of it coated with living leaves.

    Not dead.

    Springy!

    Her only hope.

    Without a second thought, spiraling her tail in a vain attempt to push herself forward through the air, she reached for it.

    It¡¯s gonna hurt! She braced herself.

    Thunder crashed as her palms slapped the slick bark, and she dug her claws in. The sudden stop wrenched her body painfully once more.

    Pop!

    Her shoulder dislocated in a shattering of pain. The neonate barely managed to keep her grip as she dangled from it. Wailing. Unable to stop herself, just as a bolt of lightning split the sky and thunder bellowed against the hatchery island. Rattling her bones. Fortunately enough.

    Alive.

    The thought matched her gasping snarls as she fought not to whimper in the quiet lull between heavenly strikes.

    Survive.

    Fighting through the pain, she got her other hand on the branch, claws digging into the bark. She dragged herself up. Panting.

    Need to tend. Shoulder. Follow.

    With a soft hiss she stood back up. Her Instinct guiding her, the neonate slammed her shoulder against the moss-covered trunk of the tree, biting back a yelp of pain as she popped it back into place. No thunder to cover any sound this time.

    Only the endless rain.

    The smell of the moss was strong now that she had crushed it resocketing her limb. It smelled¡­ like a plant. Not really standing out outside of it being strong. And it lingered even in the rain. Inspiration blossomed in her mind.

    Hide my scent with it!

    She didn¡¯t have time to do more than see if she could still move her arm. She could. It hurt but she could.

    Tearing some of the moss free the neonate coated herself in the juice of it, crushing it in her hands so that the scent was strong. She glanced down at the male. Checking his progress. Making sure he wasn¡¯t rushing up to attack her.

    Ropemaker had stopped and was now inspecting the branch that had fallen down, squashing the low foliage below outside Ropemaker¡¯s clearing. It must have made a noise when it hit the ground.

    Or almost hit him. Shame it hadn¡¯t.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    He looked up, searching for the cause of the branch falling now. Not quite in the right direction. She forced herself to move, to keep going, to be away from where it had fallen. She couldn¡¯t allow herself to be spotted by the larger Greenscale. Moving around the trunk slowly. Hoping for no more lightning.

    For once there wasn¡¯t any.

    She climbed higher, needing to dig her claws into the bark to keep a grip in the rain. Her shoulder ached horribly, but she had to get a vantage point above the main part of Ropemaker¡¯s nest. Otherwise all the effort would be for nothing.

    She almost sighed in relief when she started climbing horizontally again all the same.

    Crawling along her belly against the branch, she glanced down several times to check to make sure he had yet to see her. He was looking up more intently now, but back where she had missed her jump, and he didn¡¯t leave the ground.

    He walked over to the branch, picking it up, inspecting the end.

    Please think it was just because it was dead! Please!

    The rain poured down, and she saw him wipe his eyes and shake his head, continuing onwards.

    Idiot, he doesn¡¯t think others might have abilities different than his own. Her Instinct scoffed.

    I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s the case. But he should have smelled the branch at least. His mistake was her opportunity. Why didn¡¯t he climb this time though?

    She noticed something in the next flash of lightning.

    His body was the default grass green color that they all were when they were not using their camouflage abilities.

    She was certain that she was the best at using the camouflage, but she had not yet seen one of the others not use it at all before. They all did to one degree or another. It was foolish not to. As it was though, he stood out, his green scales the wrong shade to match with the darker and bluer ferns around him. Visible.

    He doesn¡¯t want to get into danger¡­

    She was certain of it now. With the increased rain, even she had a hard time climbing up the trunk of one of these trees, and he was heavier than she was. He¡¯d have to leave his captured prey behind as well, which he seemed to be reluctant to do, as he should.

    Food isn¡¯t safe from others until it¡¯s eaten.

    Also, as bad as his camouflage was down there, up in the trees the only thing that would have made it worse would be if it was bright red.

    Perhaps news of the cannibal has spread already? Tok did say he would warn the others.

    Her Instinct remained silent.

    She refocused her efforts on making her way over, trying her best to stay ahead of Ropemaker, but he too seemed impatient to get back to his nest as well.

    Probably wants to eat his catch of the day. She had to pause as he looked back and up again, right under a tiny waterfall caused by one of the leaves of the tree she was in. And get out of this weather.

    Now that she was closer to the nest, she had a better view of it, and even with details obscured by the dark of the night and the storm, it was an impressive construction. Woven lines and ropes laced the branches of the tree like a massive spiders web, so that there were corded platforms and other such spaces suspended within the tree.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    She was just about to hop to a branch attached to his nest tree, when she spotted a problem. The rope constructions pulled branches together, forming a shelter out of the living tree. Out of the rain.

    If rain can¡¯t get through, I can¡¯t see through.

    She would have to be in the shelter to steal any knowledge.

    And she could hear him now, his movements less cautious, more comfortable in his territory. She looked down. He was tying his kill to a rope that she hadn¡¯t noticed, and was already scaling the side of his tree.

    She couldn¡¯t just stay too far away, she felt that the creation of rope would have some minute details that would require her to be closer to her subject. Nor could she stay out in the rain all night. Not only would it continue to wash away the masking scent of the moss, she could also feel herself cooling down to a dangerous degree.

    She looked around, mind racing.

    The wind blew, chilling her further. Both her Instinct and forebrain came to the same conclusion at the same time. Her eyes widened as the plan burst into being inside her two-tone mind.

    She had to risk it.

    She repositioned herself, moving around the tree in the canopy before setting out along one of the branches. She leapt across to a branch of another tree before quietly making her way around the nesting tree. The neonate didn¡¯t get any closer to her destination until the wind was full in her face, just to make absolutely sure he wouldn¡¯t smell her. Once it was and she had hopped onto one of its branches, she slithered along on her belly towards the rope nest itself.

    She made herself take her time in spite of the cold and the rain, taking abundant care to remain undetected. She watched Ropemaker make his way up into the tree. Once in his nesting area, he shook the water from his body, and promptly reclined into the hanging mesh of lines that made up his nest.

    He pulled up the rope he had tied his kill to, and once he had it in hand he promptly tore into the juicy red meat. Now that it was up off the ground, and most of the mud was washed off by the rain, the creature looked like a large rat. She stared, transfixed, watching as the delectable viscera dripped from his chin, coating his chest and muzzle in pungent gore.

    Good. Instinct hissed, though it sounded regretful all the same.

    She dragged herself forward, trying to ignore how long it had been since she had eaten her fill, let alone eaten bloody red meat.

    Twelve days¡­ Instinct whined within her Thirteen nights¡­

    Such thoughts are unhelpful!

    She shoved that urge aside, reaching a point on the branch where she was now underneath some of the canopy. She savored not being in the cold rain for just a moment.

    Ropemaker was still tearing into the creature, his muzzle black with blood in the gloom. Good, he¡¯s totally distracted.

    He dug into the belly of the beast with a clawed hand and pulled out what looked like the liver, eating that with gusto. She fought not to drool. The guts and stomach had been tossed aside into the river, and she looked at them longingly.

    Such waste! Her stomach, forebrain, and Instinct all screamed indignantly. You could wash those out in the river and eat them!

    Putting her dejected, righteous, and completely justified rage aside for the moment, she continued to crawl closer. As she went, she pulled up moss and lichen. Not large chunks, but little pieces here and there, crushing it and rubbing the juice against her wet body. Making sure she was still masking her own scent with the faint smell of the moss. The neonate also held onto full pieces, placing them strategically on her body to break up her form. Trying to look like an old knot.

    She timed her movements to the moments of dark in-between lightning flashes.

    Excellent! Thrive!

    Shutting out Instinct¡¯s jubilation at the wonderful plan, she focused on the male, her eyes almost closed once again, moving slowly, feeling a nervous thrill as she felt ropes slide under her.

    She was so close now.

    So very close.

    KRACKA-BOOM!

    She almost fell off the branch! There was an incredible flash of lightning that made her look at the far side of the river. Her vision went spotty in the sudden glare, and the world sounding muffled from the incredible crash of the instantaneous thunder.

    Damn this storm!

    Fool go now! He too is blind and deaf! Instinct screeched, cutting through the silence, unmuffled within her thoughts, and she scrambled as best she could, looking back at Ropemaker.

    He too was looking at where the lightning crashed, away from her. She made her way into a little alcove of wood, deep in a shadow, almost next to him. Still acting quickly, she rearranged some of the fragments of moss onto herself. Using her camouflage to match its color and using the plants themselves to match the texture.

    She could feel her heart racing as he turned back and his eyes, bright yellow like hers, ran across her.

    Calm.

    She held still, her own eyes open only in the smallest of slits, her face under a mask of the moss.

    Scentmoss. Her Instinct named it.

    Had he paused looking at her?

    Maybe. Should I strike? She couldn¡¯t decide.

    Her heart felt like it was trying to crack her own ribs from the inside.

    She had to end it, she couldn¡¯t take this!

    Kill him!

    Yes! Fight! Win! Now! Instinct screamed, sensing the advantage of surprise.

    She felt her legs coil beneath her, ready to spring at him in a desperate struggle. She paused, thinking. Remembering the Tikabo.

    He is twice my size. Well fed. Uninjured.

    Her Instinct gnashed, calling for blood. And the neonate ignored it.

    He would kill her easily without even trying. The mission was to gather intelligence, to better equip herself so that she would even have a chance to compete.

    Didn¡¯t the Provider also say we weren¡¯t supposed to directly kill each other, anyway?

    Her Instinct grumbled at being denied the primal impulse.

    She would compete, but it would be only in ways that were in custom. Even if she would be the only one to know.

    Her Instinct didn¡¯t answer that, though there was a sense of begrudging acceptance that stained her subconscious.

    Ropemaker¡¯s eyes shifted away from her, back to his kill. It was absolutely some kind of large rodent, and he tore into it afresh.

    Safe for the moment, and trying to distract herself from the loud sounds of her peer eating, she looked over to where the lightning had struck, her curiosity taking charge. Crimson light danced against dark bark, the tree that had been struck across the river was burning.

    If only it had been on this side of the river.

    She needed fire to cook the whiptails, to warm herself, and possibly even use it as a weapon against the others.

    In the flickering light of the flames she recognized the scute covered back of an alligator, one of many she was sure. That was a skill to hunt for later though, she needed a way to force the male to actually make rope so she could see it done¡­ or something so she could at least guess at the construction.

    Deep in the shadows, she took a bit of a chance. She opened her eyes a bit more so that she could see clearly. For a long while, the male simply ate, gorging on meat, making it hard not to drool. She looked around, trying to gather as much information as she could while she was there.

    There was a strange pile of plant fibers off to one side, and next to it, hanging from some cordage that had been tied to a branch above were several things that looked like a forked stick, dangling slightly in the breeze.

    They weren¡¯t very large, not even the length of her own forearm. Each one was well out of the rain, and looking above she could see that the male had made the effort to ensure that.

    They hung under a small roof of rushes, lashed together with yet more cordage. It was similar to the general living space, though that relied also on living branches and leaves of the tree itself. She could see another pile of fibers that had been squashed down, and she supposed that was where this male must sleep at night.

    Not far away there was a stone resting in a concave depression in one of the limbs of the tree. The edges of the depression were feathered out from repetitive pounding.

    Lots of hammering. But of what?

    He looked up, his chewing slowing, and she narrowed her eyes to slits, holding her breath, becoming perfectly still.

    His tongue flicked out, and he turned slightly.

    Calm.

    She could feel the pounding of her heart in her chest. Had he smelled her breath? No, the moss was over her whole head, masking the smell of her breath with the plant-smell.

    His tongue licked some of the blood from his chin on the back of a hand large enough to grasp her entire skull.

    Calm!

    She suppressed the need to shiver in fear.

    His hand reached towards her.

    Freeze! Hold still!

    She swallowed. She didn¡¯t want to fight Ropemaker here. He¡¯d just pick her up and throw her out of the tree.

    If she was caught, she would die this time.

    What gave her hope though was the complete lack of evidence that this male was the monster. The one hunting and killing the others. So it would probably just be another maiming.

    Little comfort. It would still kill me.

    His hand felt along the bark, near her feet.

    He¡¯s feeling for me!

    She had to strike now, to attack now! She couldn¡¯t let him get a hold of her.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 12: Technology

    Greenscales are the fastest to create the simple tools of survival, rope, blades, fire, etc. It is a quirk of their bloodline, as they are close to the Firebringer, Baha¡¯an. Be prepared for that to happen as you act as Provider.

    -From Neonatum Provisae: 3:16-18

    Ropemaker¡¯s hand got closer still, thick fingers and glinting claws walking the hand along. Palm brushing against the bark.

    Don¡¯t make me fight! She bared her teeth under the mask of moss.

    Survive! Strike first! Kill!

    Her legs coiled beneath her, her jaw tightened, the claws of her feet dug into the bark for a good grip. His hand moved closer, slapping now.

    Wait, is he¡­ feeling for something?

    Ropemaker picked up something she hadn¡¯t noticed by her feet.

    The rain rattled against the reed roof.

    There was another flash of lightning and she saw that it was a small rock of a peculiar shape. Thin. Like it was broken off from a larger stone. It glinted slightly in the night.

    He turned back to face his catch. In the flash of the lightning she could see that his hue was only slightly more yellow.

    Does he have a deficiency? Why not use his claw? The shock of not having to fight only increasing her distractability.

    Watch. See. Her Instinct was still ready to spring and fight.

    Using the small piece of split stone, he sliced off the forelegs of the large rodent. He then ran the sharp fragment along the inside of each. He did this methodically, slicing away the flesh and exposing the tendon. Not tearing, but almost just, running the flake along the animal. The flesh splitting away.

    So much sharper than a claw! Could she make such a thing?

    Yes.

    He flipped it around with a bloody splat, shifting as he did with at grunt. Peeling the flesh like it was a rind of a particularly ripe fruit and taking out the back tendons too. He carved off a haunch, eating it messily.

    It took her a moment to realize that the tendons were the forked ¡®sticks¡¯ she had seen hanging up with the pile of bark. Sure enough, he grabbed a thin piece of cordage and tied the pair next to the others.

    To dry out¡­ but why? Could they be provisions for later?

    I should focus. Her Instinct¡¯s frustration leaked into her forebrain.

    Ropemaker tossed the bones of the giant rodent into the river as well. The sound of the splash was almost completely drowned out by the falling rain.

    The marrow!

    Wasted! Her Instinct snarled.

    She almost wanted to kill him for that waste.

    He then began coiling up what a fresh flash of lightning revealed to be the thin snares, going slowly for some reason that wasn¡¯t readily apparent in the dark of the stormy night.

    Checking for flaws¡­ Instinct speculated quietly.

    She focused on his thick hands, wondering if her Instinct was right. It was too dark to see though, she¡¯d have to wait for another lightning flash.

    The neonate¡¯s body was starting to cramp up from staying in place for so long. Especially her shoulder, which pulsed with waves of pain. Her stomach screamed for food. Instinct tried to wiggle its own voice into her subconscious as she thought about that, but she again forced it away.

    No distractions.

    She didn¡¯t need any of those this close to one of her competitors. It was just as she thought that that she heard something. Something strange. Something wrong.

    What was that?

    The male had heard it too, looking off towards the center of the island. Standing to get a better look. He stood and walked right in front of her, and she quickly shut her eyes to hide their reflection of light.

    Muscles tense, now ready to spring away if needed. The silence seemed to her to indicate he had noticed something strange about the shadow she was hiding in. She pressed further into it, not daring to do anything else.

    There it was again, the sound.

    She opened one eye to the tiniest slit.

    He had paused. In the dark she could see the silhouette of his head turn to look towards the noise as well.

    Again, even louder this time.

    What was it?

    He definitely could hear it too. It wasn¡¯t just her. He had turned away from her now, towards the sound.

    Again.

    It was¡­ A voice?

    No.

    A scream!

    Clearer and louder still now, it echoed under the sounds of the storm, high pitched, and familiar. One of them was being hurt¡­ She felt fear flood into her body as she realized what it meant.

    The monster had struck again.

    Ropemaker rushed towards the noise. He ran along one of the thicker lines, toes curling to grip it with each step, thick tail helping him balance. He leaped from the line to the end of a branch, the whole thing swaying, ropes creaking. He grabbed one, fully in the rain, facing the center of the island. He had dropped the snares.

    ¡°What would make us scream like that?¡± He whispered in horse sibilant tones. ¡°Even the runt wouldn¡¯t sound like that.¡±

    Kill!

    No!

    Ignoring the insult, she shivered in terror, knowing that the monster had killed again. Fear took hold of her, her mind cracking under the strain of all of this. She would be found, killed, shoved from the tree to be broken by the ground below.

    Her flesh wasted, unnamed as she died.

    She started to whimper. Missing the sun, the warmth, the quiet times with the Provider.

    Then another voice, muffled at first, but then clearer, screamed at her.

    Idiot! Take advantage of this! Now! The voice was filled with boiling wrath, indignant that she would even entertain the idea of giving up now. It had to be her Instinct.

    And it was right.

    She glanced up at the woven reeds, then back down to the dropped snares.

    Acting quickly, trying and failing to ignore the shrieks of pain now echoing across the island, she reached forward and grabbed one of the snares. She only had moments to do this, she was sure.Stolen story; please report.

    Ropemaker snarled, facing the sounds. Staring out towards the danger, not knowing he was dangerous to her.

    The neonate used her claws to fray the fibers of one length. Taking a guess. Hoping she was right to think that Ropemaker had been checking for damage. Not too much, but hopefully enough to warrant a repair or the fabrication of a fresh piece of line.

    She thought about using her teeth as well, but she didn¡¯t want a chance to leave any new smells on it. Her claws and hands were bad enough as it was. Hopefully the wet and the moss would keep her from being discovered.

    It was the work of mere moments. Her plan laid, she took advantage of his distraction and slunk out of her hiding place.

    Her stiff joints rebelled against the sudden movement. She was tyrannical in her demand to move, to not be found, and she forced herself.

    Once she was around the far side of the trunk, she climbed higher. She held herself flat against the tree before scrambling into the woven reeds of the roof of the nest.

    She already knew that Ropemaker was less likely to think to look upwards from how he acted before, so it seemed like a better hiding place. And now that she was in amongst the layered and woven reeds she could stretch out, with a better view of what he did. Somehow warmer than below too.

    More out of the wind, I suppose.

    Deep in the dark, she became a shadow with her pattern. Settling in.

    A titanic roar competed with the thunder for the title of loudest sound in the night, and luckily it was far away. She might have leaped out through the reeds if it was closer.

    It clearly was the Provider¡¯s war cry. A sound to challenge foes, and to warn or punish his charges.

    Instinctively she curled tighter into her hiding spot. Ropemaker scrambled back under cover, also cowering from the sonic bludgeon that was Tok¡¯s fury.

    Holding her breath she waited, keeping herself hidden above the male hatchling. He shivered, his green ever so slightly paler. She secretly empathized with the need to calm down with him. Not minding her secret moment of quiet with her broodmate. She could wait. Close to someone else while a monster stalked the night.

    It was a long time before Ropemaker collected himself enough to go back to his task, and it was in those quiet moments that she started to understand something that she had been too frantic to take in earlier. He couldn¡¯t be the monster. It had just killed someone out there in the night.

    That might not have been a murder. Instinct grumbled.

    I know what I heard. I know that was a murder.

    Believing that reassured her that she wouldn¡¯t be eaten at least if caught.

    The result would be the same.

    True, but Ropemaker might be less inclined to continue pursuit if she got far enough away.

    Fair enough.

    Ropemaker picked up his dropped cordage, starting to coil it again. From her new vantage she could see that he was checking the condition of each with a thumb. Her excitement grew. The inspection slowed, and he felt at one for a bit longer than the others.

    The one I frayed? It had to be.

    Had she done too much? Would it give her away? He brought it to his face, inspecting it in the flashes of lightning, then he discarded it, tossing it out of his nest and moving to the pile of dried fibers.

    Success!

    Good! Learn!

    She slunk above him, keeping a close eye on his actions as he grabbed a handful of the bark, sitting down on a branch and letting his feet dangle over the side of the tree. A rope resting against his chest as he actually leaned forward, swinging his legs absentmindedly as he worked.

    She repositioned herself, taking her time, moving with deliberate caution. She couldn¡¯t move quickly as it might disturb the dried reeds above her. Some shifted, and one started to fall.

    No!

    Her hand darted out and caught the debris so that it wouldn''t fall on Ropemaker¡¯s tail as he worked. She shifted her body to catch the occasional drip of rain as she slid the reed slowly back into place.

    The stress was bad enough, but her shoulder burned with pain.

    She thought wistfully of the bliss of the leaves.

    Yes! Leaves! Get some now! So good that-

    Quiet! She nearly snarled out loud she was so frustrated at her Instinct. She spotted a blessing in disguise, some ropes to lean on. She shifted further along the overhanging branch and rested her upper body on the rope. Slowly. Not even making a creak.

    In position now, and having silenced her own thoughts, she tried her best to make out what Ropemaker was doing.

    He had taken several fibers, aligning them so that they were parallel to each other. Twisting and twisting, winding and winding, and then it kinked, curling over in the opposite direction. Keeping each half separate, he twisted one at a time away from himself, then twisted that bundle around the other towards himself. Switching bundles each time.

    That simple? How had she not figured that out on her own?

    Fighting to survive.

    True.

    She settled in for a long wait for him to finish.

    The rain continued to rattle on the reeds just above her, and in the warmth and the dry, she struggled to not dose off.

    It felt like an age passed before Ropemaker finally bedded down, but when he did, she was like a shadow in the night. Slinking down to the main level of the nest, she stared at him to make sure he didn¡¯t stir as she moved.

    Walking on the netting was strange, but not overly difficult. She quickly got used to how she sank more than usual. She crept through, not wanting to stay long and needing to sleep. She yawned and nearly yelped as her foot went through a hole in the netting. The whole thing bounced.

    Ropemaker¡¯s breathing hitched.

    She held still, holding her breath.

    He grumbled, and rolled over, growling.

    She readied herself to flee.

    Fight!

    No!

    Idiot¡­

    He started snoring again, drifting into deeper dreams.

    She tried to ignore that he was now facing her and pulled her leg up out of the hole. It wouldn¡¯t have been big enough for his foot to go through, emphasizing the difference in their sizes. Really wanting to leave, she contented herself with taking only a single strand of the fibers. Just for her personal comparison later, so that she might gather her own.

    Take it all! Everything! Compete! Her Instinct ranted, yanking at her hands.

    She bared her teeth in the night. This is enough.

    She didn¡¯t want to take too much, not yet. She didn¡¯t need an enemy as strong as Ropemaker while she was recovering from a fresh injury. That, and she wanted to get the hell out of this deathtrap as soon as she could.

    Climbing out into the rain, listening and glancing back often, making sure that he was still sleeping, she left, as silent as the moon trekking through the sky. She felt triumph as she made her escape, proud of her success.

    The way back was long, and it was so tempting to just curl up in a dry spot not too far away and just make the rest of the trip in the morning. But she had no surety that Tok had killed the monster. Surely if he caught it then the murderer would be killed, but whether it had been caught was the real question. So finding a safe place to hide, out of the weather, where she could recover more from this fresh injury was paramount.

    Somewhere hidden.

    The river had overflowed the banks however, and the cold flow of water had covered the ground beneath. She still had a ways to go inland before she could find any dry place on the ground to sleep.

    Idiot. Sleep in a tree. Learn! Adapt! Instinct shrieked in her mind, adding to a growing headache that she was struggling to fight off.

    Part of her wanted to listen, to give in to sleep, but she shoved that part of herself aside. She would not just pick any tree. She had to be deliberate about where she chose.

    The whole reason that Ropemaker could sleep in a tree like that was because he had probably been doing it for weeks now. It definitely helped him that his nest was prepped and ready to be used as a place of rest.

    She didn¡¯t have the time, energy, or resources to do anything similar. Not all in one night. What she could do was head inland though, towards higher ground, and possibly find something that would be dry and suitable for the moment.

    Then I need to pick a bad place to sleep, so I won''t have to fight over it. Her Instinct grumbled, and that made her pause.

    A bad place to sleep¡­ She paused. Somewhere that wouldn¡¯t seem desirable to the others. Somewhere that would serve her purposes and her purposes alone.

    Something that doesn¡¯t look like a place to rest at all.

    With that thought, she continued her trek, toes and ankles getting wet as the water continued to rise, even with her going uphill.

    Eventually she made her way back to mostly solid ground, mud instead of standing water. It was not far from the original nesting site she thought.

    Her stomach gurgled.

    There should be a berry bush nearby.

    She hoped that there were still some left to eat.

    Lightning flashed above her, and it took some time for the rumbling thunder to catch up.

    Only one way to find out.

    The neonate hissed in dissatisfaction when she reached the berry patch. Fighting down the urge to rip the bushes out by the roots.

    Not that I could in my state. She growled with dark orange frustration as her shoulder throbbed.

    There had only been a handful of berries ripe enough to eat, and both her stomach and her Instinct screamed for more. She fought down her urge to throw a tantrum. There were plenty of green berries.

    Not yet ripe, but they would be soon.

    Not soon enough. Must feed now! Her Instinct snarled, clawing at her empty insides.

    And it was with those thoughts that she settled down for the night. Unsure of how she would solve her problems in the morning.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 13: Shed

    Shed skin always has one last use left.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:1

    The neonate slept fitfully.

    Vague dreams of being ripped apart, or shredded by disembodied claws, or something equally horrible plaguing her. She couldn¡¯t remember most of it.

    Small blessings are better than none. She rubbed the crust from her eyes.

    The chill, her pain, and her ravenous hunger were terrible bedfellows. The hollow log that had served as her shelter from the elements left much to be desired.

    The damp floor inside was just hard enough to be uncomfortable, while also being soft enough that water pooled around her, further chilling her.

    It leaked in from the opening at the front of the log and also squished out from the rotting fibers. Stinking of rot.

    Now cold, aching, and hungry, she slogged back out into the rain, needing to find something to eat.

    Perhaps the snipbugs have moved inland as well? Where it¡¯s flooded.

    She felt her Instinct shrug inside. Possible.

    She scooped sandy soil up from the ground and scrubbed, wanting to get rid of the smell of rotting wood, and her scales started to peel. Improving her mood slightly. It was a tangible sign of her growth. The first one in some time.

    Need to gather something for bedding too. Cold would kill her. Something she knew so well it didn¡¯t have to be highlighted by her hindbrain. She thought of the bark fibers at ropemaker¡¯s tree.

    Those would also work for bedding.

    She had inspected the fibers more thoroughly inside the log. Smelling past the scent of the thick fingered male. She was quite sure that the fibers were from pillarwoods. It made some sense. The trees grew tall and straight, so the fibers within should be similar.

    Got to watch out for Tikabo, the rain might extend their range. She wasn¡¯t sure of that, but it would certainly let them stay out of the water longer, keeping their skin moist. Best to not take a chance.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    The list of things only grew, as did her frustration with the cool rain as she searched for something easy to snack on. She reached out to brush aside a vine without thinking.

    Her cramped joints and knotted muscles refused to budge. Instead, all the neonate got was a grinding pain in her shoulder, making her hiss.

    Leaves! Now! More! Her Instinct snarled, its demands getting harder and harder to ignore as her condition deteriorated.

    Too weary to fight the one urge that she could fulfill, pushing the vine aside with her good arm, she moved to a different bush with variegated leaves. Picking a small handful.

    Not too many. She had work to do, and was too close to losing what little foothold on life she had.

    She stared at them for a moment, wanting to deny herself, to fight this craving. But then the pain wouldn¡¯t stop. And she needed it to fight infection. The stinking water within the log made her worry.

    Has to be another way to use it¡­

    She finally gave in and stuffed the leaves into her mouth, chewing. Seeing no point in dwelling on the issue, her mind shifted back to the idea of rope and snares. That seemed to be the best way to get back to collecting food. At least until she learned how to hunt and track in this downpour.

    Thunder rumbled in the distance.

    Need to find some pillarwoods. She shivered as the healing herb started to work its side effects almost instantly, and purposely spat out some of the juice to slow it down.

    Her Instinct remained silent. Present behind her eyes. The tiniest reminder of her cravings, not fully stated. Frustrating her as she tried to focus on important things.

    The neonate¡¯s feet squashed wetly in the mud, but fortunately the rain quickly obscured her three-toed tracks. What helped potential prey also helped her, though thinking in such terms wounded her pride. As she traveled, she kept a wary vigil for any of the other Greenscales. She made sure to tear free some scentmoss and scrub herself well too.

    They¡¯ll see my injuries, my weakness, or smell me, they¡¯ll attack. And she had a feeling that any attack now would take away any chance of her survival, let alone the ability to recover.

    She had to be sure to take all the time she needed to stay perfectly hidden.

    Traveling downhill, skin blending with the background and keeping to the shadows of the undergrowth, the neonate used her other senses as well. Her tongue flickering out, nostrils flaring, ever on alert.

    She tried her best to stay as dry as possible, though it was a futile effort. It wasn¡¯t long before she was further chilled by the rain. It slowed her muscles and frayed her temper to no end. She had to hurry. She needed food! She needed warmth!

    I have to figure out how to address one of these issues¡­ Makes it hard to think.

    Survive!

    She longed for the sun on the rocks again. She looked up, aching for the warmth, to be able to bask once more, and had to blink away rain droplets that fell into her eye. The sky was moody with clouds, spreading out in all directions.

    No break in the weather in sight.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Monsoon.

    So it won¡¯t break for quite a while then.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    Starting to feel dizzy, the neonate spat out her cud of healing herbs and applied it to her belly wound first. Her body absorbed the medicine, relaxing into the dull fuzzy feeling even further. The neonate tried smearing the excess paste onto her shoulder, rubbing it into her scales. Getting it under them, in between them. Trying to get the paste to her skin.

    She wasn¡¯t sure if the poultice would do anything for the pain inside her body from outside application, but she needed to try something. She needed both arms.

    The neonate wrapped both wounds in fern leaves after, both to protect it from the rain, and also to hide the off color. To her relief, her shoulder started to go numb too, the knotted muscles and tendons relaxed a fraction.

    She hissed softly under the sound of the sheeting rain, moving her arm. The joint popped with a burst of pain that faded into satisfaction. Bones shifted back into their proper place.

    She knew of a grove of pillartrees on the other side of the island. Through the flooded section.

    She remembered the rising water, and suspected it would continue with the endless rain. Should hurry then.

    May not be able to get to them now. Her Instinct realized, trying to use the thought to sneakily grab more leaves of the herb, trying to distract her by focusing on thoughts of the canopy.

    She forced her hand back to her side. I¡¯ll just have to keep my eye out for them on the way.

    Something shifted in the brush to her left.

    She ducked low.

    Tongue flickering, useless as the precipitation pushed the scents to the soil.

    Slowly, she waddled backwards, deeper into the shadows of a dense clump of whiptail reeds.

    What is that? Prey?

    Or a predator? Her Instinct responded darkly.

    She didn¡¯t like the idea of finding out, but hunger and curiosity teamed up to force her to stay in place. She let the reeds close in around herself. Shifting what muscles in her skin she was flexing, her scales became a series of vertical brown, green, and black lines. She was glad she had applied the moss earlier.

    She wished she could see her whole body as she did that. It would be interesting to watch as she literally melted away into thin air.

    It''s more likely that I¡¯d start seeing flaws in the disguise. Her Instinct chided in response to her pride.

    That would be good though, see how to improve it.

    Her Instinct paused, then grunted.

    She focused her attentions, not just looking, but listening. Her tongue slid out from between her lips, waving up and down slowly. She breathed in through her nostrils as well.

    Where are you?

    She smelled it first, and recoiled at it.

    The sickly-sweet reek of necrotic flesh. Infection.

    When he came into view, she recognized him instantly.

    A male hatchling, one eye gouged out, his face contorted by rotting flesh. Fresh wounds covered his arms, and he was missing a couple teeth. It looked like he had been in a fight with some mighty predator, or maybe several smaller ones?

    He must be hunting alligator hatchlings himself now.

    Her Instinct hissed in agreement.

    The smell wafted around him like light around a fire, a horrible reek that nauseated at the same time it called for her to strike, to kill, to-

    Cull him! Her Instinct sensed weakness. She wanted to exploit it!

    No! Not yet. She fought that down and kept up her observations. It pained her, but the neonate was in no state to fight, and just looking at him she knew how any conflict between them would end.

    Her bully had grown. Becoming positively gargantuan for a Greenscale, nearly six feet tall if she were to guess, even hunched over as he was. He was bulky too, as if he had been gorging daily. His tail was thick with fat, and muscles rippled under plate-like scutes, segments of bone under thick hide like a crocodile.

    Twice her height, more than five times her weight. A true monster. Envy burned inside her.

    He muttered to himself too quietly to hear, his remaining eye bloodshot and roving. His empty socket glistened wetly, pus continuing to ooze down one side of his face, and even in the rain flies buzzed around it.

    Far too big. She stayed perfectly still, knowing that she couldn¡¯t outpace him.

    She didn¡¯t want to chance a confrontation with him. He had every reason to hold a grudge against her, and as she was, he would kill her easily. She thought about Ropemaker¡¯s stone shard. If she had something more practical that was as sharp¡­ that would change things.

    The neonate was surprised that he was still alive if she was honest, usually the necrosis was fatal at this point, and all of the hatchlings knew that.

    A thick glob of corruption fell from his empty socket to the ground, splattering into the mud and stinking. She could see maggots squirming grossly in it.

    Something about him was fascinating to her. He was a study of something being completely ruined, and in a way there was some satisfaction that washed into her at the sight.

    You did that to him. Her Instinct hissed smugly. You have given him the name One-eye.

    Pride surged inside her, a sustaining warmth that spread through her body as it grew.

    One-eye panted, his tongue flicking out constantly.

    His eye looked right at her.

    She held her breath, freezing, her eyes already almost completely shut. His eye kept moving. Not seeing her.

    But he didn¡¯t move on. She needed him to leave!

    Wasting daylight.

    Learn! Adapt!

    She tried to think of a way to hoodwink him, the itchyness of her old scales distracting her.

    That¡¯s it!

    His head turned away and she reached down and grabbed a small stone. At the same time she pealed some of her scales off of her chest, wrapping the stone in them.

    One-eye growled, still muttering, shaking his head so that pus spattered into the mud.

    She threw the rock, and it crackled and skittered through the underbrush, hopefully leaving tiny traces of her scent as it went.

    His head jerked, and his nostrils flared.

    With a roar he charged off after the stone, vanishing into the undergrowth. The wretched smell lingered behind him. She could hear him still going.

    She hissed in relief.

    Maybe his body is fighting off the infection better than the others because of how well he is feeding?

    Regardless, she was glad he was gone. She did not like the idea of a reunion with the one eyed male. That crisis averted, or rather, avoided, she continued towards center of the island, glad it was in a different direction to the one One-eye had traveled in.

    Cull! Fight!

    She ignored her Instinct.

    She did find more scentmoss, scrubbing herself with more of it before continuing on her search for pillarwood saplings.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 14: Exaptation

    Skills are not rigid. A true Initiate meditates long on how to repurpose their current skills to a problem before searching for any novel solution.

    -From Vocationals: 1:15-16

    The rain had slowed, not stopping, but the lessening was appreciated. The island continued to flood, the new water line several yards closer than it usually was in the center of the island.

    The neonate waded in, submerged halfway up her shins while she was still under the trees. She was surprised that the water here was not quite as cold as the rain.

    The herb had done wonders for her shoulder, letting her use it almost as if she hadn''t wrenched it the previous night. Letting her use her bad arm for non-strenuous tasks. Bending over, she started lifting stones over slowly with it so as to not spook any possible delectables that were hiding beneath. Keeping her good arm ready for trying to catch them.

    There!

    A snipbug!

    Like a darting kingbill her good hand shot into the water. Judging where the little crustation would dart.

    Her claws wrapped around her prey, the one on her thumb piercing its head before it could pinch. She lifted it up to her mouth, crunching greedily. It was devoured in a few quick bites, shell and all.

    Her shoulder ached as she let go of the flat stone. Not bad, more of a reminder of the injury.

    More leaves¡­ please¡­ Her Instinct begged, but she shoved that down.

    No. She needed food more than a reapplication of her medicine anyway.

    Lightning flashed above.

    She searched, the rain continuing to pour down, the chill of it sinking deep into her marrow. And while she initially enjoyed the warmth of the floodwater, it left her wet. When the wind blew, that wetness only made her colder.

    The neonate found nothing more than that first crustation. And looking along the bottom, it looked like another one of the neonates had been through here. One with larger feet than she had.

    Damn this wet hiding scent. She wanted to know who it was, if she knew them anyway.

    She was starting to get frantic, becoming less careful with the stones. Flipping them. Throwing them. All in growing agitation. Uncaring of the disturbance or noise it made.

    Someone has been through here! They had taken all of it. She moved along the flooded area, heading towards the old bank of the river.

    Her stomach rumbled in time with the thunder.

    One stone broke as it hit another up on dry land after she threw it to one side, panting, needing there to be food beneath.

    Damn them! She needed that food!

    Idiot! Take care! Sound!

    She snarled silently, but her Instinct was correct.

    She had reached the old bank and stopped. She was weary to go any deeper, staring out at the roiling tempest of the river. The great surging current of it. Lightning flaring bright to illuminate it before thunder cracked high above.

    And the Tikabo that might be out there.

    She had to retreat and come up with a new plan. Frustrated, she sloshed back up and out of the water, forcing her body to move. More than anything she wanted to curl up somewhere warm. She was struggling to think. The cold and hunger making her slow of mind and body both.

    A compounding struggle that finally used up the last of her patience.

    What¡¯s the point? I¡¯m going to fail anyway. Even One-eye was doing better than she was, and he had lost half of his sight. She was always too late, too small, too weak. Never enough.

    Live! Instinct screamed at her, and she wanted to scream back.

    How could she live with nothing to eat? How could she use anything she learned when she was too small to dig up the whiptails? She hadn¡¯t even found a damn pillarwood. That meant no snares. No game. No food!

    She gnashed her teeth and almost snarled aloud. Even that was frustrating. The requirement of silence.

    Getting out of the water she curled up under a large mangrove, mostly out of the rain and trying to dry off a little. Hoping to calm down.

    Several other Greenscales ran right past her, sloshing through the flooded section as they snarled and squabbled over a hunk of meat.

    She let them, not wanting to try. Too frustrated to trust herself to be cautious.

    She hated being too small to challenge them. Hated it.

    Once she was dry, the neonate made herself look around, feeling a bit calmer now. Still hungry, still frustrated, but no longer wet at least.

    Can¡¯t waste time.

    Good. Learn. Her Instinct was gentle this time as she looked for a pillarwood.

    There it was.

    Right in front of her! How had she missed it?

    Anger. Burrow-vision. Her Instinct was excited too.

    She jumped up and ran to it. A pillarwood sapling, all by itself, and ready to be harvested.

    Finally some good luck! The neonate tried to dig her claws into the bark of the tree. She wanted to peel it off and collect it so that she might at least make some snares later.

    It was slow going. Her claws were sharp, but the bark was thick. What made it perfect for making cordage also made it difficult to harvest. She needed to find a faster method. The Greenscales that passed by earlier might come back this way.

    How had Ropemaker done it?

    ¡°Bastard¡­¡± She hissed at the tree, then winced at speaking out loud.

    Pointless, it is a tree. Her Instinct grumbled. Not a barkskin.

    Not sure what that was, the neonate looked around, trying to see if there was a smaller sapling nearby that might be easier to try for. There wasn¡¯t any in sight. Then her eyes rested on the split stone that she had made in her search for snipbugs.

    An idea formed in her tired mind.

    Ropemaker had made something to improve his chances, as had the Harvester by stealing the fire. So why shouldn¡¯t she? Why hadn¡¯t she?

    Learn.

    Tok pushing down on a lever. Talking about strength. Signaling that it wasn¡¯t just brute force. She looked at the split stone.

    Innovate.

    Ropemaker, reaching for that sharp stone¡­slicing meat. Could it slice bark too? That might be the answer!

    She snatched up the two halves of stone, inspecting them. One fit her palm quite well, a jagged edge along one side. She could see the tiny changes of color. The lines of strata. Her eyes, so sensitive to differences like that for her camouflage, perfect for this kind of work.

    She turned the rough split stone in her hand.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Would this work? As is?

    No, needs refinement. Follow. Learn. Her Instinct hissed, filling her hands. Guiding her.

    Something innate bloomed up from the depths. Triggered by the inquiry itself. Not a full answer, but something almost there.

    She used the other half, bulky and awkward, and smacked the edge of the one that fit her palm.

    Clack. Nothing.

    Clack. She tried again.

    Clack. She adjusted the smaller stone in her hand, changing the angle.

    Cla-tinkle. A shard came away!

    The shape was better. More robust now.

    The neonate worked the stone, quickly, not liking the noise, but needing the tool. It wasn¡¯t long before she was done. The other was a bit too large and bulky so she tossed it over her shoulder. She could find another hammerstone if she needed one.

    Basic tool in hand, she returned to the sapling.

    Using the hard edge of the stone, as well as the added weight and momentum of it held in her hand, she gouged the trunk of the young pillarwood. She held the edge of the stone so that it was perpendicular to the ground. She was elated to find that she was getting through the bark much more easily now.

    But how to be efficient?

    Cut then peel. Her Instinct suggested.

    Nodding to herself, the neonate hacked at the base of the trunk. It wasn¡¯t very large, she could still close her hand around it fully. Even with her newly discovered tool it proved difficult, and the sound of her chopping the wood echoed alarmingly. She persevered though, eventually getting to the point where she could push the sapling over and tear it from the stump.

    Faster! Don¡¯t want the others to investigate!

    She made quick work of getting her claws under the cut bark, and was pleased to find that it peeled away from the trunk easily as she lifted. She hacked off the limbs that got in the way so that in the end she had a big coil of it. The trunk, de-barked, and denuded, was also something of interest.

    Perhaps this could also prove useful?

    She wasn¡¯t sure how, nor did any of this solve her immediate problem of hunger.

    Head back, think on it later while making cordage. Her Instinct hissed, pleased but not content in her empty stomach. At least she could get dry again as she worked.

    Gathering up the pole, her hand ax, and the roll of bark, she made her way back to her log.

    As the neonate got closer, she took care to slow down. Inspecting the area around the hollow log carefully, her tongue flickering out repeatedly. Tasting to see if there was a danger that she hadn¡¯t noticed yet.

    Don¡¯t see tracks, don¡¯t smell or taste the scent of anything. She started to head towards the opening, ready to get out of the rain.

    Moss? Her Instinct asked.

    She almost snarled. They could have used the moss, hiding their scent.

    Damn and damn again.

    She growled in her mind. She knew what she could do to check.

    She crept around the side of the log, moving slowly. Staying away from the open entrance.

    With sudden vicious violence she rammed the pole into her den. She slammed it back, forth, and around. She would beat any possible intruder senseless before they had a chance to get out. She kept it up for some time, unable to tell if she was hitting an intruder or the semispongy wood of the log.

    By the time she was comfortable with being done, The neonate was panting with the exertion. There weren¡¯t any sounds. Her shoulder ached.

    She carefully peeked in.

    Empty.

    Safe this time.

    She finally climbed in. Ready to rest.

    She spent most of the day inside the log, picking apart the fibers from the bark with her claws and teeth, breaking them down into finer strands as she rested.

    She hadn¡¯t seen any of the outer skin of the bark in the materials pile of Ropemaker, so she set that aside.

    Waste not want not.

    Maybe it could be used as bedding she needed.

    At first, her progress towards processing all of the bark moved quickly. Her claws and teeth were perfect at pinching out the inner layers of the bark and pulling them free.

    As she progressed though, her progress slowed as the hunger became harder and harder to ignore. Making it hard to focus in her cramped den.

    Absently she rolled over in the log, picking at the spongy wall, pulling some away in soggy rubbery chunks.

    Thunder rumbled outside.

    Something white wiggled into a hole in the log and she blinked.

    What?

    Curious, she dug deeper, and a pale whiteish yellow grub fell out onto the floor of the log. Its body undulated uselessly as it tried to roll over onto its underdeveloped legs. She blinked again, dumbly as it started to burrow into the floor.

    Feed!

    Ravenously she snapped it up, the burst of juice intoxicatingly delectable. She tore into the roof of the log, the walls of it, almost fully composted wood chips falling onto her face as she heedlessly hunted for more of the toothsome maggots.

    They rained down, and she gorged on them, heedless of the woodchips that coated her scales.

    More! Her Instinct snarled, fully awakened by the bounty as thunder cracked like a whip.

    Soon, she was outside the log, using her claws, the hand ax, even the stripped sapling to pry and pull and dig into the spongy bones of a tree that had fallen gods knew how long ago.

    The neonate snapped up every single grub she could find, vigilant to not let any escape. They were rich, and nutty in flavor, and burst in such a satisfying way as she ate them.

    Such abundance, such wealth.

    How are they still here? How have none of the others ripped into this log yet?

    They don¡¯t know to. Instinct said softly, sounding as surprised as she was at the realization, which only made sense.

    They didn¡¯t need to look for such lowly things. They hadn¡¯t been held back by their size or injuries like she had. Those that hadn¡¯t died sooner, anyway.

    Survive! Thrive!

    Stuffed full, she clambered back into what was left of the log. She knew from her Instinct that the rain would continue for quite a while, but that was fine.

    She could think again.

    She started to work on the cordage. It took a couple tries to get the trick of it despite her observations the previous night. It didn¡¯t help that her fingers were still shaking.

    Must be from suddenly being full.

    Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, shaking the ground beneath the log.

    She didn¡¯t mind.

    It could rain as much as it wanted.

    So long as there was still log left to dig through, she could take her time to heal up and make the tools she would need to keep surviving well past the end of the monsoon season. She added a fresh bunch of fibers to the cord she was twisting into shape, proud of herself.

    She worked late into the night, making six good snares and an impressive length of cordage for general use, all the while snacking here and there on grubs and the occasional beetle. Hunger dealt with for the moment, it was easier for the neonate to plan her next task.

    As good as it was to have a shelter with a built in food source, that wasn¡¯t sustainable. She would eventually tear the shelter apart because she needed the calories.

    Or someone else will. Her Instinct grumbled.

    It needs to be isolated as well. Away from the others. Somewhere she could go to get dry and keep out of the elements. A place to work on developing more tools to aid her success in this trial.

    She didn¡¯t want something as elaborate as Ropemaker¡¯s nest, nor did she want to have something as exposed as Harvester''s open air territory.

    Secluded. Access to food. A place for a fire. And a place to get out of the rain. She thought about it more deeply. And somewhere where I could spy on the others. Try and learn from them. I need every trick and skill I can get.

    Such a simple set of requirements. Her Instinct hissed, sibilant tones slick with sarcasm.

    She thought about the hanging reed bundles that Ropemaker used to keep off the rain, and the stones that the harvester had placed the fire on top of. That would be a good combination of things to have. She also wondered if she might be able to use this stick or one like it to help dig out the whiptail tubers.

    First things first. Instinct interrupted her racing thoughts, though it did agree with utilizing things she had seen the others do for herself.

    Yes. Fire was the next hurdle.

    And not just theft of it, which would be all but impossible in this weather.

    She needed to figure out how to light fires herself, and to cook her food. That would open up many other routes for her survival, and also make the calories more accessible, as her Instinct told her. Whatever that meant, anyway.

    So that would be the next goal, but that would have to be tomorrow at the earliest, if not a few days later than that. She was full and tired, and with a somewhat stable food source she should take advantage of it and heal.

    Yes! Leaves¡­ Glorious leaves!

    She grumbled to herself, but there wasn¡¯t anything she could do. She didn¡¯t want to find out if she had One-eye¡¯s ability to just deal with the infection. She doubted that she did. It seemed like it would be a rare trait.

    Chewing up one last dose of the herbs for the night, she sucked on the juice for a moment despite her desire to combat her addiction. That done, she cleaned her wound again and bedded down for the night.

    The drug made her feel content and warm as she floated away to sleep, certain that to some degree she could feel the world spinning beneath her. She knew it wasn¡¯t real warmth. But it was soothing all the same. She remembered the egg, and curled around her tail.

    Maybe this will keep the bad dreams away¡­

    She didn¡¯t have any dreams that night. Though it was a little tense for me, I¡¯ll tell you. She was too full of food and Kiphos leaf to wake up for any of the excitement.

    The shrieks, the deadly fight, all that blood washed away by the rain.

    And only thirty yards away from her den as well.

    The one ran right over her log too! If it had been the other he would have burst right through into the hollow beneath.

    Lucky for her, she hadn¡¯t dug out quite enough of the log to be noticed by either.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 15: Growth

    Respect the dead, for they pave your way forward so long as you live.

    -From Vocationals: 1:13

    It rained, and it rained, and it rained. And the neonate slept, and slept, and slept.

    Like the dead for most of it. It was kind of adorable, if I am honest. Sorry, I am overstaying my welcome again, I¡¯ll leave. I am just so bored, trapped here.

    She was pleasantly full, had plenty of herbs and grubs, and frankly wanted to spend at least three days recovering and releasing stress.

    So she did.

    Her body took to it well, her injuries healing, her energy replenishing. The cut on her chest almost closed completely, though the skin was still thin and tender. Her shoulder was back to full strength in half that time.

    While she was in the log and awake, and sober enough to have coherent thoughts, she was contemplating the best way to learn the secret of how to make fire.

    Obviously Tok would know the most about this. She would have to figure out some way to get him to show her.

    The Provider will not- help her, she knew, interrupting her Instinct¡¯s interruption of her own planning. She felt smug at its wordless indignation.

    Force him, somehow, to show me. Probably need to put out his fire to do so.

    Dangerous¡­ her Instinct muttered.

    Yes, but what isn¡¯t for me?

    Her Instinct remained silent.

    It did have a point though. The plan revolved around putting out the Provider¡¯s fire, antagonizing the one tasked with overseeing their trial. Not to mention that he was many more times her size, an expert hunter, warrior, and tracker.

    He might be the deadliest predator, ever.

    There was one thing that made her consider it though. The other neonates would strike back at her. If she carried out her plan in the right way, Tok couldn¡¯t. He was their protector, not a competitor.

    And if I do it well enough, it might impress him. She couldn¡¯t forget about that. She needed to impress him to counteract her size. And, well, she wanted to. Impress him.

    Make him proud.

    And without fire she wasn¡¯t going to survive long enough to reach the end of the trial. Her log was already visibly smaller from her digging into it to find grubs, and the next food source would be whiptail tubers, which she had to cook.

    If I fail with Tok, I am more likely to live through it to try with someone else.

    Fine¡­ just, live. Her Instinct grumbled resignedly.

    She didn¡¯t like the idea either, but there was nothing else she could do. She could set the snares, but she wasn¡¯t sure what she was doing with them.

    Trial and error is not something I can solely rely on.

    She could gather more bark to make more of them, increase her chances, but she was running out of easy food.

    I shouldn¡¯t lock myself into a plan though. I should scout out Tok¡¯s campsite again first. She didn¡¯t know if there had been any changes recently. And she would need to know the area well if she was to succeed.

    The neonate slid out of the log, bringing the hand ax and her cordage, the snares and the rope. She wrapped the snares around one wrist, slung the rope she had made around her body. She held her hand ax in one hand, planning to put it in her mouth when she needed to climb. Thus prepared, the neonate crouched and slunk through the undergrowth in that direction, shifting her colorations as she went.

    She would have left the hand ax, but if one of her rivals stumbled across her den they would definitely take all they could. The stone the hand ax was made of was specific, whereas the pole was just a pillarwood sapling.

    She could more easily replace that.

    Besides, it was too lightly colored to blend in with the background as she traveled. Even after it had darkened as it dried in her log.

    Thunder rumbled again.

    Her skin shifted to match her surroundings without her even having to think about it, changing and adapting seamlessly as she traveled carefully through the underbrush. It had become her skill. Her niche.

    She wondered what other skills she would see in the others. The pattern seemed to be that each of them was specializing in one thing or another as they developed. Was it their way of individualizing themselves? Or was it something more.

    Why am I thinking so much?

    She noticed that her head felt like it was stuffed full of bark fibers.

    Too many leaves¡­ She shook her head and regretted it, the world rocking slightly afterword. She had to get control of herself.

    She climbed up into the canopy.

    No tracks easily seen or followed. No new path made so long as she kept using a different path out. And it even helped her hide during her egress from the area. She was surprised that the paths were so distinctly defined, even with all the rain.

    Her log was off of the main pathways that had been worn into the undergrowth by the passing of many hatchlings. She liked that it was somewhat secluded.

    The neonate only came back down to set snares in likely places. She wanted to place her snares in places that game would be more likely to travel, but where that was wasn¡¯t clear. The rain had washed away any obvious traces, tracks, scat, that sort of thing. She was left to guess at the best places.

    She took her time and examined the environment, trying to think like prey. Searching for specific places. Places where the foliage would force small creatures to run through a bare space. Places where easy water could be gotten. Good hiding spots. That sort of thing.

    There were little game trails along the ground, so that was where she started.

    Under logs or tree limbs, or between two boulders. Can even be in plain sight if it is hidden well enough.

    Anywhere well-traveled. Her Instinct agreed.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    She also found one spot that she felt was particularly good. A larger hole in the side of a small hill, about as big around as her head. Perhaps it was a bit too hopeful, but she would try it anyway and see if whatever had dug the hole was still living there.

    She was finishing up tying the snare when she sensed something and looked up, tongue tasting the air. At first she didn¡¯t see it, but then she spotted it. A mawfrog. It turned its warty head to look at her. Its wet eyes gleamed. It looked small to her at first.

    No. I¡¯ve grown!

    She snarled and pounced, her claws spread wide. She saw her claws about to pierce into its hide, felt it start to give under them. It leaped away before she could catch it, bounding through the brush and out into the rain.

    Kill! Hunt!

    She started to move, ready to snarl.

    Crash! Faint in the distance.

    A squealing croak and a bass growl.

    Obscured by the underbrush.

    The sound of tearing flesh. Violent, the squeals of the animal continuing for a bit before cutting off.

    One of the others.

    Cursing to herself, she gave it up as lost. She had more important things to worry about. A plan to enact.

    She had almost had it though! That was progress.

    Still feeling confident even though she hadn¡¯t been successful, even though someone had stolen her kill, she decided to at least check the nesting area from the underbrush. See if anything edible or useful remained.

    It was also away from the larger hatchling eating her prey. The sounds of it growing fainter and fainter.

    To her surprise, the neonate was there sooner than expected.

    Wasn¡¯t it a farther distance to travel before?

    She looked around at the nest, picking up a piece of shattered shell. Holding it in her hand, tracing the ridges on the inside with a claw. She distinctly remembered hatching, having to fight out, the shell being too thick. Fitting inside her vessel. She cracked the shell easily.

    It was all much larger, wasn¡¯t it?

    Everything seems so¡­ Small¡­

    Had the nest only been ten paces across?

    She spotted her favorite sitting stone. The one she used while Tok gave his instruction. It looked like it was in the shade, but if you sat up straight you could catch some warming rays.

    I could pull it out of the soil if I strained hard enough.

    She remembered it all being so much bigger than that.

    I have grown, the world has not. Her Instinct hissed softly.

    She nodded. So the mawfrog wasn¡¯t small.

    It was something of a morale boost. She might be smaller than the others, but she was large enough to start challenging the denizens of the swamp, ones that were predators themselves. Ones that had hunted the brood.

    Moving up the food chain. Her Instinct snarled, proud as blood.

    Something caught her eye in the rain, next to the nest.

    Heading over she paused, fear building up for just a moment as she recognized the shape of a skull.

    A Greenscale skull! Her Instinct leaped into action, scanning, forcing her tongue out. Searching for the threat.

    There were places where there were fine chips along it, as if from vicious wounds.

    Had the monster been here? Was it now hiding its kills to keep ahead of Tok? She thought she might have smelled something musky, the scent of a large predator nearby. She tasted the air with her tongue, searching for it and not finding it again.

    Is it nearby?

    Be ready to kill it. Her Instinct hissed, somehow white and black at the same time in her mind. There was something there though. A confusion. No, something more¡­

    She looked again, and her panic diminished slightly.

    Bleached bone. Her Instinct hissed, pulling her hand forward to touch the skull, tracing the shape of one of the eye sockets. Been out here months at least.

    She brushed some of the dirt away. No longer worried now that it wasn¡¯t evidence of activity by the murderer amongst them.

    Why is it here though?

    She spotted a stone marked with one word.

    ¡°Gix.¡± She said, whispering, quiet. Claw. It was a strong name. No prefix though. Odd.

    Her Instinct didn¡¯t comment.

    So this is a grave?

    As her mind calmed, her Instinct moved into her eyes. Tracing the skull. Noting its size. Much larger than hers or the other hatchlings.

    One of the mothers? Or a different brood?

    Either way, it had clearly been in place for a long while. She took a moment, replacing the earth that had been washed away. Placing the grave marker on top to finish her work.

    There being a grave at all meant that Gix had been a hero, she wasn¡¯t sure how exactly. It could be something to do with the current brood, the bone hadn¡¯t looked that old to her.

    Unlikely I¡¯ll ever have a grave, I¡¯ll never be worthy of one.

    It wasn¡¯t a dejected brown-yellow thought. She had to tell herself that.

    The neonate was just being practical. She just wasn¡¯t someone that could achieve such a thing. Nor did she really want to be. She just wanted to make it through the trial.

    Truth. Earn a name, then see if I can earn a grave. Her Instinct growled.

    I just want my name. She thought of the quiet time spent on the river, looking out over it, just taking it in. Food, and the relative tranquility of the natural world. Sunrise yellow filled her.

    That can be yours. Work is required. Her Instinct sounded like it wanted more though.

    She focused on tidying up the hero¡¯s shrine, more thoroughly covering the skull with dirt and placing the marked stone atop it. She picked up the hand axe before she continued her trek to Tok¡¯s encampment, the rope still slung across her body.

    There were some bones from the beasts the Provider brought the group.

    Thicker ones.

    Thighbones, mostly.

    And most were also bleached like the skull. Picked clean.

    There was nothing interesting enough to divert her current mission. She¡¯d maybe pick through them at a later date, see what she could find, but right then she had to travel light.

    It wasn¡¯t long before she had to climb up into the trees, the ground becoming too sodden and muddy for her to easily traverse her way to her destination, especially while trying not to leave a trail.

    Don¡¯t need any mud on me either, mess up my blending.

    She placed the hand axe into her mouth to free up both hands, and swiftly made her way up into the canopy. The neonate spotted signs that there were others climbing the trees as well, the bark bearing claw marks similar to her own, if more widely spaced. Not as high up as she could go though.

    Do not be like Ropemaker. Suspect them to have your skills and abilities as well as their own. Instinct whispered.

    She looked around, searching. Strange shapes, odd silhouettes, even patterns that were slightly off would all give them away to her. She felt smug as she stepped over a thick muddy green vine. No hatchling would be able to sneak up on her.

    She reached down and pulled up some moss, tearing it out from under a vine as thick as her tail.

    The musky predator-smell was suddenly all around her!

    Flee!

    The vine became a thick rope of muscle that suddenly wrapped around her.

    No!

    It squeezed the air and life out of her in a sudden explosive burst. Her eyes bulged in their sockets as she realized her error. Vision going slightly red as blood rushed into her skull.

    A python had her!

    And this time it was not a vine or a rope, she could feel its scales rubbing against her own. Thick undulating muscles tightening more and more and more until it felt like her eyes were about to burst from her head.

    She could feel the bones inside her muscles grinding against each other in places.

    Live!

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 16: Resolve

    Kills after the first should test the neonate. Push them to new ways of thinking. If they cannot reach the next step, they deserve their failure.

    -From Neonatum Provisae: 2:5-7

    The neonate fought to suck in air, but it was a futile effort.

    No!

    She jerked and writhed, tail lashing, but the massive python just squeezed tighter, coiling around more of her body.

    Air! I need air!

    I need to attack! Her Instinct countered. Kill the marauder python.

    It snarled as it too tried to help, acting in concert with her forebrain. Both halves struggling against the crushing might of the other reptile.

    The hand ax clattered against her teeth, still inside her mouth, even as the world started to go red. It was just like when she was in the Provider¡¯s grasp. She kept writhing, pulling, pushing, twisting, using her whole body like she did hatching from the egg.

    Need a stone. Need¡­ a point!

    Getting a leg free, she planted it and dug her clawed toes into the bark of the tree, trying to find some leverage.

    Live!

    Her bones flexed painfully, making her snarl. She gripped the branch with the toes of her free foot, managing to get a firm grip, giving one last terrific wrench. The neonate felt her other leg slip free! She planted it next to the other.

    Fight!

    She strained, toes gripping, thighs burning. Feeling dizzy from lack of air. Lifting the marauder python up off of the branch.

    Her muscles rippled, the veins in her calves standing out as she lifted the ever-tightening coils that encased her. The snake shifted, the three-foot-wide head coming closer, little bump on its snout gleaming in the rain, the branch bouncing beneath them.

    Can¡¯t be swallowed!

    Something deep inside marveled at her own strength. But that was secondary to the need to win.

    A point! Need a point! Something to gouge her foe with.

    The neonate looked over the body to the branch, and through the red haze she saw what she needed. A hard knot in the branch.

    Survive!

    Thump!

    She slammed the beast against the knot, heard it hiss in pain. The marauder¡¯s grip slipped and she stole a breath of air and held it, straining to lift it again as it slipped down her rain slick body.

    Slay the vermin! Consume its flesh! Fuel my growth!

    It clamped down again and air hissed out of her lungs. Her eyes bulging. The huge head of the beast swiveled back into view, mouth open, big enough to take in her head and shoulders whole.

    Slam harder!

    She bent backwards, lifting higher. The serpent hissed and snapped at her head. She twisted away from the strike.

    Not knowing how, only knowing she avoided the backwards facing teeth, neck getting a cramp in the process.

    The neonate would have snapped at it, lighting flashing bright and blinding, but the hand ax was still in her mouth. Did she spit it out so she could bite?

    Mine! No!

    Need to get a hand free!

    It pulled out of reach before she could figure out how to strike back at it, coiling again.

    Earn this! Her Instinct snarled. Glorying in her fight. Trembling at the danger to her life.

    Thunder crashed. A sonic calamity. She could smell its blood from the first slam. She hefted just a bit higher, then-

    Thump!

    She slammed it down again, and this time she managed to get an arm free, getting another gasp of fresh air in the process.

    It hissed in rage.

    The scent of blood got stronger.

    Hope bloomed.

    Digging her claws into the hide of the python the neonate tried to pull herself out, thick slick blood spurting in-between her fingers, but the serpent crushed her once again. Air whooshed out of her lungs, and the hand ax shot out of her mouth, slimy with her saliva.

    No! She bared her teeth.

    Her free hand reached out, claws pulling free of the snake¡¯s flesh. Catching it with the very tips of her claws, jerking it into her palm like a heron eating a bullfrog.

    Or a kingbill eating a hatchling.

    Kill!

    Lifting the hand axe high, she slammed it down as hard as she could into the snake¡¯s coils. Dark blood gushed out and the python hissed in rage, trying to tighten further, to crush her.

    Her bones ground. Her muscles knotted. She squealed in pain with what little air she had left.

    Fight! Strength! Win! Her Instinct screamed at her, full of fear and rage and other primal things.

    How dare this thing try to prove her unworthy!

    She slammed the hand ax down again and again. Blood squirted out in thick spouts. Hacking into the marauder, through its scales, her body coated in its gore. It would either let her go or she would chop it in half. The only two options she would allow.

    The snake chose a different tactic and unwound from her suddenly, and she nearly fell out of the tree, her vision spotty from lack of air as she struggled not to collapse.

    Focus!

    The world spun, making that a difficult task as she kept coughing and gasping. She shook her head in a vain attempt to rid her vision of the spots.

    Danger!

    She sensed it, knowing it would come.

    She ducked under the strike of the python, most of its body lashing out above her. Aiming for her head once more. She saw the glinting hooked teeth and nose bump in a fresh flash of lightning.

    An egg tooth?

    Her Instinct grunted.

    She needed it to pull back for a moment, so she slashed with her empty hand, claws foremost. They tore some scales free and the marauder python snarled at her.

    Backing away along the branch, she moved away from her foe, getting farther from the trunk in the process. The neonate¡¯s scales shifted to vivid reds, yellows, and oranges that undulated and warped in a multitude of harsh geometric patterns against a black background.

    Bright colors like poisonous things, bright colors like dominance, bright colors to show her resolve to whoever could see her.

    A display of her determination as much as an attempt to dazzle the dumb brute of a beast, hiding the pain of her entire body as it throbbed.

    It hissed like a raging waterfall, evil looking teal eyes glaring at her as it moved closer.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Not working, saw me before the display.

    No, too smart. Her Instinct hissed.

    It lashed forward, maw gaping.

    She sidestepped, the whole tree limb still bouncing with their sudden movements.

    The coils started to encircle her again and she dug her claws into the branch, swinging over the side to avoid them.

    Got to head back to the trunk. Gonna snap this branch at this rate.

    She stuck the bloody hand axe in her mouth once more, scrambling upside down towards the trunk and firmer ground. Also wanting more places to maneuver, fear filling her as she frantically tried to plan out a strategy.

    Kill! Her Instinct snarled inside. Ever helpful.

    The neonate was barely back on top of the branch when the serpent lashed out once more. Teeth bared.

    She hissed, falling backward to avoid the strike. It struck again and again, acting like a viper now! Her fear manifested in her desaturated pattern, betraying how unnerved she was.

    She had to scramble awkwardly to keep out of range. The beast had the upper hand! She couldn¡¯t try to fight this thing! It was too dangerous, she had to run!

    I always have to run. From the brood, from the other predators, from¡­

    Difficult choices.

    She snarled, knowing it was partly true. But then she remembered the mawfrog, remembered leading the charge.

    Her fear turned into something else.

    Resolve.

    Leaping to her feet she once again found her roar, no longer a pitiful squeaky thing but a true bellow. She swung with the hand axe, snarling defiance once more.

    Cathunk!

    Vermillion blood spun through the air like glimmering gems of fire as the lightning caromed through the clouds. The sharp edge of the split stone had caught the creature once more, missing the head but ripping the flesh spectacularly.

    The marauder python hissed, pulling back, and her latest strike filled the neonate with anger no longer tethered by worry.

    The snapping wrath of an apex gnashing in her heart. Even if it was just a figment, she would end this.

    I am the predator here.

    Yes! Her Instinct was exultant.

    It snapped at her again, trying to coil after, but she lept down to a lower branch. Hissing. The claws of her free hand dragged against the trunk, slowing her fall so she didn¡¯t break her legs.

    It crashed through the canopy after her, goaded by her retreat. She sprung over it, toe claws digging into its hide as she ran back up. It was long enough that she got two levels higher, despite being newly hatched if the spike on its snout was an egg tooth. She leaped off of it and landed on a branch that was dangerously thin, using it as a springboard to launch herself into the next tree.

    She might not want to contest her fellows, but she would be damned if she kept fearing a beast like this. An unplanning, unthinking, thumbless idiot.

    Falsescaled! Yes! Kill!

    She grabbed the far branch, knowing it would snap.

    Use it to angle in to the branch below!

    Crack!

    She held on, and it swung down and dropped faster than she expected.

    Shit!

    She grabbed a vine, slowing herself further, landing in a roll with a thump. She spun to face her foe, roaring again as it slithered forward.

    Sees me as prey!

    Fool that it was.

    Something deep inside her, deeper down than her Instinct, wanted, no, demanded the python¡¯s death. It was an insult to the natural order of things!

    She charged!

    Slashing with claw and ax.

    Hacking, spinning, slicing, biting.

    It tried to snap at her only to be thwacked in its snout by the stone ax, slashed by claws, thumped by her tail.

    The python hissed and backed away, clearly confused by this turn of events.

    It coiled, trying to bunch up so it could do a full strike again.

    But she wouldn¡¯t let it, she couldn¡¯t let it, so she kept pushing forward. Closing the distance, hand ax lifted. It whistled through the air as she brought it down.

    Thonk!

    Missing by inches, sinking deep into the wood. The marauder had jerked back out of the way, almost falling out of the tree.

    Snarling she flipped over her hand, lashing out with her toe claws. Gouging its face as she wrenched on the stone to pull it free. Making the serpent reel back.

    The branch shook as it did.

    The neonate spun like a whirlpool. Claws glinting, slashing into the snake¡¯s underbelly before slamming the stone tool home once again. The python writhed now, hissing in agony. She tore it free and slammed it back in. Over and over. Searching for the organs. Meaning to kill it there and then.

    Kill kill kill!

    Die!

    The branch groaned as it continued to oscillate.

    Blood fountained, coating her. Thick and sweet on her tongue.

    The beast tried to sweep her legs with its tail, but she managed to jump over it. Landing on its coils, the head within reach. Her toes sunk in deep as it writhed, trying and failing to shake her free.

    She lifted the ax in both hands now, glaring down in the fear filled teal eyes of her prey.

    Victory! Both halves of her mind snarled, triumphant as she brought the hand ax down.

    Crack!

    The branch snapped and she was weightless.

    Shit!

    Desperate, she stuffed the ax into her mouth and reached with both hands, just barely catching a branch below. She slid to the underside and blended in with the bark. Her body still aching slightly.

    Damn that serpent! She had been robbed of her kill by dumb luck!

    Hunt!

    She looked, following her Instinct¡¯s urgings.

    There!

    It was above her, searching, its tongue sliding out to try and smell for her. It didn¡¯t look in her direction.

    Lost me.

    Strike where it is least expected. Her Instinct hissed, caressing the hand axe with her tongue, savoring the rich taste of blood.

    Something glinted in the marauder python¡¯s teal eyes, a strange unnatural light. An intelligent light. A hateful light. It stoked her rage.

    Falsescaled.

    Slowly, sliently, she moved to the side of the limb. Waiting and letting the rain wash the blood from her scales as lightning flashed.

    She wouldn¡¯t just slink away, the snake would die.

    Calmly she pulled free some moss, scrubbing a fresh layer of it over her scales. Watching, waiting, letting it move past. She was the ambusher now.

    With all the care she could, she waited, seeing if it would check lower.

    Come on, we were falling. Go lower.

    Its head swayed back and forth, tongue still searching for her scent, and an idea filled her mind.

    One-eye, chasing that rock wrapped in her skin.

    She spat on the branch below.

    It took a moment, but then, slowly, the beast turned, angling down. Moving lower.

    She moved into position. Watching it as it reached the small splatter of her saliva.

    She sprung at it, pulling the ax from her mouth in both hands. Grabbing its snout with her feet. Bringing down the murderstroke!

    Crunch!

    The beasts skull buckled, blood and brains spraying out. Coating her and running down her body in the downpour. She saw one eye burst, the other popping clean out of the socket and sailing off into the night.

    The neonate panted, staggering off of the skull and catching herself.

    I¡­ I did it¡­

    Bright sunrise yellow pride filled her, and she planted a foot on her kill¡¯s gorey corpse, lungs filling full as they could before she roared into the storm, the heavens themselves joining her as thunder bellowed in return. Ax held high in triumph. Standing over the surging river.

    Tok had been right. She was dangerous!

    The corpse shifted, coiling into itself, starting to slide out of the tree towards the water below.

    Wait! No! The meat!

    She grabbed the flesh, and she thought she saw something leave the body, something¡­ unnatural, just before it hit the water of the flooded island below with a great splash.

    Had that been a shadow? Smoke?

    She jerked away and let go, hissing as she kicked it off of the branch, not trusting it. Whatever it was, it made the meat bad, surely.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    The corpse washed down the river, and she wasn¡¯t sure if it was a trick of the lightning, but it looked like it was rotting away already. Either white bones or splashing water stark against the scales of the slain beast.

    She sat down in the branch, and sighed. She looked at the hand ax.

    Dangerous. Different kinds of strength.

    She turned it, thoughtful.

    Needs leverage. Reach. A handle. She would have to figure that out, but maybe with Ropemaker¡¯s skill she could attach the stone to something? She thought of the pillarwood pole she had at home. Maybe there was a way to use that. She¡¯d look into it.

    I¡­ I can do this¡­ She realized. I can compete! She would have to work harder than the others, plan ahead, but that just meant that she was more worthy than they were. Right?

    It was with that uplifting feeling that she headed towards the Provider''s campsite, planning to, if only a little bit, compete with him as well as the other hatchlings.

    Hopefully he wouldn¡¯t kill her when she did.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 17: Preparations

    Greenscales are also the most likely to ¡®compete¡¯ with their Provider. If caught in some trick, use discretion on any consequences. Such traits should be nurtured, if the execution is well done. If not, cull them.

    -From Neonatum Provisae: 3:19-22

    The neonate smelled it first, an enticing savory sweet aroma.

    What is that? She shivered.

    Drool dribbled from her chin, and as she tasted the air, her tongue flickering with spread tips, she found herself moving towards it. Whatever it was, it was enticing.

    It was a new smell, but familiar. Like the whiptail bulbs, but not.

    The neonate followed the smell, fighting back her distraction the whole while. She only suffered in ignorance for a little while though. She could feel her Instinct searching for the phrasing, feeling it strain in her back, like it was pulling something up out of thick clinging mud.

    Cooking¡­ meat¡­ It sped up as it finally exposed the information. Can preserve. Smoke. Surplus. Hoard!

    Another reason to get fire. She felt foolish for never considering that, for being ignorant of that possibility.

    Take! Consume! Her Instinct snarled, then it whimpered almost immediately, realizing it was the Provider¡¯s resources, the pair of impulses clashing against each other. Hide! Run! Consume! Yes! No¡­ Food! Live! Run¡­ Take!

    The neonate hissed and tuned it out, needing to focus on her current task.

    Then she heard it, the sound something akin to magic that pushed all her worries and thoughts about how to trick the Provider into teaching her the secret of fire.

    Sizzling. Popping. A gentle crackle. Like the long slow contented exhale you gave when you stretched out on a hot rock, basking in the sun. More understanding pushed through the quagmire of her hindbrain.

    Sizzling fat! Hot grease! Dripping unctuous morsels! Her Instinct moaned in anticipation from her stomach.

    The neonate slunk through the trees, trailing drool as she went. She placed her hand axe into her mouth to let her use both hands. Unfortunately the tasty blood long since lapped up. The smells and sounds made her regret its absence.

    She pulled up a fresh patch of the scentmoss, scrubbing herself thoroughly with it. Last thing she needed was for the wind to change and him to smell her.

    She doubted any physical harm would come to her if he knew she was there, far from it.

    But he isn¡¯t going to let me put his fire out if he does. It would be considered him interfering if he did.

    Won¡¯t. Too honorable.

    Part of her hoped that he would be away from his fire. That she could just dash in and dash out. But it was not meant to be. She could see him there, tending the fire as the meat cooked. Looking down on him from her vantage in the trees. It wasn¡¯t a surprise, but it was frustrating all the same.

    His colossal bulk looked a bit comical underneath the, for him, low roof of the hut for a moment as he sat up to feed the fire. She supposed that, with him being more than twenty-five feet tall, there were few places that he would look like he was the proper size in.

    Learn. Her Instinct whispered.

    There should be plenty to, even before learning how to make fire.

    She looked to the roof of the pole building, seeing it was thatched with great bunches of the long leafy stems of whiptail reeds. They were tied together with cordage in bundles, then lashed down to the roof proper.

    Her eyes shifted to the fire, wanting to learn as much as she could. And that¡¯s when she saw the cooking stone, and even more saliva dripped from her mouth.

    Her sharp predatory eyes locked onto the bubbling brown meat. The stone it cooked on shiny with grease, propped over the gleaming coals with smaller stones.

    Hot rich fat. Delicious. She licked her chops and moved closer, keeping a wary eye on the Provider. Searching for any hint of him becoming alert to her presence while she also observed all she could.

    The wood was stacked under the roof to keep it dry. And the open walls let the smoke dissipate easily in the wind, with the fire being far enough from the edge of the shelter so that the rain wouldn¡¯t blow onto it.

    Tok turned his head and inspected the food with a solitary red eye, blinking slowly once. He pointed the tip of his snout at it, sniffing, letting his bright blue tongue slide from between stygian scaled lips. It waved for a moment in the smoke and steam that rose from the fire before sliding back in from whence it came.

    Lightning flashed far away. There was a dull rumble of thunder. The Provider contemplated.

    Deftly, using just his claws and with the utmost care, he flipped the meat over.

    SSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

    The neonate jerked in her hiding place, the sound of the fresh side hitting the hot stone loud and almost reptilian. It sounded like a beast was attacking the camp.

    Her movement rustled the foliage, and she cursed at herself as she blended in as best she could, straining her skin to make it perfect.

    Disappear!

    Tok looked up, eyes fully open. Searching. The usual lazy demeanor replaced with a deadly focus that made her want to cut her losses and run.

    Wonderful, now he knows something is here.

    But not what. Patience. Take care.

    Trying to ignore her pounding bounding heart, she held still, her own eyes almost completely closed. The neonate shifted as the wind gusted, using the movement of the ferns to get deeper in amongst them. She didn¡¯t dare to move more than that as he scanned the tree line where she was hidden.

    His tongue slid out, bright blue, but she had made sure to face the wind as she had approached, and with the fresh moss her scent was masked anyway.

    The wind gusted, and she glanced at the meat and quickly looked away as it sent her Instinct into a frenzy. She shoved it back to the back of her mind again, fighting back the urge to just run in with no plan.

    This is going to be difficult enough to figure out as it is, I can¡¯t distract myself as well!

    The Provider looked back down, and she felt the weight of that searching gaze lift from her shoulders. Some of the fat leaked off of the flat stone into the fire and flared into flame, making her jerk in surprise again, though this time she managed not to disturb the underbrush.

    Thunder rumbled, the cold rain bouncing off of her scales as she slowly crouched, circling around. Looking for a better angle to approach.

    How to put out that fire¡­

    Her Instinct grunted, also contemplating.

    I¡¯ll never put out the fire down here. But maybe¡­ She looked up at the roof. Being above it all had helped when it had been Ropemaker¡¯s secrets she had stolen. Maybe it would be the same here?

    Need to at least make a hole in that roof to put the fire out. But how would she do that and have it not be obvious that she was the culprit?

    Won¡¯t let you stay otherwise. Her Instinct hissed.

    Tok turned his head again, looking closely at the meat, flipping it one last time. The final side of the triangular piece of meat hissed and sizzled, almost as if in protest to getting its turn cooking last.

    She didn¡¯t need Instincts garbled instructions to know to move now. Taking her time, the neonate started by moving away from the camp first. Circling. Looking for a stealthy way up as she shifted left. It seemed like the best option, the underbrush got much closer to his camp from that direction. Plus, Tok was facing away, leaning on one side, head propped in his hand, elbow in a rut by the fire.

    He''ll not see me.

    As she took her time, stepping over a dead branch and through some green grass, she found she had time to ruminate. And with the smell and sound of food right in front of her, that made for only one topic she wanted to ruminate on.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Would it be alright to steal from the Provider?

    No! Death! Live! Her Instinct was quick to reply.

    But, if I could, a direct confrontation, a direct competition, with the other broodmates would be best?

    Yes! Compete! Survive!

    But that would have gotten me killed at this point because of¡­ She struggled to admit the truth. Because of my smaller size and lesser physical abilities.

    No! Live! Adapt!

    Exactly, to live, to adapt, I need to do anything that I can to succeed at this trial.

    If she took from the Provider, stole from him, he wasn¡¯t interfering, she was proving that she could survive. Even if I had to be the tiniest bit competitive with him.

    Her Instinct grew quiet, thoughtful in its own strange impulsive way.

    Adapt¡­ her Instinct hissed, still irked that she had manipulated its impulsive drives so easily. Live. It was almost a rebuttal from her hindbrain.

    That was fair. She didn¡¯t plan or want to take anything physical from Tok. Just force him to show her the process. It just seemed like a good thing to suss out before she was in the middle of all of it. It wasn¡¯t too far of a logical leap to justify putting his fire out.

    Right?

    Adapt, compete. The response was firmer this time.

    The clearing was full of stumps, the only remains of trees left.

    He cleared them to have better visibility. She wasn¡¯t sure if she liked the tradeoff of that though. It made it quite obvious where you were, though it would let you see anyone trying to get close.

    With that monster about, I feel like I would want to do the opposite of this. Hide, instead of take away the ability to hide.

    Distraction.

    The neonate slid a little in the mud, almost falling into a silt filled puddle. She clamped her jaws shut to keep herself from squeaking.

    Last thing I need is to make a noise, squeak or splash. It was only when she had regained her footing, circumventing the muddy depressions that she saw what they were.

    Footprints.

    The Provider¡¯s massive footsteps.

    Looking at the footsteps, the holes in the soil now filled. A mark of where he had been before. Traveling to gather resources.

    Not just that. New. Rain.

    True¡­ it must be he is searching to find that monster still. The one that had killed the other hatchlings out of turn. The one hunting them all. She remembered the death of the hatchling. The waste of it. The brutality. She had to force herself not to freeze up in that moment.

    Something tickled in the back of her mind.

    The grave¡­ I whispered into her mind, giving her a nudge in the right direction. I couldn¡¯t help grinning. She had impressed me after all.

    She thought it was her Instinct, not realizing that I had spoken actual words yet.

    She glared, and almost hissed at herself.

    Idiot, now I need to go back. Couldn¡¯t think to remember that lesson sooner?

    Her Instinct didn¡¯t respond.

    Tok said heroes were given a burial. Stripped of flesh, but not of possessions.

    There are resources under that skull! From outside the island. Maybe from outside the swamp!

    She would have to return after this. Food, tools, and other needful things deemed important by someone who had already passed their trial might be buried in that dirt.

    Treasure¡­ Her Instinct hissed, dripping with avarice. Mine!

    She pondered the word treasure, admiring its symmetry in her mind. The greed in her forebrain matching that of her Instinct. Mine. But first, fire. She couldn¡¯t risk missing that lesson, no matter what was at the grave.

    She got back to the edge of the camp just in time to see Tok¡¯s massive jaws take in the still steaming flank of meat in one bite. The gleaming ivory of his teeth glinted in another flash of lightning. Her mouth was watering uncontrollably again, forcing her to wipe it and look away as the thunder boomed off in the distance to the south.

    The neonate stepped over a twig, using a stone to get up out of the mud and avoid a patch of brush as well. A thought occurred to her, something that could be a good distraction from the scents and smells.

    If I am supposed to survive-

    Yes! Live! Her Instinct almost cut the thought off.

    Then that would mean that any attack against me justified any action I take to defend herself.

    Yes.

    She hopped to a fallen log, scampering silently along it before leaping down onto another stone. Including lethal force.

    Live, idiot.

    Against anything?

    Thrive!

    Or anyone..?

    Yes! Her Instinct didn¡¯t hesitate.

    But what about what Tok said?

    Her Instinct snorted from inside her arms, giving the impression of them being crossed. A thing has given up being brood. Cull.

    It made sense. If she was attacked by the monster, whoever it was, she was perfectly justified in killing it. But there was still some part of her that didn¡¯t like that idea.

    Killing to live is life. Lies otherwise. Such thoughts kill self.

    That doesn¡¯t mean I shouldn¡¯t be thoughtful about it when I can afford it.

    No thinking. Kill. Hunt. Dominate.

    In the case of this monster that is true.

    She no longer had time to debate herself, she had gotten close enough that she needed all of her attention once more. She inspected the camp. Tok had laid back down, his eyes half lidded. His large bright blue tongue slid out lazily, the twin forks spreading wide and tasting the air.

    Now that she was closer to the shelter, which was perpendicular to her approach, she got a better view of it. Blinking away the occasional raindrop.

    Green wood. Green thatch. He made this recently.

    Monsoon season. Her Instinct chimed in. It is early.

    Early?

    One whole cycle.

    A whole moon cycle. Almost two score days. She felt concern build inside her.

    Ignore, focus on the now. Her Instinct chided, and the neonate mentally shook herself.

    Under the reed thatched roof there was also a strange structure made of¡­ she wasn¡¯t sure.

    They looked to be made of wood, but she had never seen trees grow in such square shapes. Bent into curves, but not round like a branch or limb. And held together somehow in a way she couldn¡¯t see. Almost making a pair of triangular shapes, pointed towards the sky, leaning into each other. There was no bark to speak of, and the material was striped in interesting ways.

    It looked like Tok had punched multiple holes in each of the objects with his claws.

    And what she could see inside the pair looked to be stained black. Mentally she nudged her Instinct and she could feel it grumble as it shifted focus.

    Boats. Travel on water with them. It hissed to her, almost a snarl of impatience.

    She felt tired from the strain, and felt her Instinct give up the conundrum before she even asked about the holes.

    Cold. Focus. Thoughts.

    The plan needed to be executed as soon as possible, she was starting to forget some of it. She needed to put the fire out, but she didn¡¯t want to directly compete with the Provider.

    He¡¯d just kill me.

    Yes.

    None of them could stand against the Provider. Also, the time spent recovering near him had¡­

    The quiet. The warmth. The calmness.

    She wasn¡¯t sure. She didn¡¯t have a word for it. Regardless, the goal was to attack the fire, so she would focus on that.

    Water, her Instinct provided helpfully, flames need to breathe.

    She looked at the thatched roof. Expose it to the elements!

    Her Instinct grunted.

    How do I keep him from just taking back the reeds before the fire goes out? Her eyes landed on the fire again.

    Burn it. Burn the thatch!

    Yes! Lime yellow glee flowed from her Instinct.

    Get the fuel wet too, teach me how to find dry tinder. This was a good plan!

    Silently she slunk forward, having to wade into a deep puddle to get where she needed to be. The chill of it made her body ache again for the sun. For warmth and lazy days chewing the herb that she had never truly known, never truly earned.

    Tok shifted positions, sitting up and scooting over, reaching for something.

    It was only when she was halfway towards one of the poles that the actual scale of the structure just started to impose itself on her.

    Shit. She had overlooked a key step of her plan. She stopped behind a once smashed bush, the cold water about her knees and falling from the sky urging her on. But the question remained.

    How am I going to light the thatch on fire without being seen?

    She started to turn around, but noticed Tok¡¯s new position.

    He¡¯ll see me if I try to get away. And I can¡¯t just stand here, either he¡¯ll spot me or I¡¯ll become too chilled to move and die.

    She¡¯d have to think on the fly. She was about too thirds of the way to the shelter, and she let her tongue slide out as she tried to think.

    She felt her eyes widen. She could smell herself. All the water she was wading through must have washed the moss application away.

    Her Instinct summed up the situation poetically.

    Fuck¡­

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 18: Sacrifices

    Always trade pain for victory. Such a sacrifice is often what is needed to bring death to our foes.

    -From Canticles: 1:6-7

    The neonate almost snarled in frustration as the rain picked up.

    Need to mask my scent! How?

    To her right she could see Tok freeze in her peripheral vision. Her tongue flickered out as her mind raced.

    Hurry! Adapt!

    A rich earthy scent was all around her.

    The mud!

    She submerged into the water just as the Provider started to turn in her direction, holding her breath and closing her eyes.

    She waited. Counting the seconds. Not daring to move for a little bit in case she visibly disturbed the water. She had already matched the color of the mud with her scales.

    After a few moments of nothing happening, she moved forward, still under the water, walking along the bottom and scooping up mud to coat herself. Her toeclaws hooked on something hard and she paused, feeling the shape.

    Square¡­ more ruins¡­ She had been worried it had been a turtle that might give her away by either fleeing or biting her.

    Slowly, she half swam half slunk her way to the edge, finding a broken branch and sliding out on the far side of it from the Provider. Eyes cracked open the tiniest amount. He was looking almost in her direction, crimson eyes scanning and blue tongue flickering.

    She sniffed the air, only smelling mud.

    Should be good enough.

    Careful.

    She waited there, getting colder by the second, and eventually he turned back to the fire, feeding it more wood.

    The neonate slithered through the mud, dragging herself forward like a Tikabo, keeping an eye on the Provider. The scent of the mud overwhelming now.

    It was a unique smell, not at all like the vegetal earthiness of the moss, nor was it like the sharp wet smell of the whiptails. This was a deeper smell that she liked. An older smell. One she couldn¡¯t name. Mixed with the rain, it was the smell of... of¡­

    Genesis. Her Instinct scintillated.

    The neonate kept crawling until she could see that she was out of Tok¡¯s peripheral vision before slowly standing and moving more quickly to his shelter.

    Lightning flickered and lanced overhead, like it was fighting the clouds. Bright jagged lines like the scars on Biter and Slash.

    Thunder rumbled in the midst of another flash of lightning and then another. The storm was picking up.

    If I can get to the roof, I¡¯ll be above him. My smell won¡¯t reach his nostrils even if the rain washes off this mud.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    More lightning, more thunder. It culminated in a continuous rolling rumble that she used to sprint forward, fighting to get to cover at last. Heading for one of the stacks of firewood to hide behind before planning her next move.

    Her back slammed into the stack of wood, and she sighed in relief as she crouched low behind it. It was good to be out of the chilling rain. She bared her teeth silently as the cacophony ended.

    Come on, what now? Think! Now she was behind cover and her scent masked again, she needed to figure out how to get the fire up to the thatch.

    Learn! Adapt!

    What could she use? What did she have?

    Hand axe. Two snares left. The rope.

    Rope! Her Instinct shrieked in her mind, almost ruining everything as the surprise nearly made her jump out of her skin prematurely.

    She unslung the coiled rope from around her shoulders, looking at it.

    It¡¯s soaking wet.

    Then she remembered how the grease had flared up in the coals.

    Good, learn.

    How am I going to get to that grease? And how will I get the flame up there?

    Her Instinct hissed thoughtfully from behind her eyes, focusing on what she could see. She looked at the thatch. She was glad to see that the underside looked much dryer than what was outside of the shelter.

    She glanced at the big male to make sure he was still in a state of recline, glad to see he was. Tok¡¯s one large hand lifted to scratch his abdomen for just a moment before it came back down. His cavernous lungs loud as he breathed deeply. Her Instinct focused on that for a moment.

    Slow. Measured. Calm.

    Good, still unaware. She jerked back behind the firewood, returning to her frantic scheming. She needed that grease. That with a wet rope should make it smolder, right? Then climb up and light the thatch?

    All while he is sat right there while I do it, watching me the whole time. She gnashed silently. She had a crick in her neck as well, and though she wanted to she didn¡¯t dare shake her head to crack it. She needed to think of another way.

    An idea started to form in her mind.

    What if I don¡¯t light it until I am on the-

    Thum-Thum!

    Fear filled her throat, nearly choking her as she felt him move, the ground shaking with his movement. Rage at the fear followed close behind, not fully cooled since the struggle with the python.

    Strangely, the mixture of the two made her thoughts clearer than they would have been.

    He won¡¯t notice. Stay still. Good plan. Execute.

    His huge hand floated over her where she hid, and she found the idea of staying still very difficult.

    No! Think! Tending the fire.

    She swallowed, but he simply plucked a few logs from the top of the stack, and when she checked to make sure, the Blackscale was placing them in his fire. Pinching the logs between his big claws and placing them just so, the coals rustling and tinkling dryly as they shifted.

    His bright blue tongue slid out again. She felt the fear inside herself swell like an infected wound, but she didn¡¯t let it control her. His head turned, first one way, then the other. Slowly, but thoroughly. She saw his eyes narrow, looking at the underbrush she had come from.

    Does he know I am here?

    She could feel her own bounding heartrate, almost like the organ was darting about like an angered swarm of bees inside her chest.

    He stood.

    The collision of his foot with the ground sent tremors through her body. She remained perfectly still, eyes almost completely shut as he rose to a crouch, too tall to stand up fully under his shelter.

    Tok shuffled out from under the cover and into the rain, tongue sliding out and back in more rapidly now. His vibrant red eyes almost glowed in the dark of the storm. They did glow as lightning flashed again.

    Move! Now! Her Instinct snarled.

    This was her chance! She crept forward, staying on the mud and dragging her tail to hide her footprints, moving closer to the fire, rope in hand. Watching him move out into the storm and keeping an eye on places to dive behind if he turned.

    He paused, as if sencing her eyes on him and she didn¡¯t hesitate, springing behind a wooden cylinder labeled ¡®dwarf lard¡¯ in the truetongue.

    Barrel. Her Instinct hissed.

    The neonate undid the knot at the end of the rope, putting in a fresh one farther up and unwiding the fibers with her claws. It frayed just how she hoped it would, making a large sort of tassel.

    Perfect for sopping up the fat.

    Thum-thum.

    She heard the Provider¡¯s steps moving away and she ducked back out again.

    She squeezed the loose fibers, twisting them, and brownish water dribbled out. She wanted them damp, not soaking.

    She was up close to the fire now, the heat wonderful and dry. The neonate fanned the tassel near the coals, not close enough to catch, just wanting them to dry a little more. Then she sopped up the fat on the cookstone, her new tool working like a charm for the job, sizzling only for a moment.

    The rich and toothsome smell of the fat drove her Instinct wild. So many calories.

    She ignored it, not even knowing what it meant by that. Shifting away from the light and warmth, she scampered away from the fire. Moving into the shadows under the roof.

    Now rushed even more, she eyed the strange structure made from boats. Stepping over something huge and wrapped in hides and such, slipping past other barrels, and crates. The boats would be the easiest way on top of the pole structure and not be noticed. Glancing over her shoulder she could see that Tok was still inspecting the tree line.

    She heard him growl thoughtfully, pushing aside the ferns.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    There can¡¯t be any traces left. It was raining too hard for that, right?

    Hurry. Her Instinct demanded, not convinced.

    Making sure to hold onto the grease-coated rope, she squelched her way to the far side of the structure, on the far side of the firewood. Using her tail to wipe away the traces of her footsteps again. She scurried behind the two boats, leaning out from behind them with just one yellow eye to check where the Provider was.

    He was heading back!

    Shit!

    She looked again, and was glad she did. His hand was held up, his pupils contracted to tight slits, the light of the fire too bright for him after looking in the darkness of the rainy night.

    He won¡¯t be able to see me well for a few moments if I am in the shadows!

    Adapt! Thrive!

    Coiling the rope back around herself she dug her claws into the wood of the boats, climbing. Thunder rumbled loudly and she shivered as the world became several shades darker around her. Night was coming, but the storm was getting even worse, the clouds thickening. She made it to the top.

    There was a large gap at the top that she could see and smell through. Curious she bent down and stuck her head into the space, her tongue flickering out rapidly. It was dark inside, and it stunk like smoke. And meat.

    Feed! Now! Consume!

    Her Instinct would not be denied now. Besides, by the time the theft was discovered she should already be long gone with the knowledge of making fire. She snatched blindly, probing, searching, reaching.

    In a matter of moments she was waist deep into the top of the contrivance of watercraft repurposed, and had snagged a tough thin piece of something. It smelled like meat. She puled it out, feeling the soot on her body.

    It certainty was meat, but what kind she couldn''t tell. Not that it mattered, meat was meat. It had been skinned, and was a beautiful dark reddish brown. The color of a well-earned contentment. It looked to have been sprinkled with something.

    Leaves perhaps?

    Eat! Now!

    Spitting the hand axe into her hand, she replaced it with the thin smoked meat. It was tough, and she had to tear it free, chewing as quickly and quietly as she could. Her eyes went wide, and she forgot the cold of the rain for a moment.

    Gods¡­

    It was glorious. The flavor was complex and intricate while not hiding the simple savor of the protein itself. She took another piece, tearing into it, gnawing the tough material in ecstasy.

    More!

    She reached for a third piece then stopped. What was she doing?!

    No! The mission.

    Her Instinct snarled from the recesses of her psyche, but it ultimately agreed as she licked her fingers. She put the hand axe back into her maw, peeking at what the Provider was doing.

    Tok sat, casually adding another piece of wood to the fire. Something had changed though. She looked closer. He was sitting up, his head slowly swiveling. His tongue slid out to taste the air more often now. Even his eyes were open slightly wider.

    Scanning for movement.

    Something alerted him. She wished she knew what. She should get to the roof.

    Clambering onto the peak of the boat, she judged for just a moment, then leaped, trying to make it to the roof of the pole building. The boats shifted under her. Her jump was slightly short, and she grunted as she hit the thatch around her midriff.

    The boats clattered slightly too, and she scrambled up quickly lest she be found out. She still had her fat-soaked rope, the grease solidified, solid, but soft and off-white in color in the cold.

    She could feel Tok shifting beneath her. Her fear spiked, but it had changed, aligning with her plan, honing her senses instead of freezing her. She took her time to move down the length of the building, stepping slowly.

    She heard him growl in the night. Could almost imagine his red eyes narrowing in suspicion. He had to have heard it move.

    He might kill first and question second. The thought came unbidden, and it didn''t improve her mood. The whiptail shoots flexed worryingly underfoot, and she took even more time in response.

    Can¡¯t fall through. It''s over if that happens.

    Thum-thu-thum thu-thum.

    She felt Tok move, sudden and surprising, shuffling, and unless she missed her guess, he was heading towards the smoker. His low warning rumble proved her right.

    So close¡­ So very close¡­

    The movement below stopped.

    The neonate looked over her shoulder, and nearly squealed in fright as she saw the outline of a large head come out from under the roof.

    She flattened herself, meaning to shift her scales to match the regular pattern of the reeds, straining with all of her being to make it perfect. Something slipped, and her skin hurt terribly like a sprain.

    Overdid it.

    Hide! Now!

    She wriggled into the thatch, sliding under the top layer and immediately worrying about halving the ammount of reeds she was standing on. She could still see out, looking through a gap in the reeds. Her heart fluttering like a bird with a broken wing in her chest.

    Lightning split the sky!

    She winced.

    Thunder shook the ground.

    She nearly bolted as the handax reverberated slightly with the sound in her mouth.

    But the neonate saw him there, his eyes squinted against the flash of light, his hiss of displeasure hidden in the roar of the heavens.

    The world went dark and he didn¡¯t move. She hoped against hope that the sky would stay dark. That she would be hidden for just a little bit longer. That this plan should work.

    It has to.

    In the pouring rain the neonate saw the silhouette turn back around, lightning flaring out and lighting up the back of Tok¡¯s head for a moment before the thunder crashed. He moved out into the rain more fully, coming to his full height. He walked around the smoker, bending down behind it. Where she had climbed up. Eyes wide. Tongue flickering out.

    Searching! He knows! Hurry! Her Instinct screamed.

    She couldn¡¯t wait, she had to act!

    Bursting out from under the thatch she ran to the far side of the shelter.

    Almost there!

    She nearly fumbled the rope as she unwound it from her body, her fingers clumsy with the chill of the night and the rain. She held the coated end of the cordage in one hand, the slack in the other.

    There was a loud crackle of dry reeds, and her foot sank through the thatch of the roof without any warning. She nearly squealed at the sudden drop, petrified that she was going to fall completely through.

    Keep it together! Where is the Provider?! Her Instinct demanded, taking control.

    She looked over her shoulder, and saw the Provider starting to turn. She felt like she would regurgitate the smoked meat. His eyes would be adjusted back to the dark again. The mud that still coated her was the wrong color to blend in, even if she had been laying flat.

    I failed.

    Survive!

    She started to hiss, but found she couldn¡¯t. There was something in her mouth. Hope surged within her.

    Sacrifice!

    She spat the hand axe into her free hand and hurled it as hard as she could into the brushes.

    Her Instinct shrieked as it left her claws, the shaped stone humming slightly as it spun end over end into the night.

    Surviving!

    The half stone crashed through the underbrush beautifully, and from the sound it bounced once before continuing to tumble through the undergrowth.

    It sounded like something running, like fleeing meat, like prey.

    For a moment, Tok didn¡¯t move, and she was worried that she had failed again.

    Thum! Thum! Thum! Thum!

    He turned and headed towards the treeline. Not taking a second look, she struggled to pull her leg out from the pole building without making more noise.

    Faster! Come on!

    She pulled, not worrying too much about the noise with the storm around her. She looked over towards the Provider, saw him lumbering out of his camp, searching the ground. Reaching for something.

    The neonate turned back and rushed to the far side of the shelter, pulling away the thatch and laying on her belly. She had to make sure that it would look like an accident.

    She hunched over the hole she had made and fed the wet rope through it, fat soaked tassel going down first.

    The rain ran down her body, over her hands, and along the rope.

    Her Instinct stirred, but she pushed back its concern as she fed the rope down as fast as she could. Ignoring the stream of water running along it.

    It¡¯ll land on the cookstone anyway. She would still have the fire.

    It did.

    With a horrific hiss and spattering spray of steam the water boiled instantly, sending specks of liquified fat high into the air.

    They splatter everywhere, sizzling, even on her as high up as she was, burning her scales painfully.

    Run! Her Instinct screeched.

    She could see them, little amber droplets, and she could see them sailing back down towards the burning coals.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± She whispered.

    Whumph!

    The world went blazing yellow-crimson as the fat ignited. Her Instinct take hold of not just her mind, but it seemed like it clutched at time itself, with an imperious unyielding directive.

    Live!

    In slow motion the flame raced up towards her. Deadly fire. Searching to consume all.

    She tore backwards, shoving with her hind legs as hard as she could to get away. The blade of her adrenaline cut both ways as it was like moving through thick mud. Aware of the danger and constrianed to the realities of how quickly she could move.

    The neonate watched in horror as the pillar of flame blazed upwards towards the roof. She felt the heat flare closer and closer to her hand.

    Just¡­ a¡­ bit¡­ more¡­

    Her body was clear of the hole.

    Time suddenly reverted back to its regular pace as the blinding pillar of angry red flame shot up and out of the hole with a roar. She could hear the crackle of the thatch igniting, feel the growing heat beneath her.

    Run! Now!

    She tore along the thatch, ripping up pieces as she ran. Smelling the choking smoke. Fighting to live so she could learn from this blunder. She didn¡¯t try anything fancy, running to the corner where she knew that there was a pole.

    On fire.

    I need to get to the ground.

    Will hurt.

    She leaped over the side and slid down it, hands running over glowing embers occasionally as she went.

    She hissed as the heat seared her for an instant, fighting the pain and forcing herself to keep a grip until she could safely drop. She landed in the mud, gasping at the agony of her blistered hands. Staggering up she found a puddle and shoved her hands into it, cooling the blisters that made the pattern of her scales strange and unnatural looking.

    She jumped as a terrible growl sounded from the forest, and scrabbled away. She spent as much time on all fours as she spent upright as she slipped and staggered in the slick mud.

    The neonate got behind a large flat boulder that Tok had sunned himself on in better weather, desperate to get away, to show she was running away now. That she was done. She peaked around it, placing her throbbing hands against the cool stone.

    Tok trampled forward, looking like he was going to try to put out the flames, but they had already engulfed the whole roof of the pole structure.

    Enough of the underside had been dry that it had just spread out of control. The rain hissed as it dumped down onto the hot cookstone, the glow of the cookfire absent and replaced with a column of steam.

    ¡°Well played, little one.¡± His voice was deep, frustrated, with a hint of a growl in it. Or was that distant thunder?

    She didn¡¯t move, hiding behind the boulder and gasping. She couldn¡¯t escape if he wanted to catch her, but she had backed off.

    Surely he won¡¯t seek reprisals?

    All that theory. All the thinking. The planning and scheming within her own mind seemed so foolish at this point. She moved back behind the stone as he looked in her direction.

    The next few moments would show if she had been right or not. Her jaw clenched.

    I won¡¯t die.

    She wasn¡¯t done fighting yet.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 19: Compensation

    The Smoothskins are masters in one thing, overcoming their own weakness. This is often accomplished through their creations. Blades to make up for a lack of claws, earthbone shells to make up for their soft flesh. We too must look into adopting such things, in small amounts, to force them closer to their own redemption, and to keep us from our own fall.

    -From Aphorisms: 16:3-6

    Crack!

    The neonate jerked in surprise, curling into a knot with an embarrassing squeak. The sound had been sharp as her claws, echoing across the surging river.

    At least her camouflage had returned and had stayed in place. It hurt but she ignored it.

    When she had gained the confidence to chance a look, she peered around the sunning stone once more.

    Tok had snapped off a thick branch and was knocking the burning thatch off of the roof, exposing everything below. The precipitation did a lot of work to put out the fire, steam and smoke boiling blackly into the night.

    The thatch, for the most part, he left to the elements. Some splashed into puddles and went out immediately with a hiss. Others stubbornly burned longer, sputtering and popping only to eventually be snuffed out by the unrelenting downpour.

    Tok¡¯s tongue slid out, eyes narrowing.

    Head snapping around, growling like thunder, he lifted the tree limb high!

    She cringed.

    His gaze shifted lower twice before his sanguine red eyes locked onto her.

    Shame. This was the second time she had urinated in fear in front of her Provider.

    The rain washed her as she shrank back, his study of her more contemplative than it had ever been. And the neonate didn¡¯t know if that was weal or woe for her.

    He¡¯s seen me. Hasn¡¯t done anything yet¡­

    Won¡¯t. Provider.

    But I-

    Her Instinct snapped within her mind twice. No more cringing.

    She set her jaw, her blistered hands clenching painfully as she embraced her newfound determination. She had nothing to fear, everything she had done was in line with the traditions of the trial.

    Maybe¡­ Uncertainty remained in the far corners of her mind.

    The neonate forced herself to stand anyway, pushing past the fear that made her legs tremble. Reverting back to her usual pattern of green, yellow, brown, and black. Boosting the saturation of the brighter colors to be more visible to him, wincing slightly. The rain washed off the mud, helping with that.

    He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. ¡°It would be you.¡± He said with a slightly calmer sibilance than before, though there was still a growl in his tone.

    He is impressed.

    He is frustrated. She knew she would be if she was in his place. She forced her Instinct to silence, shoving down the sunlight inside her as well.

    Her hindbrain pushed back against that though, squeezing out one last gasp of impressed before getting smothered into silence.

    She blinked, surprised that her Instinct felt so strongly about it.

    It made sense once she gave it some thought. Her Provider would play a key role in her life, in all of their lives, even after the trial.

    Her Instinct squeaked. Can be both. Frustration and pride.

    Perhaps.

    Hope sprouted.

    She stood taller, the rain¡¯s chill not bothering her anymore. She carefully moved out from behind the sunning stone.

    She still felt fear, acknowledged it even. Around the Blackscale, any intelligent being would. She just rebelled against letting herself be controlled by it anymore. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, planting her feet next to what was left of the pole structure, under the cover of a cypress tree.

    A long moment passed, the rain rattling against his thick scales.

    Tok. Blinked. Ponderously.

    He turned back to his work, grunting once.

    She made sure to stay out of Tok¡¯s way while still having a good view of him. It felt good to be out of the rain as she watched the titanic male work, to rest and recover in relative comfort, relaxing her pattern.

    Soon I will have the power of fire at my clawtips!

    The neonate scooted a little closer to the cookstone. It still radiated a surprising amount of heat, which she craved. She held her hands over it, letting it warm her fingers. They no longer hurt, her scales had protected her from the worst of the embers getting off of the roof.

    The warmth enveloped her, her belly no longer empty because of the dried meat she had stolen, both things lulling her battered body. The neonate started to doze in spite of her best efforts.

    The smoldering reeds steamed for a while in the mud where they had been knocked down while lightning and thunder danced again in the heavens.

    The ground shook as he sat down next to the firepit, waking her with a jolt. She looked around, seeing he had finished.

    Using a log, he shoved the cookstone aside, the wet wood sizzling against it. He looked up at her, eyes half lidded once again.

    She glanced down at the wet coals before looking back at him. He stared at her, so she did it again, not moving, desaturating the color of her scales for a moment to show respect and thanks.

    He grunted, focus shifting back to the fire pit.

    The neonate grunted back.

    She watched silently as he placed tinder on the bottom of the firepit. Each piece parallel to its neighbors. It was like he was building a little raft with them.

    No! A nest for the fire to hatch! She glanced at the muddy ash at the bottom of the pit. Out of the water.

    Her Instinct hissed. Content. Appreciating the analogy.

    Sitting cross legged, Tok picked up a larger piece of wood. His bright blue tongue slid out, waggling close to the endgrain. He set that log aside, selecting another and repeating the ritual. Tok set his second choice in front of himself, holding it vertically against the ground with one hand.

    Taking a claw, he split the piece of wood along the grain. Pressing into it with ease. When it was about a third of the way in, Tok twisted his wrist sharply, and the log split the rest of the way with a crackling pop.

    As he did, the Provider hissed, the sound deep and slow. A strange counter tone to the rain on the fresh thatch.

    A rhythm forming.

    It called to her, and she couldn¡¯t resist. The neonate hissed in time with him, just like the lessons when the Greenscales had just hatched.

    It was the tune for the story of Baha¡¯an, the god that brought the mortals fire and gave them thumbs. A fitting tune for the moment.

    I missed this¡­

    The Blackscale raked his claw along the now exposed wood, slicing off long thin curls. They rustled in his hand, clearly dry. He didn¡¯t look at her, but he paused and rustled the shavings for a moment longer before pouring them onto the little nest he had made.

    Could scrape with the hand ax to do that. It was a bigger pile than she would have thought was necessary, but it was quite damp outside. Maybe that was why?

    Then came sticks and twigs, slowly increasing in size until he had a good-sized pile. She also noticed that he made sure to have plenty of space between the pieces. Why..?

    Her eyes widened.

    Airflow! So fire does breathe.

    Yes. Needs to. Her Instinct hissed. She could see why that part of her liked the nest metaphor. Fire lived, in its own way.

    Her tongue flickered out. Impatience for the actual lighting of the pile growing like strangle vine inside her. For a moment she wondered if it would be a magic spell. Her tongue moved even faster as excitement joined in too.

    She remembered a moment when she thought the Provider had used arcane powers. Interrogating her about the corpse she had found. That strange pressure she felt. The gesture he made.

    Maybe he knows fire magic! That would change everything!

    She couldn¡¯t ask directly, any answer he gave would be interfering with the trial. But she hoped it was true. He had told them all about the mage emperor, the strange powers he had, how he had used them to conquer the Smoothskin lands.

    I could burn my enemies with it! She really liked the idea.

    Finally, a bundle of whiptail reed fluff joined the rest of the tinder. The Provider got it by splitting them down the middle and scraping out the fluffy material that was in between the segments.

    Come on! Hurry up! She wasn¡¯t sure she could contain her excitement. Even if it was mundane means, the warmth, being able to cook, to dry out, it would change everything for her.

    Tok looked at her again, as if he could sense her thoughts. His tongue slid out lazily.

    She waited, silent, out of his way. She didn¡¯t move. Apart from her rapid-fire tongue.

    He grunted, turning back to his work.

    Reaching behind himself, he plucked out a straight length of wood, delicately thin in his massive hands, the bark peeled away. He also took a flat piece of wood with several notches cut into it. Some of the notches had blackened holes bored through them.

    She felt a little crestfallen that it wouldn¡¯t be magic.

    Focus!

    For once that came easily to her.

    Have to learn all I can.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She aimed her flickering tongue at the notched plank. Faint resin, faint sticky sort of smell. No¡­ not faint, muted.

    Pine. Aged. Dry as fresh ashes.

    Then at the rod. Almost no smell, but the color and shape made it obvious to her.

    Pillarwood.

    Why different woods though?

    Watch, idiot. Her Instinct hissed.

    With wide eyes she watched as the Provider spun the pillarwood shaft between his palms. Hands moving down the length of it as he pressed down. And again. And again. And again.

    He was clearly exerting some pressure, as he placed a stone under the notched piece and the stone sank into the mud. The spindle bending slightly each time.

    Eventually, smoke curled out from the tip of the spindle, just a tiny waft of it. But to her surprise he didn¡¯t slow. The opposite in fact. Faster and faster, the wood squeaking as it ground together, until there was quite a bit of smoke billowing up.

    When he finally lifted the spindle, there was a little pile of black dust that formed as he spun, smoke coming from it as a little ember glowed there. It had collected in the notch of the flat piece, and it took her a moment to realize he was gently blowing on it to keep it burning.

    Slowly, the Provider moved the flat piece of wood to the bundle of reed fluff, tapping the ember into it and picking the bundle up.

    The neonate could see that Tok was being incredibly gentle about it, only breathing on the ember rather than blowing. His large black scaled hands cupping around the bundle protectively so that it was sheltered from the wind of the storm.

    The smoke increased, obscuring everything for her but she could hear him slowly breathe harder on the bundle. Then blowing gently. Smoke wreathed his whole head. And suddenly the bundle burst alight, the flame chasing the smoke upwards like a mawfrog pouncing into a flock of ducks.

    Fire!

    She thought she could manage that with some practice! It was a wonder her head wasn¡¯t glowing from all the sunrise yellow flooding through her mind.

    I can finally cook those tubers!

    Tok pinched the burning bundle between a pair of claws and placed it into the center of the burn pit, on top of the tinder he had stacked up neatly. He continued to coax the little flame. Before long he was adding modest pieces of wood to the growing fire.

    It smoked horribly, making her cough and snort.

    Wet, makes smoke. Her Instinct wheezed from her burning eyes.

    She¡¯d have to make a shelter like his then too if this rain continued. Smoke could give away her position. Make her a target.

    She coughed again, but the neonate didn¡¯t move away. She kept watching instead, even how he moved some of the wet tinder closer to the fire to dry out as he built the fire up higher.

    She looked up at him, and found him again looking at her, judging, examining. His eyes shifted to the wound on her chest, which was now little more than a scar. He nodded with an almost silent snort.

    He looked back at the fire.

    They sat in silence, him tending the fire, her taking advantage of it to warm back up and finally dry off.

    The fire crackled and popped, its vocalizations joining the rain and the thunder. The flickering light of the flames joined the lightning.

    The only sounds and sights in the night between them.

    After the neonate was dry, still basking in the heat of the joyous yellow flames, Tok held his hand out to her, palm up. She looked, and saw her hand ax was there, small in his mighty palm.

    She reached for it, but he tilted his hand and it fell into the growing bed of coals of his fire before she could catch it.

    She hissed, full of anger.

    Mine! He has no right!

    Why?

    She looked up at him, confused, fighting back her rage and meeting those crimson eyes of his.

    He grunted.

    ¡°Do better.¡±

    The words resonated inside of her. Literally and figuratively.

    She looked away, unable to meet his eyes, and her scales went pale in deference, the pain of pushing past the sprain in her skin only driving the point home further. He continued as it sunk in, ¡°Luck and innate skill only take us so far, little one.¡±

    She nodded, staring into the fire, at the now too hot tool in the center of the coals. ¡°I will.¡± If it had been one of the others, they would have beat her senseless at the very least.

    Idiot. Remember this. She had a long road ahead of her.

    He grunted.

    She sat there with him for some time, watching the dancing blades of it waver in the growing dark.

    The last admonition had tempered her joy at her success, but she was still elated at the new knowledge she had. She was excited to make her own fire now. She¡¯d spend the night in the log, then find somewhere to build a shelter.

    The rain came down, and she felt somewhat naked without the hand axe or her cordage.

    The grave. Her Instinct reminded her.

    Her eyes went wide.

    True! She changed direction, heading for the nest instead. How could she have forgotten? The tools from off island! The tools of a full Initiate.

    Maybe, just maybe, whoever Gix had been would have had something that she could use. It seemed unrealistic for a full grown adult to not have something useful on their person when they died. Especially if she had to deal with smoothskins and their earthbone armor.

    With another flash of desaturated respect, she left Tok¡¯s shelter behind.

    Her Instinct grunted and she probed the impulses and sensations that it consisted of.

    He called you skilled. The neonate¡¯s Instinct whispered.

    The heat of the fire worked wonders, it was a while before she noticed the rain again.

    Another raindrop landed right in the neonate¡¯s eye, and she glared up at the canopy, sloshing through flooded undergrowth.

    She had had to stick to the ground as she retraced her steps to the nest. Her burned and blistered hands just made it too difficult and painful to climb into the canopy. She could if pressed, but she didn¡¯t want to deal with pain she didn¡¯t need to.

    The nest! Dig! Dig now! Her Instinct drooled greed into her mind. It had been since she left.

    Slowly! Respect is owed, and my injuries can¡¯t get worse. She entered the original nesting site, walking over to the grave marker.

    She moved the earth she had so recently replaced once more, setting the skull next to the hole with what she felt was the proper degree of reverence.

    This is a hero!

    This is true... Her Instinct sighed, sounding¡­ mournful?

    She dug easily into the mostly sandy earth of the nesting site. Taking her time because of her injuries, and not wanting to damage anything before having the chance to use it.

    Her claw hit something. It was an odd shape.

    Gently! Perhaps fragile.

    Slowly the neonate pulled, wiggling the thing and scraping along the outline with a single claw.

    Finally, the sandy earth released it from its grasp. Lifting it up, she couldn¡¯t identify it at first.

    Rain.

    Finding a stream of water falling from a branch above, she held it under the flow, wiping away soil and debris with her hands. Picking into crevasses with the tips of her claws. Carved lines, drilled holes, and smoothed curves appeared.

    An idol of Haan-Kezk al¡¯Shezd. God of conflict, of challenges.

    Fitting. Her Instinct mused.

    Everything is a fight for me.

    She placed the statuette of the bloody god next to the skull.

    Digging a little deeper, she felt something softer. Scraps, woven strands. Perhaps clothes? Tok had mentioned such things. When traveling to smoothskin lands, you had to adorn yourself with them. They might be useful.

    Gix was a traveler.

    She wondered if she would want to travel, if she survived the trial and earned a name. She could see the world, find a place of quiet. A place to watch the world go by.

    That line of thought was almost instantly shoved aside when she found what was under the clothes.

    It was worn, made of leather, and patched in a couple places. Curious, she pulled it out and saw that it was a pouch of some kind.

    It flared into light and she hissed, dropping it and leaping back.

    Glowing symbols, runes and shapes, flickered in and out of existence. They formed a strange spherical design in the night, but her eye for pattern and color noted that there were gaps in it. Spaces that needed to be filled in.

    Scars.

    It flickered with every raindrop.

    She watched as the blue glow changed something about how the rain moved, but what exactly she couldn¡¯t decern. The flickering made it hard to see, not just with the afterimage in her eyes, but whatever was happening was only happening when the light was there.

    Magic. Her Instinct hissed, suspicious behind her eyes as they narrowed.

    The bag continued to flicker and flash. Thunder rumbled.

    It could be dangerous¡­ She wanted to toss it away.

    No! Hoard. Mine! Her Instinct gnashed from her hands, forcing her to clench onto the bag.

    She struggled against herself, tossing it away before noticing that her claws hadn¡¯t torn the material.

    Interesting¡­ She decided to watch for a while, to make sure that it was safe. You could never tell with magic, or so the Provider had told them.

    But the bag only flickered and flashed with runes and geometry. Eventually the neonate tried poking it with a stick. First lightly, then more firmly. When it still didn¡¯t do anything, she decided it was probably safe.

    A stick! What a delight! I adore folks who don¡¯t understand the complexities of magic. Sorry, I had to jump in. I¡¯ll go back to counting bricks. Might start naming them soon.

    A bit dubious now, she reached back into the hole to keep on digging.

    She could see¡­ something.

    She dug around it to try and see what it might be.

    A¡­ cylinder?

    Wrapped in leather, firm to the touch. She took it in her hand, pulling on it to get it out of the compacted sand and clay that surrounded it. It held, and she pulled harder. She planted her feet, then grabbed with both hands.

    Come on! Get out of the-

    Some earth shifted, and it slid free much more smoothly than she was expecting. She fell backwards onto her haunches, her hand gripping it.

    It was a sight to behold.

    A knife! Her Instinct named it the instant the neonate held it up.

    She stared in awe. It was double edged, with a crossguard and pommel. The grip had a swell in the center, which fit her hand wonderfully. No, perfectly! Even wet it wasn¡¯t slippery. It was meant to stab, to slash, to slice. And she cherished it already.

    Such an elegant and simple thing.

    Earthbone. Her Instinct hissed as she tapped the blade with a claw, and it rang softly. A beautiful call to her. ¡®Use me¡¯, it seemed to say.

    The only thing marring the blade was a series of markings, runes, carved into it. They too appealed to her, though. Completing the blade somehow. Best of all, the weapon was matte black.

    Good coloring for the shadows.

    She ran her one hand along the flat, adjusting her grip with the other. Lightning flashed, and she could see that the dusky weapon came to a fine edge, no knicks, no rust. Thinner than shed skin.

    She slashed at the ferns, and the knife didn¡¯t even ring softly as it connected with the stem of one, the leaf slicing free and falling silently to the ground.

    Sharp. Good.

    This is what changes my prospects. This is what helps me pass this trial.

    Golden yellow filled her thoughts. She gave the figurine a nod, not sure if the Bloody One was behind her getting such a fine weapon and tool, but it seemed prudent to be thankful all the same.

    She could see that the sheath was still in the hole. She¡¯d need-

    Crackle. A twig.

    Danger! Her tongue shot out.

    Reek of rot behind her!

    She flattened herself to the sandy soil, matching the pattern.

    There was an explosion of noise behind her, snarling and the wet muddy slapping of feet rushing towards her.

    Pivoting to face the sounds, staying low, she saw One-eye sail over her. Snarling and snapping his jaws right where her head had been before landing in a sprawl. She got into a crouch, standing on her feet but staying low. Brandishing her new weapon fiercely.

    The male scrambled up from his tumble. She could see the light of his single remaining bloodshot eye. See the terrible hunger smoldering in them.

    Her own eyes widened.

    The monster! Her Instinct hissed, and she verbalized it, louder than the barrage of the rain.

    She had to cull it from the world.

    Cut it out of the cycle.

    It could not be allowed to continue!

    Not here, not anywhere.

    Part of her was surprised that the main emotion that she felt was something much closer to anger than fear. Not that the fear wasn¡¯t there, but the sense of inevitable duty that filled her soul looking into that bloodshot eye was more powerful. She could see the madness within.

    And never again. I am a Predator, not prey.

    Survive!

    The neonate snarled in answering challenge.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 20: One-eye

    Strength is good because it is our purpose to oppose all of the Falsescaled. Even after their extinction they seek to destroy and desecrate everything. Exterminate them all.

    -From Vocationals: 1:6-8

    ¡°Ah, the runt¡­¡± One-eye growled.

    Runt? Runt?! She snarled at him. No, it.

    Not a person. Not an animal. A monster!

    Rage boiled inside the neonate, and she almost lost control and lashed out with no plan. Her knuckles popped as she gripped her new knife tight.

    One-eye¡¯s pattern filled with a smug orange as it lifted something to its mouth, taking a bloody bite, and it was only then she noticed what it was. It was the bloody tatters of a hatchling¡¯s arm. Well-muscled. Most likely from an apex competitor. One of the others.

    The monster drooled foamy spittle onto the ground as it snarled at her, chewing, chunks falling out of its mouth.

    Wasteful.

    She stared in horror at the once broodmate¡¯s meal, then she snarled again, hissing even louder. They were not supposed to directly kill. That was part of the trial.

    The monster threw the arm at her.

    It smacked her in the face, spattering blood over her shoulder and tail as the elbow bent.

    Danger!

    She dove to the side, rolling.

    The male sailed over her once more with snapping jaws. Growling with frustration it twisted wildly when it saw she was out of reach. Trying to grab her. She tossed the meat away from her as lightning flashed and thunder snarled. Her nose wrinkling.

    One eye reeked of decay and death. Of infection. And something else, something musky, almost barbed in its stench. Like it stuck into her nostrils and would tear flesh if forced out. The same stench that drove her mad from before. Confirming he was the monster, as if she needed it.

    Lightning lanced across the sky, painting One-eye¡¯s grotesque form in saturated detail for a moment, crimson with blood that could not be its own.

    The illumination showed that One-eye was malformed, mutated into something more bestial, more primal. It was an insult to what a Greenscale should be.

    It looked horrible. Wriggling maggoty pus spattered into the mud almost constantly from its empty socket, memento of their last dispute. Its jaw was distended, its chipped teeth and claws elongated and serrated. Cuts, both old and new, oozed all over its body.

    Now that she saw it, it didn¡¯t really look like One-eye to her. Not even just a monster.

    A demon.

    Falsescale corruption. One-eye is gone. Her Instinct growled quietly from her narrowing eyes. It looked like the monster was almost twice her weight in muscle and bone.

    It can kill you easily.

    The bag behind her flared and sparked with azure light from where it rested on the tattered clothes. It gave momentary glimpses of the full horror of its visage.

    One-eye was suddenly next to her, as if it hadn¡¯t needed to bother with the space between them.

    Too fast! No time to react.

    Its fist slammed into her stomach with enough force to make her vomit up the dried meat she had taken from Tok. She fell to her knees, the bile burning the back of her throat.

    ¡°Time to repay you for my eye¡­¡± Its voice was low, full of menace.

    She tried to get up. Had to use the knife! Cull it! Fight!

    Live!

    ¡°Do you know what this wound did to me?¡± It gnashed.

    The neonate lifted her arms to protect herself as it punctuated the question with a swift kick that made her squeal in pain and slide through the mud along the ground. Trading cuts on her forearms to protect her core.

    Bouncing twice she felt the knife slip out of her hand, sailing off into the dark.

    Damnit!

    U-use its anger¡­ It is distracted. Her Instinct¡¯s tone was frantic, but clear. Determined.

    The neonate scrambled away from the still flickering magic bag. She needed to get away from the light, to blend into the dark and catch her breath. To try and find her blade.

    ¡°Oh no you don¡¯t!¡± One-eye screeched.

    It rushed forward, snarling, but it was a moment too late. Its claws slashed through thin air as she melded into the darkness. Only missing by inches. It seemed it wasn¡¯t done its tirade.

    ¡°My head aches constantly!¡± It snarled, spinning in place, and swiping again, but she had slunk away in the dark. ¡°You put the voices in there¡­ all the terrible voices¡­ the ravenous voices!¡± It snarled going down onto all fours, its tongue flicking out as it searched for her. ¡°They gave me the power to cull you from the brood though¡­¡±

    Got to get away! Get to Tok! This wouldn¡¯t be interference.

    The neonate wanted to scream for him, to tell him she had found the monster. But if she did, One-eye would hear and find her and kill her. If only she still had that black blade. She would have to manage without.

    Kill.

    Yes.

    She got to the edge of the nesting area, where she had hidden from One-eye as a hatchling, so very long ago. It looked up from where it was smelling.

    Lightning flashed, and its head snapped towards the neonate, staring eye glaring right at her.

    Shit!

    It rushed her, spittle and wriggling pus spattering the ground.

    Fear overtook her anger.

    She bared her teeth.

    No! I won¡¯t let it control me!

    Fight!

    Her forebrain smashed the fear down under the determination to Live! To Survive!

    The neonate just barely sidestepped the snapping jaws. Rolling away from its grasping claws. She slashed with her own, her technique far more polished than its from watching Slash. She scored a fine set of cuts on its shoulder, though none were deep enough to stop it.

    ¡°You made me into this! This is all your fault!¡± It shrieked, slashing again, its arm a blur.

    Lightning flashed in the night letting her see it clearly.

    Ferns and saplings falling as they were neatly sliced by its razor-sharp claws.

    She ducked under its assault. Stepping into its reach to confuse it and get behind it, she traded a faster escape for a more agile one.

    She wouldn¡¯t be able to outrun it anyway, and she needed to see the attacks as they came. She tried to slash at it with her claws again, but it easily pulled back out of her reach.

    One-eye spun!

    Thwack!

    Its powerful tail knocked her aside, and she only barely managed to keep on her feet as her vision flickered.

    Use its anger! Her Instinct insisted, helping her not lose consciousness.

    It wants to talk, fine. She would tear it apart in any way she could. Even with words if that¡¯s all she could manage. Maybe if she bought enough time Tok would arrive, cull the defective thing from the brood.

    Don¡¯t rely on that!

    She wouldn¡¯t, but she could hope.

    ¡°Your actions are your own!¡± She shouted, her voice sounding childish compared to its. A fly¡¯s wing beats against a gale. She didn¡¯t care. ¡°You have gone mad. Mutation!¡± She avoided a piercing thrust of its claws, ¡°Cannibal!¡± She jumped back from a kick, ¡°Defective-offspring!¡±

    ¡°You cursed me with your blight!¡± it snarled, and she had to clumsily jump over a sweep of its tail or be knocked down. Its pattern flickered through several spiraling colors. Vibrant, bright, wrong.

    ¡°Curse of magic or damnation from the gods I don¡¯t care. You¡¯ve failed.¡± She filled her words with prefixes of scorn, disgust, and worst of all, pity. Her Instinct helped her choose.

    It worked like a charm.

    It roared. Corded muscles bunching as it lashed out like a beast.

    She was expecting it now though.

    At the last possible moment she dove to the side, scrambling around the trunk of a tree. Climbing as fast as she could.

    Higher! Come on!

    She snarled through the pain as her blisters popped, not letting herself stop until she was up in the true canopy. As high as she could go.

    She ran along a branch as the male raged behind her, spouting gibberish and denials in turns. She spotted a perpendicular branch up ahead, lower than her current one, and readied herself to jump to it.

    Move in an unexpected direction to try and lose it. She panted as she forced herself to run even faster, not paying attention to the drop, just the destination. She leaped.

    Now to hide and plan my next mo-

    Lightning flashed again and thunder cracked, and she was lit up mid jump.

    Fuck!

    She landed on the branch and she could feel it gaining on her, the new branch bouncing with its weight mere seconds after she landed.

    Keep going!

    She took an easier jump right after to yet another tree, still running as thunder rolled across the swamp, drowning out all but its hate filled words.

    Don¡¯t look back. Eyes forward! Her Instinct berated her as she was about to check again.

    She climbed higher, and winced as she felt its claws nick the tip of her tail. She could feel the blood dripping, but she kept going, leaping out to catch a parallel branch to her left. She hoped that it would be too slender a branch to hold One-eye¡¯s weight.

    It cracked as she grabbed hold, dropping an inch or two lower. She hauled herself atop it and ran towards the trunk of the tree.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Crackle!

    It sunk farther.

    Not again! Go!

    She pumped her legs, gasping, running as fast as she could. It groaned like a wounded animal, the droop growing as it did.

    Faster!

    She leaped!

    Pop!

    The branch fell away beneath her, but she grabbed hold of the trunk.

    She looked behind her and saw One-eye raging there at the jagged break of the tree limb.

    It snarled, looking for a way to get to her, having to drop down even lower to try and cross over. Her mind raced as she tried to get space between her and her assailant, scrambling up the trunk and back into the branches.

    She finally managed to break line of sight, leaping again and grabbing a vine to swing around a different tree. Landing firmly.

    Lightning split the sky right after, as if to emphasize how close it had been.

    She slowed her movements, listening for the monster.

    Should I double back to confuse it?

    Maybe ambush. Her Instinct snarled.

    Thunder rumbled.

    She crawled back the way she had come, melding her pattern to the bark, laying flat and crawling hand over hand on her belly like a serpent.

    She didn¡¯t want her silhouette to stand out, but it was miserable exposing so much of herself to the chilling rain.

    Tough shit. Bask when you¡¯re dead.

    One-eye¡¯s tirade of profanity and gibberish suddenly cut off.

    She couldn¡¯t figure out its location now.

    Stay unpredictable.

    What would be unpredictable?

    The ground.

    She moved as quickly as she could while still maintaining absolute silence, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. It was agonizing to take so long, but this was what felt right.

    Ambush.

    Slow.

    Methodical.

    With the promise of a sudden burst of energy at the end. She placed her feet on muddy soil once more. Lightning flared in the heavens, but the leaves and dense foliage made weird shadows and patches of darkness.

    Disorienting.

    Shit! Where am I?

    She cursed her luck and started to try and orient herself. She backed into a dense patch of bushes and vines, blending in with them. Using the tight grouping of foliage to hide her outline, knowing she didn¡¯t have long.

    Her foot got snagged by a vine in the dark and she fell with enough noise to wake a stone as twigs snapped and dead leaves crunched.

    Cursing, she scrambled deeper into the grove of bushes, uncaring of the racket.

    Snap crackle crack crunch!

    She could hear the monster closing in. Smashing its way through.

    The stiff branches and leaves of the shrubbery scratched her scales, and she had to contort herself to get even deeper, squeezing through a tiny gap. It was just in time.

    One-eye burst out of the undergrowth in a shower of vegitation, snarling.

    It spotted her and rushed forward, trying to squeeze behind her, getting stuck.

    With a hiss she kicked the monster in the face, making it squeal, disgusted by the wriggling grubs that spattered onto her foot. Kicking them away as the beast pulled back.

    ¡°That¡¯s right prey, hide! Make my hunt entertaining.¡± Its prefixes were grotesquely amused.

    It couldn¡¯t get in though. She sighed in relief and moved back deeper. There was no way the Provider hadn¡¯t heard this conflict. And she was out of reach.

    Safe finall-

    Crash!

    Its claw burst through the dead vines above her.

    She yelped, hot pain zipping along her muzzle, blood welling up immediately as the serrated claw scraped her skull, marking it forever.

    Run! Her Instinct filled her legs and scrambled with them.

    Its arm pulled out of the hole, and a lingering flicker of lightning lit up its one working eye as it looked in while she backpedaled wildly.

    She was trapped in this constricting mess. One-eye¡¯s claws making it feel like the vines were closing in!

    Have to get out! Space! Freedom!

    Another claw burst through, then another, and another! Each time she managed to keep moving, though she was collecting more and more bleeding wounds.

    She snapped at them once, scraping along its palm and knuckles with her teeth only to have to yank her neck out of a choking grip.

    ¡°Good! Good! This is helping me work up an appetite.¡± One-eye snarled with sickening glee. ¡°The voices tell me the headaches will go away when I eat your eyes.¡±

    Have to run! Have to flee!

    Thorns added to her growing list of injuries, and she snarled in terror, still defiant, but at her breaking point.

    Her back pressed against the trunk of a long dead tree. She looked around, and saw that there was a way out, but she would have to squeeze. It would slow her down.

    She didn¡¯t have time.

    Adapt! Survive! Fight!

    Its hand burst through again, its claws raking her chest painfully. ¡°I smell your blood! If I drink it the voices will go away!¡± It pressed against the thorns, uncaring as they tore into its shoulder.

    She slashed with her claws but it almost got a hold of her wrist when she did. She curled away from it, almost out of reach.

    Almost.

    It redoubled its efforts, hissing at her. It tried another angle, and then another. It was going to get her unless she did something!

    There is a pattern to the strikes! Focus! Find a way to Adapt!

    She could see that, but she needed a weapon! Eyes roving with the mania of panic, she spotted a jagged stone.

    She grabbed it and dodged the next attack, ramming it into the gap as hard as she could at the same time.

    Like the egg!

    She put her whole body into the jab, planting her hind legs and tail. Shoving like she was trying to lift the stone and the thorns over her head.

    One-eye squealed in pain and rage.

    Hot blood that wasn¡¯t hers coated her.

    The stone wedged, but she kicked it deeper for good measure. Blood rained down as One-eye screeched into the night.

    Not waiting, she dove for the tiny exit, her top half slipping out before she got stuck. The neonate squeezed, strained, and couldn¡¯t budge.

    ¡°Runt! Bitch! I¡¯ll make you watch as I eat your liver!¡± She could hear the thicket shaking with the monster¡¯s rage.

    Come on! She wiggled, sliding through one tight spot only to get stuck in another.

    Live!

    She wrenched her own body, and finally slipped out! Her scales were scraped almost raw. There was a flickering light, not in the sky, but on the ground. Blue.

    The bag!

    Somehow, they had gone in a complete circle.

    Now knowing where she was, she started to sprint back towards Tok¡¯s shelter.

    ¡°Help! Murder! Monster! Provi-¡±

    Thwack!

    Something hard hit her shoulder, and she squealed in agony.

    The pain of the injury she had done to herself spying on Ropemaker flaring up. She splashed as she fell into the mud, panting. She saw the stone she had used in the flickering blue light. It was drenched in blood. One-eye had thrown it at her.

    My back isn¡¯t bleeding¡­

    Get up! It¡¯s coming!

    She rolled over, so full of pain, feeling helpless, seeing One-eye getting slowly closer.

    Why slowly?

    Live!

    Lightning flashed.

    Its one arm terminated in a bloody stump now. Why-?

    It chewed off its own hand!

    Sacrifice.

    ¡°Now you die¡­¡± it hissed, panting. Pain and insanity twisted its face into a mask from her nightmares. She tried to get up and fell back down. Her shoulder screamed with pain, her mind dizzy with it.

    No, not like this.

    It was the worst outcome.

    No more¡­

    Part of her wanted to just give up, to just stop trying and give in.

    I¡¯m so tired.

    She was the runt, she should just be culled out of the bloodline for the good of the brood.

    SURVIVE!

    The voice was loud, painfully so, dripping with scorn. She kept backing away, finding the stone again and throwing it, aiming for One-eye¡¯s drooling mouth.

    It bounced harmlessly off of One-eye¡¯s chest, and it snarled at her, picking up its pace, cradling its stump.

    She forced herself to move, crawling, fighting for the next moment again, and again, and again. Clinging to life, to hope, even though she thought there wasn¡¯t any left to hold on to. She clung anyway.

    I won¡¯t die here!

    Her hand came down on something smooth.

    Wrapped in leather.

    Reassuring.

    The dagger.

    The dagger!

    Murder! Her Instinct snarled with glee.

    She roared in defiance, gripping the matte black blade tightly in one hand. Whipping around she slashed at One-eye as it came up behind her. There was only an instant of resistance telling her she had scored a hit. The male hissed and backed away from her. Its remaining hand went to its stomach, the blood black in the blue flickering light of the bag, spattering into the mud.

    Thunder echoed in the distance.

    She staggered to her feet, holding the blade out in front of her. She glared at it.

    ¡°My turn.¡± She hissed.

    It is blind on one side. Her Instinct coached and she circled towards that side, forcing One-eye to turn.

    It lunged and she slashed again, making it dodge back. She could see that their reach was almost equal now.

    She flicked her new blade back and forth. Getting a feel for it. Something about it was intuitive to her. Like her claws, almost.

    It can slash, it can stab, and it can bludgeon. Her Instinct hissed, pulling her eyes to the pommel.

    The blade leveled the playing field, a cold death that was light in her hand. Thunder rumbled constantly in the distance, the lightning too far away to see. She glanced at the ground then shifted again, backing away from it, needing to rile it up.

    ¡°You hunt like a runt¡­ I will cull you from the brood.¡± She hissed.

    She kept moving, and had to dodge back and to the side as it slashed then tried to sweep her feet out from under her with its tail, snarling and ranting again.

    ¡°I will eat your marrow! Your liver! I will rip out that tongue and savor the seasoning that is your lies!¡±

    This conversation, all the talking, felt unnatural. Pointless. She wanted to stay silent. But she needed to keep it distracted, angry, for her plan to work.

    ¡°Look at you, hanging on by a thread, against the smallest of us.¡± She hissed in pain as it scored another cut on her, a shallow one along her injured shoulder.

    It received a stab in its forearm in return, and she marveled at the ease with which the blade plunged in and slid back out again. Hot blood spattered against her, and her Instinct thrilled in the combat.

    Yes! Compete!

    She slammed the distracting sounds into the silence of her subconscious, and kept talking.

    ¡°This makes me happy, monster, you saved me the trouble of competing against others that were clearly less than I am.¡± She stopped circling and hopped back a couple times, standing next to the bag. Completely lit up.

    She stood up straight.

    Time to goad it.

    Yes! Show it!

    She shifted her scales, this time not blending, but purposely becoming even more visible. Reds, scornful and confident, a challenge to it, along with black, sure, unyielding, and dominant. She made a point to beckon it with both hands visible. Not just distracting, but enthralling.

    With a snarl, One-eye rushed forward, jaw wide, claws spread. Its speed was incredible. She wouldn¡¯t be able to dodge it.

    And she didn¡¯t have to.

    Its foot sank into the unearthed grave that was still open to the sky with a splash and an angry crunch. She pounced as it crashed to the ground, landing on its good arm. Pinning it down with her weight as she lifted the matte black blade high.

    She rammed her blade deep into the monster¡¯s remaining eye. The frantic need of survival filling her alongside the righteous anger of the wronged. It shrieked with surprise and rage. Blood sprayed out onto her face, into her snarling mouth. That sweet taste once more coating her tongue.

    Make sure! Her Instinct was exultant.

    She swept the blade back and forth as much as she could. Hearing the skull crunch as she twisted. Savoring the kill in a way that couldn¡¯t be put into words as her broodmate jerked and twitched beneath her, the neonate scrambled its brain.

    Dying because of her actions. Because she was the better competitor.

    So¡­ satisfying¡­

    She hissed, languid in her victory. She had exercised the ultimate display of power. Taking a life of another. Taking on Ravo¡¯s divine calling for just a moment to bring death to one unworthy. It made the neonate shiver in guilty ecstasy.

    You can survive, and should. Her Instinct purred, the words dripping with malevolence and greed.

    It wanted more. She wanted more. And it was horrifying. She knew that such things were not something to condone in herself, but she felt them burning in her.

    The fight, the challenge. The kill. She wanted to fight again. To have another¡¯s blood spray out as she claimed their life.

    It was just as she started to get confused and scared of these thoughts and feelings that Tok burst through the trees, snarling before coming to a stop as it saw the tableau before him.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 21: Inventory

    Anything can be useful, it is figuring out the way to make it so that is true skill. So keep track of your hoard in both your mind and soul. It must be a part of you for you to best use it.

    -From Vocationals: 7:9-11

    The neonate wrenched the knife out of the second eye she had ever ruined with a sharp jerk.

    Something soft splattered against her chest. She looked down to see a bit of One-eye¡¯s brain, and something inside it wriggled. She hissed and swiped it off of herself, thinking it was a wriggling worm, but she couldn¡¯t be sure in the flickering light of the bag.

    She moved away from the corpse, feeling the need to scrub herself clean, and only then did she look up at the Provider. Lowering her arms, letting her scales return to their greens once more. She didn¡¯t run, but she didn¡¯t get closer either. She was doing everything she could to make it clear that she was not going to fight Tok.

    Unless he tries to kill me.

    She blinked, surprised at the conviction in her Instinct¡¯s voice. It was probably because she had directly competed against a more physically capable opponent and won. This was most definitely one of those times to not listen to her Instinct, or at least temper its confidence. Luck had played quite a bit in the confrontation.

    I don¡¯t know if One-eye counted as a true challenge because of its madness anyway.

    Kill is a kill. I took its life.

    She shivered again and couldn¡¯t tell if it was in pleasure or disgust.

    Tok¡¯s eyes moved to the hand that held the knife, then glanced over to the gravesite. She followed the Provider¡¯s crimson gaze. One-eye¡¯s fall had scattered the skull and the objects that had been buried beneath it into the mud.

    The heavy wooden figurine was clearly in the light of the bag, spattered with the dead broodmate¡¯s blood.

    They looked at each other once more. As his red eyes shifted back to her he made a strange gesture with one hand. Something flowed across her, invasive, from outside her.

    No! What!

    Begone!

    He was casting a spell! She hadn¡¯t done anything wrong! The whole of her mind struggled against it stubbornly, one hand coming to her head. The force pressed harder, then with a sensation like the flick of a snipbug¡¯s tail, it settled in, making space for itself. Her mind felt tight, but not uncomfortable.

    ¡°Was this the one killing the others?¡± Tok asked, eyes watching her intently.

    She glared up at the Provider, still rubbing her temple. ¡°What did you do?¡± She hissed. This wasn¡¯t right, what had he done? What spell? And why had-

    ¡°Answer the questions neonate, ¡± He growled, and she felt herself take one step back away from him.

    Lightning flashed, lighting the natural armor of his scales, red eyes glowing.

    ¡°Is this¡­ the one¡­ killing the others..?¡± He hissed, his stance changing, starting to lean forward, clawed hands slightly open at his sides.

    The deliberate pace of his words was like the river.

    Unstopping, unyielding, and uncaring if it smashed you against the rocks hidden in its bed. A tone of command.

    Respect. Her Instinct hissed slowly.

    I¡­ yes, he deserves it after all.

    ¡°Yes.¡± she said simply, shaking her head against the fuzzy something that had invaded her thoughts, ¡°At least he claimed as much. He said voices told him to. Said that there were headaches. That he got power from them.¡±

    Tok¡¯s eyes narrowed, and the interrogation began. He was relentless, asking her for every detail, and she relayed what she could. It felt like a test, like if she answered wrongly, she would be obliterated. She remembered his crushing grip, how he had popped that python, and chosen not to do the same to her later.

    ¡°So you dug up this grave then. Were you planning to keep the items?¡± He asked, and she paused.

    Lie! Survive!

    She wanted to lie. She tried to lie. Several times. But every time she did her throat closed up, locking the words in her lungs. She tried yet again, and her throat grew painful as Tok¡¯s eyes narrowed even more.

    ¡°Yes!¡± she admitted, the word bursting out of her, shouting the confession as the truth returned her ability to breathe.

    ¡°And what gives you the right to take such things from the dead?¡± He asked slowly.

    She paused, noting the lack of prefixes in that question. A test? She was tired of stupid tests! She was worthy.

    ¡°The dead have no need for these things!¡± She snarled.

    Tok blinked at her, and she forced herself to moderate the prefixes of her own words, going pale with apology, ¡°I¡­ I do. I have need of them. There are rules to this trial, but there is room for interpretations, is there not?¡± She glanced up before having to look away again.

    He stared at her.

    The rain poured down, diluting One-eye¡¯s blood as it soaked into the mud. The Provider was contemplative for a long time.

    Finally, he hissed, ¡°This is true. Well reasoned, little one,¡± and she could feel as the fuzziness left her mind.

    He bent down and picked up the corpse. ¡°Do not waste this boon,¡± His one red eye, large as her skull, shifted to the knife, then to her, ¡°Such actions in the world of the smoothskins are not acceptable. At least most of the time.¡±

    What does that matter?

    Did she want to travel? She looked at the knife. There might be more things like the blade out there. She gripped it tight.

    I want a name.

    Good. Survive. Think later.

    Tok looked down at her, then pointed with a mighty claw at the hole in the ground. ¡°Replace Gix¡¯s skull. You owe¡­ her¡­ that much.¡± And with that he headed back into the trees. Lightning lanced across the sky above, casting his broad back in sharp relief as he tossed the rotting corpse of One-eye into the river.

    A waste. Her Instinct growled.

    Too rotten to eat. She remembered the weird wriggle in the brain matter and shuttered. And full of dangers.

    She was still pondering what he had meant as she was replacing the gravestone. What did she owe Gix? She had looked into the hole and pulled out a sheath for the knife, which she had collected and placed in the bag with the wooden figurine.

    I guess I would be dead now without her. She looked at the blade one last time before sheathing it.

    The bag still flickered and glowed sporadically in the rain, but she found that if she wrapped it in the tattered clothing, it obscured most of the glow. It was difficult to do, as if there was something pushing the clothes away at first. Eventually it stopped, accepting the covering.

    Idiot. It is dead. A bag.

    Then why did it suddenly let me wrap it?

    Maybe its magic is broken?

    She shrugged, accepting it for what it was. A pointless mystery for another time.

    The knife she held in one hand, its matte coloration making it just another shadow in the dark as she returned to her den, her main focus being to get back and rest. Not trying to make noise, but not creeping along as much as she had been.

    Let them all know I am still alive. She gripped the hilt of her weapon.

    Dominance! Yes!

    If any of the others were still awake anyway. She was done fearing them.

    Tok¡¯s response had made it clear to her that she could defend herself with lethal force and that she had been wrong. It was actively hunting the others that was taboo. That knowledge made her feel bold, almost hoping some of them would.

    Let¡¯s see them deal with my new claw, let them try to call me a runt now!

    She¡¯d hand out a few more personal names, just like she had for One-eye. Her grip tightened on the matte black blade. They had all picked on her, chasing her off more than any of the others. They had been relentless. They had beaten her, scratched her, insulted her.

    Was a target then. The bluntness of her own Instinct stung more than she expected.

    But she was dangerous now.

    Truly dangerous. Her Instinct made her grip the knife.

    No. Not just because of that.

    She had been forced to struggle more than any of them, and now she had everything she needed to start catching up. She knew real danger, real hunger, real weakness. And she knew how to overcome all of those things now. Or at least, better than the others would. The trial was shaping her into a weapon far more deadly than any blade.

    And the rest of the brood best be wary of me.

    Yes! Thrive!

    She shouldn¡¯t let her victory go to her head, and cut herself off there. She continued through the rain to her den.

    Pride is one thing, but overconfidence is a death sentence.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Her Instinct hissed happily.

    Eventually, completely exhausted, the neonate got back to her log. She threw the bag in and clambered after it, finally out of the rain.

    She shoved all the sopping wet things all the way to the back, planning to deal with them in the morning. She chewed up more leaves, smearing them over all her wounds, enjoying the feeling of languid quiet that filled her.

    More. Her Instinct begged, and she decided to indulge a little.

    She looked at the bag, then reached into it and pulled out the little figurine of Haan-Kezk. With a claw she dug out some of the log in the back, eating all the grubs she found, making a little shelf for the idol.

    ¡°Respect.¡± She hissed, shifting to paler hues for a moment in deference, ¡°Same to the whole of the pantheon.¡± She would need to eventually get idols for all of them. She did not like the idea of being dedicated to just one.

    Even if Haan-Kezk al¡¯Shezd is¡­ an appealing patron.

    She thought of her ecstasy, killing One-eye. Hot blood spraying forth. Those final twitching death throes.

    She shook her head and curled up, not liking the direction her thoughts were going. It took some time for her to finally fall asleep, but when she did, she didn¡¯t dream at all.

    That next day, she set about gathering some more of the healing herb, having used the last of it when she returned.

    Don¡¯t want One-eye¡¯s corruption to spread.

    Her Instinct gave a grunt.

    The rain had lessened, though it didn¡¯t stop. Luckily her den in the log was at the peak of a hill, so most of the rain didn¡¯t get into it.

    Most of it. Her Instinct grumbled.

    It brightened up as soon as she plucked more of the leaves.

    Can¡¯t be much, I need to take stock.

    Leaves! Now! To rest! Recover!

    Her yellow eyes shifted, then became transfixed. She pounced, the black blade plunged down, and the ferns and underbrush shook violently for a moment before going still. She had pinned a newly hatched caiman to the ground. The point of her knife right between its eyes.

    No. She pulled the knife out and flipped the small creature over, the blade piercing its hide as if it wasn¡¯t even there. I have work to do.

    She ripped out the intestines, gorging first on the liver and heart before she started to peel the flesh off of the corpse. The thought of soon having a fire to cook such catches only made her more ravenous.

    Need a nest first.

    Once her herb collecting was done, back in the log, she chewed the leaves up into a poultice, now well practiced at treating herself. The neonate forced herself to spit out the juice this time, much to her Instinct¡¯s dismay. Her cuts stung, and she could feel that she was bruised all over, so it was a difficult choice. But she had work to do.

    She needed to change how she competed with the others. To ramp things up. To get payback. She put a few more leaves into her mouth.

    Her Instinct rumbled with pleased hues.

    Share knowledge of leaves? Her Instinct speculated as she pressed the chewed leaves into the slice on her face along her snout.

    She paused her application of the medicine. What benefit could that possibly have? To give the others the secret of how to heal themselves? She needed them to die off before her, not stay alive for longer.

    Could be that there are others not as strong willed as I¡­

    She felt her face shift to the golden yellow of agreement-pride for a moment and she nodded, though that statement was a bit rich coming from her Instinct. She continued smearing the herb poultice where it was needed, and kept spitting out the juice.

    I should evaluate first. Try and see if there are any that look like they would be more susceptible to their desires than the others.

    Yes! Cull the weak!

    Hide it from those that would resist the temptation of recreational use. She couldn¡¯t have them finding out. Infection was also a weapon to be wielded.

    Challenge the strong!

    She would have to figure out a way to determine that though.

    Later.

    The list of things she had to do had gotten a bit long, so she set that thought aside and thought about which things could be done quickly.

    Inventory. She nodded to herself, grabbing Gix¡¯s bag.

    It had stopped flickering and glowing with floating shapes around it once it had gotten out of the rain. She pulled it closer to the entrance to get some more light, wanting to see what was inside it. What she found was strange.

    The largest item that was inside was a heavy rectangular object, clad in black leather that had a unique smell that she did not enjoy when she inspected it. Sharp, earthy, but not the same as soil. It burned her nose.

    An unnatural smell. She couldn¡¯t categorize it.

    She wondered if the smoothskins had many things that smelled like this.

    Probably. Her Instinct growled.

    She turned it in her hands, lifting up one of the sides. Thin pale brown leaves fluttered through her claws, rustling. Dry.

    It was only then that she noticed that all the items inside were surprisingly dry.

    Perhaps that is the magic of the bag? Keep things within dry? She wasn¡¯t sure.

    Focus!

    The strange leaves were covered with strange markings that she couldn¡¯t make any sense of. They had a smell to them as well, as she let her tongue flicker close to the shapes and other marks.

    Words. She realized. Another language. Some looked a little familiar to her, but not enough to guess at their meaning.

    Dead weight.

    It could have a use.

    Part of her was tempted to get rid of it.

    Might be able to figure it out later. She decided. Besides, it is mine now.

    That shut her Instinct up, and she set the thing aside.

    Continuing, she tossed out some long rotten food, nearly retching as soon as the smell hit her. It was fuzzy with mold, and she had to climb out and scrub her hands with some sandy dirt outside the log before continuing.

    Next were three delicate earthbone hooks and line.

    Fishhooks! Her Instinct chimed in.

    The neonate set the hooks and line to one side and reached back into the bag. She pulled out four thin pieces of earthbone, coiled into little bundles. They were fine enough that she could bend them. There was also a set of seven stout pieces which curled into loops at one end and were pointed on the other.

    A rope or vine might fit through those loops.

    Wire. Her Instinct named the thin pieces, not having a word for the others.

    After that, a translucent container filled with a viscous dark amber fluid.

    Honey? Her Instinct shifted into her eyes hopefully.

    She pulled the strange squashy wooden stopper out, sniffing the contents, her tongue flickering out. She hissed and replaced the plug as she was assaulted by another bad smell, gagging. It was sickly sweet, sharper and harsher than the leaf filled rectangle by several degrees. Some of it dripped onto a claw, and she hated how slick it made her skin.

    There was another container, a different shape but made of the same translucent material. The liquid inside it was black and watery. She opened it, and it smelled like almost nothing. Dipping a claw in she gave it a taste, and immediately had to spit it out.

    Horrible! She hissed as she saw that the liquid had stained her claw and scales black. It didn¡¯t take long to dry, and it was then that she realized it was the same scent as the markings in the weird leaf-rectangle.

    With both liquids inedible, she dug out another little nitch in the wall of the log, placing them into it so that they didn¡¯t take up space in the bag, doing the same with the strange rectangle of leaves.

    Dry enough there.

    The next thing she pulled out was a useless feather, so she tossed it after giving it a good smell.

    Then three smaller bags, one with another stopper that looked like it might hold liquids though it was empty. The other two were tied shut with strings, one smaller than the other.

    The smaller one held hard flat earthbone disks, forty two in total, some white, some orange, and some yellow. All shone even in the dim light of the monsoon, and there seemed to be several kinds of each.

    She held them in her hand, appreciating the patterns. The weight of them. Some had holes in the center, that she looked through on a whim. And a few had alien faces on them, hideous and yet noble in side profile.

    Do all smoothskins look like this? Why are their jaws so weak? How do they eat?

    Still others depicted the sun, moons, and stars. And all of them, in one way or another, had strange symbols.

    What purpose do these have? They weren¡¯t big enough to be good throwing weapons. Maybe a handful at a time? But why earthbone? And why throw away something so shiny and bright? Something that could hold a blade?

    And still they fascinated her. Their gleam, the chime they made against each other, how smooth they were. This earthbone was appealing too, but in a different way than her knife. Ornamental rather than practical.

    She spent a long time looking at the pretty earthbone disks, but she eventually put them back in their bag and tied it once more.

    The other bag held earthbone spheres, and as she held one up she could see her face, distorted and stretched in it.

    She took some time examining herself. It was the first time she could really observe her own visage, but quickly became frustrated by the lack of clarity.

    She wanted to see herself, what the trial had shaped her into. Her wounds. Her eyes. The patterns she could make, especially the red and black one she had used to frustrate One-eye.

    It was all for naught though. She could see herself, but it was a distorted image, not a fair representation of herself.

    You aren¡¯t done yet kiddo. Be patient. Even I have to be patient. Anyway¡­ back to these bricks. Three thousand and fifty-five will be¡­ hmm¡­ Derek. Three thousand and fifty-six will be Alphonse. Three thousand fifty-seven will be Margret.

    She tossed the sphere back in the bag angrily. Just need to find a flat piece of earthbone when this is done.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    The spheres were much less interesting than the disks, despite this novelty. Each one was the same as its nestmates, except for the few that had gone a bit brown with the earthbone-moss.

    What could these possibly be useful for?

    She felt something like a shrug from her Instinct, and tied that bag shut.

    Both of the smaller bags went back into the larger one, if only to keep the earthbone-moss from spreading further.

    She picked up the black blade, pulling it out of its dark wooden sheath.

    She could now see in the brighter light of the day that it also had symbols pressed into the leather wrap of the handle. Finer ones.

    Maybe it too is magic?

    Some of them were similar to the floating symbols that appeared around the bag in the rain. They didn¡¯t glow though, nor did the ones on the blade. The earthbone disks seemed to be decorated in such symbols as well, so maybe it was just an aesthetic choice of smoothskins?

    Just decoration. She decided, like the flourishes carved into the idol of Haan¡¯Kezk.

    So long as the blade cut, she was satisfied.

    She tore into the last bit of the caiman, pleased it was small enough for her to crunch through the bones.

    She sliced the tattered clothing here and there so that she could more easily add it to her bedding in the log. She wadded one piece into a tight bundle for her head to rest on as well. She swallowed as she did, not quite full.

    There. Now, time to hunt.

    Kill! Feed! Fishhooks!

    She grabbed the fishhooks and line, heading out into the rain again, using a snare to sling the sheath of the knife at her waist as well.

    The neonate had to blink as some of it got into her eyes again, keeping her blade drawn for now. She¡¯d see what she could hunt, then make her way towards the river. After that she¡¯d sweep around to the grove of pillarwoods, collect some materials as well for her future shelter.

    She set out, excited, ready to hunt down some prey. She shifted the color of her scales, blending in, and heading towards the center of the island.

    It wasn¡¯t long before she found that the river had just about completely overflown the banks through the center of the island. It didn¡¯t look too deep, but the current looked powerful, little eddies pressing against the cypress trees.

    Her Instinct clawed at her belly as she climbed up one to cross the muddy waters below. Fishhooks!

    She was just starting to unwind the line, looking for something to bait the hook, when there was a loud splash. Too loud to be a fish.

    She was halfway up the tree before she realized, wanting to get a good look at whatever it was. To see if it was an opportunity or a threat.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 22: Reevaluations

    Be like water. Fill the shape of the land, carve into it over time, and wash your foes away as needed.

    -From Vocationals: 2:9-10

    Up in her perch amongst the trees, the neonate wondered if the flooding had swept some of the other hatchlings downstream.

    She had seen several of the larger ones heading towards where Tok dropped the daily provisions from up there. All were hulking masses of muscle and bone, but there weren¡¯t enough of them. At least, it seemed like there were far fewer of them now.

    Hopefully. Less competition. Her Instinct hissed.

    The land they occupied is under water though. It isn¡¯t that much of a boon.

    She did like the idea that some were washed away though, less of them to compete against. Making her own survival easier.

    Splash!

    Right. She traveled towards where she heard the splashes. Several more resonated from the flooded section. Not all at once, but one at a time, with long pauses between.

    Not frantic. Not prey. A predator.

    Her Instinct was right. It was like an enormous kingfisher diving.

    That would be something. She looked down, imagining that she could see the fish below. If only the water was deeper and not as muddy, she might have tried it.

    Fishhooks. I can¡¯t afford to be stupid. Her Instinct snarled.

    She was about halfway across the flooded area when she heard another splash, much closer this time. Looking around in the water, she eventually spotted another one of the hatchlings and laid low.

    She was large, with wide shoulders, and there was a scar across her back. The neonate slowly laid flat as she watched the other female swim. She could see that the other female was chewing on a fish, turning it so it was head first before swallowing it whole.

    As the big female pulled herself out of the water onto a rock outcropping she shook the river water off her brownish-green scales. Her arms, legs, and especially tail were all incredibly muscular. Well fed. Dangerous.

    Fisher. Her Instinct named the other Greenscale.

    Fisher crouched down, slowly turning over stones that were under the water. Her claws shot forward every so often with quick movements, most times coming back to her mouth right after.

    Snipbugs. Her Instinct guessed.

    Getting quite a few of them too.

    Should challenge her territory.

    Or injure her to let the infection sink in.

    Fisher looked around, sensing someone watching. The neonate slowly closed her eyes most of the way. She thought about being bold, standing up and watching the swimmer in the open. Challenging openly. She had her knife after all.

    Bad idea¡­ Her Instinct hissed, sensing something about her.

    She watched the other female, laying perfectly still, not overly surprised when Fisher¡¯s gaze slid right over her without stopping.

    Fisher didn¡¯t just scan the trees either, but also the water, the bank. She took her time and was methodical like Tok. Eventually the other bigger female turned back to her forage, exposing the scar on her back again. It was old, healed long ago, trailing from left shoulder to right hip.

    Fisher must have also figured out the secret of the herbs. That was not the kind of injury you could just recover from without them, which probably would make her a bolder fighter.

    It would be a bad idea.

    As she scanned for rivals, it was clear that she wasn¡¯t like Ropemaker. She looked everywhere, and probably still suspected that she was being watched. Fisher was also strong, swimming through the currents with ease.

    She isn¡¯t a competitor to try and engage with.

    She hissed softly, frustrated.

    Is there anyone I could take advantage of? She had a suspicion that she was right at the bottom.

    Adapt. Innovate. Exploit. Her Instinct hissed, which was good advice, but the motivation was wrong.

    She was starting to realize that a better way to pass the trial would be to just wait it out. Once she got shelter and fire, if she made herself too costly of a target, she could easily feed herself by herself for a long time.

    Cowardice. Compete!

    True, it was like giving up, but a large part of her wasn¡¯t sure she cared anymore. And looking at the apex competetor she wasn¡¯t sure she could compete. All she could think about was that she was cold and wet in the rain and wanted a full belly. She hadn¡¯t been completely full for so long.

    I¡­ I want a meal¡­

    Then hunt!

    Fisher snatched a few more tidbits from the stones before she stopped, going still. The neonate did as well, observing. Noticing that there was something familiar about Fisher.

    Her pattern?

    Fisher dove at what looked like nothing to her, but when the other Greenscale surfaced, there was another fish in her jaws. Swimming with the current now, she quickly traveled past, almost going right under the neonate.

    Then she recognized. The female that got knocked into the river by the kingbill!

    She knew she didn¡¯t want to tangle with her now. Overcame that, she¡¯s got to be strong.

    The other female kept swimming, slicing through the water. Away from the pillarwoods to the neonate¡¯s relief.

    She waited a bit longer, making sure that Fisher wasn¡¯t going to come back, then climbed the rest of the way to the far bank. Her tongue flickered out, and she smelled a birds nest.

    Hunt! Maybe it would pull her out of her funk.

    Slowly she crawled up the trunk. Taking as much time as she could. Her tongue flickered out. She could taste the scent of it up there.

    Almost¡­

    She pulled herself slowly higher.

    Wait. Her Instinct hissed, filling her eyes with its presence.

    She could see the birds now.

    Two! Could she get two?

    Attack!

    She sprung!

    Feathers filled the air as she snatched both, wobbling as she gripped the tree with only her toe claws.

    She could feel them struggling against her as she started to slip! With a hiss of anger she shoved both into her mouth and bit down viciously. Clutching to the tree with her now free hands.

    Blood filled her mouth with a crunch. But the death wasn¡¯t slow, and they fluttered and scratched for several moments before she could crunch again and they went still.

    She stared down at the five eggs in the nest. Unhatched. Yet to be given a chance. She licked her lips.

    One squeaked, a crack forming across it and she paused, startled. Another crack formed.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    A grotesque scaleless pink head burst out. Its eyes were bulbus and shut, and it¡¯s little beak was coated with the membrane of the egg.

    A baby chick. She spat out a few feathers onto its hideous face crunching down on its sires as she climbed higher.

    Consume!

    She loomed over the nest, watching as the other eggs started to hatch as well. She reached up, tearing the parents in half in her jaws. In two more bites they were in her belly. Blood spattered their offspring, which chirped dumbly in alarm. Helpless. Stupid. Weak.

    She hissed softly.

    A mercy.

    Drool dribbled from her mouth. But she paused. Small. Weak.

    She growled.

    For a good cause. And still she hesitated.

    EAT!

    The neonate¡¯s mouth opened, drool splattering onto the chick before her teeth snapped shut.

    She licked the last of the blood from her muzzle. She wasn¡¯t full, but she was no longer completely ravenous, and though it wasn¡¯t an impressive hunt she felt far less dejected.

    I¡¯ll be spitting feathers for a moon cycle. She had been disappointed that the eggs had developed quite so much. She preferred the yolks. Something about eating hatchlings not sitting right with her.

    Meat is meat. Tasty crunch. Bones good.

    She arrived at the grove, and found it completely different than it was before. The neonate could see that there were several saplings that had been chopped down and stripped. It couldn¡¯t just be Ropemaker, too many had been harvested for that.

    Not good. Competition is getting stronger. Her Instinct hissed.

    The neonate was starting to understand her Instinct¡¯s argument. Participating in this competition was mandatory. Even if she removed her own active participation, the others would still be competing. Improving. Getting stronger.

    Hinder my own progress against foes with all the advantages. Sounds like a death wish.

    She hacked at the saplings with her knife, and they fell quickly to its keen edge. She stripped them of bark and branches too before placing them to the side.

    I need a new hand ax. She didn¡¯t like how loud the strikes on the trunks were, echoing and signaling her position.

    Work faster.

    She made sure to keep an ear out for any of the others getting closer, her mind circling back to the requirement to compete. To get stronger, even if it was in her own way. She¡¯d be swept away otherwise.

    It¡¯s actually going to be harder with One-eye gone. She realized.

    That monster had been a pressure on all of them. Now that she had removed it, there would be a niche to fill. And the bigger hatchlings would have an advantage in filling it.

    She needed to think of a more proactive way to compete. An indirect way. A balancing act to be sure.

    She looked at the already debarked pillarwood saplings, left there by one of the others. Probably to be collected later. She added them to her own pile. Saving herself from the work of chopping more down. It was a start.

    Have to find the others. Make plans against them. Steal food, put out fires, anything to slow them down and bolster me up.

    Yes! Her Instinct hissed.

    The plan with the herbs would work, but only with the non-apexes. Seeing Fisher had proved as much to her.

    She found a broken pine branch, probably blown down by the wind. She pealed the bark, scraping the wood underneath smooth with her blade. She held it up, seeing if it was straight enough, wanting to make a fire kit right away. She could put it in the bag so that she knew it would dry.

    She nodded and placed it on her pile. Not finishing it yet. Wanting to wait in case she had to abandon it.

    Looking for these would tell me if someone can make fire. And other tools would tell me of the existence of skills I have yet to learn.

    And if she could figure out those things, she could also sabotage those processes. She remembered the hulking brutes going to Tok for the free meal.

    How do I deal with ones like Slash and Biter?

    She took a piece of cordage she had brought along and started tying the wood together, planning to drag it behind her gathering up the bark to make more rope. Round and round the cordage went, just like those two, circling each other.

    She felt that golden yellow flash across her body again.

    Could lure them together! Make them fight.

    Yes!

    Would give me more time to watch them, learn how to better my own attacks! She paused, looking at the bundle of poles she now had. Bright light tan and very visible.

    Should she make her way back to the log? Now that she looked at the size of the pile, the neonate wasn''t sure how she would transport it back. Especially with the island being flooded.

    Could look for a proper nest.

    It would have to be secluded, but almost central in location, especially if she was to indirectly compete with everyone.

    Need to get moving at least. She wondered if there were other hubs of resources on the island. Like here. Perhaps there was a section full of berries? Or maybe certain animals lived in certain places?

    Moving out of the clearing, she tried to parse what that meant as far as where she should chose to settle down for real. Her Instinct was frustrated by the thought, so she tried to put it to words.

    Some things are everywhere, but others are only available in certain territories. Her eyes widened. Wait, could that be part of the trial?

    Survive. That¡¯s all. Her Instinct grumbled, even more confused.

    She thought about the whiptails, the herbs, the berries. Each were spread across the island. But then there were things like the pillarwoods. There was only one place that had them in abundance.

    There must me other things I have yet to find that would improve my chances. Things that would push the others in other directions as they learned. Building a diversity of apexes.

    If that was the case, that meant that exploring the rest of the island was a high priority. She looked at the bundle thoughtfully. She wanted to see, to explore, now.

    Her Instinct hissed. Defend the supplies? Or abandon them. It pulled her eyes to where the pile of already cut pillarwoods had been behind her pointedly. Hoard first. Focus. One task at a time.

    Right¡­

    She¡¯d take things back to her log first, then go explore. She worked hard to gather the supplies after all. She felt proud yellow and smug orange fill her mind. Some of them anyway.

    And there is no way they wouldn¡¯t be taken if someone found them. Stealing wasn¡¯t a complicated concept. Any of the others could come to that conclusion.

    There is an idea¡­ Her Instinct hissed deviously.

    She had already thought of that, stealing from the others, take their resources for herself.

    No!  Her Instinct hissed. Plant evidence in another¡¯s den.

    That¡­ is an amazing idea! Especially with Biter and Slash.

    The neonate quickly became a bit frustrated dragging the supplies along, looking back at the pillarwood. Should have waited to peel them. They stood out. It made her nervous, and she grumbled, having already tried to stain them darker with dirt. It had almost worked, but they were still the wrong color.

    An idea struck her, and she hurried over and cut several bundles of ferns and bushes with her dagger, piling them on. It looked horrible, but at least it was the right color now.

    Good. Learn. Adapt.

    She walked along the ground, keeping even lower than usual, letting the uncut foliage hide the wood bundle as best it could. The neonate made sure to also scout ahead periodically. She settled into a pattern of dragging the wood forward, dropping the bundle and checking ahead, then running back to drag them father still.

    Her tongue slid out, and she also sniffed the air.

    She paused and looked about as her Instinct stirred. She tasted the air again. She could smell many of the others.

    Not close, not recent. Her Instinct reported from her nostrils, sliding into her tongue for a second as well.

    The scents had become faint and stale. The neonate arrived at the flooded section, which had lowered some. Not significantly, but enough that she thought that she could hunt for a crossing to wade. The scents and smells grew stronger as she traveled along the bank.

    Getting closer.

    The smells were newer, stronger, but still faint. She recognized the scents of Biter, Slash, Harvester and Ropemaker, along with several others. The first four weren¡¯t very fresh, but it didn¡¯t change that she didn¡¯t like that there were that many using this pathway.

    Need to cross before any of them show up again.

    The lack of cover made her uneasy, so the neonate moved as quick as she dared across, letting the supplies float as she went, tying the bundle to the rope around her waist with a quick knot.

    A rip current yanked at her legs, and the floating bundle jerked and pulled as well. She had to be very deliberate with her steps, facing into the current, almost falling several times. As she staggered and splashed along, she kept a wary eye out for any of the others.

    Look up! Her Instinct snarled, and she cursed herself for forgetting again.

    She scanned the trees, then the bank, and even the water, though she wasn¡¯t sure what she was looking for in the last medium.

    Swell in the water. Learn.

    Double checking the water, she was soon satisfied that she was alone. She traveled the rest of the way, having to use her tail often as a counterbalance as she did so.

    She sloshed out of the waterway up onto the bank, exhausted. She hefted the wood, eager to get to the log and some easily found grubs.

    Need to save some to use with these hooks.

    She growled with frustration at the unwieldy weight of the bundle, dragging it out of the water so it would stop pulling at her. Once done she placed it down and sighed, turning to quench her thirst.

    The neonate checked again for others before she started washing the grime from her scales as well, hissing in pleasure at finally having the time to groom herself. Her skin pealed again in a satisfying way, her tongue flickering in the air.

    The wind shifted, blowing down and across her from up in the trees.

    Her eyes widened and her camouflage slammed into place out of reflex alone.

    Being watched! Her Instinct snarled.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 23: Display

    Life is not simple, either. So often we overlook the obvious, and it is always to our detriment.

    -From Canticles: 1:8-9

    The neonate spun in place, eyes wide, dropping the bundle of wood and crouching low, peeking just above the underbrush.

    Being watched? Where?! She knew what to look for. All of her practice with her own camouflage had trained her to notice every detail of color, memorize every shade around her, every shadow and how they changed the way things looked. But she couldn¡¯t see any incorrect hues.

    I can¡¯t be attacked now! She didn¡¯t need someone to see the fireboard she had made. If that secret spread her job would only get more difficult. But where were they?

    Idiot! Up! Look! Her Instinct ranted, yanking her gaze up towards the branches, and she snarled in frustration at having forgotten again.

    Sweeping the canopy with a practiced eye, she redoubled her efforts to find the threat, drawing her knife. She focused on places where she would hide, shadows, twisted limbs of trees that would hide the shape of a Greenscale, that sort of thing. She wanted to be up in the trees, but she couldn¡¯t leave her resources behind. She wouldn¡¯t let herself.

    Mine! Her Instinct snarled.

    Search for scent.

    Her tongue flickered out, tasting the air, and her grip on the knife tightened as she spun to glare up at a particular branch. Eyes narrowing.

    There he is.

    A male, large, eyes almost shut, showing he also knew how to properly use camouflage, stood pressed against the bark of a trunk in the shadow of one of the branches. Not the size of an apex competitor like Slash or Biter, but almost five feet tall. More than a foot taller than she was.

    The neonate found herself judging him with a critical eye, evaluating his ability with her niche.

    Hue is off. Too blue in places, too red in others. It had been his tail that gave him away. He had tried to make it look like a vine, but it was too distinct a shape. Would have been better hidden in a shadow.

    Neither thing was anything major, but both were off by just enough that it had registered with her.

    Smug orange thoughts filled her mind. I¡¯m better.

    Took too long to find him. Her Instinct chided.

    Now what though? She didn¡¯t want to fight him, because if they started squabbling, someone else could steal her supplies. She hissed thoughtfully.

    Maybe something different.

    The neonate glared at him, taking on her own red and black of challenge, staring right into his eyes and growling. Her skin was still sore from overdoing it the night Tok showed her how to make fire.

    The night I killed One-eye.

    Fight! Kill! Again!

    No, not in that way. This rival was still a person, uncorrupted, and he hadn¡¯t tried to attack just yet either.

    The neonate pushed against that pain gently, starting with something simple, which fit with her plan. She continued to stare at him openly, ignoring her unease at openly challenging someone instead of trying to hide.

    He growled, stepping forward into the light, his pattern shifting to default and showing that there was a design across his chest that always remained. Even when he was matching his surroundings.

    Design. Her Instinct named him. Search for that to find him.

    He didn¡¯t run, instead hissing back at her, standing, his scales matching her display before they became more complex and intricate. Finer lines, more exacting patterns.

    Impressive.

    He took another step forward, eyeing her still and snarled, his colors becoming brighter.

    Shit. He sees I¡¯m small.

    ¡°Leave and I won¡¯t hurt you.¡± He hissed softly.

    Doesn¡¯t want his voice to carry. He was worried that someone bigger would come along. That didn¡¯t matter much to her, everyone was bigger than she was.

    Keep bluffing.

    She turned her growl into a snarl, increasing the complexity of her own pattern. To her delight, it was just like a sprain, the more she worked the ¡®muscle¡¯, the more it limbered up. She stood as tall as she could, making the reds even more vibrant, too vibrant, unnatural in their saturation, and the black she made as dark as a closed mouth, a starless night.

    He maintained his own display, making it more complicated in response to hers.

    ¡°I said to leave, small one. I will not ask again.¡± He hopped to a lower branch, flexing, showing her how big he was. But something about his attention caught the neonate¡¯s eye.

    She tossed the black knife into her other hand, and saw his eyes following it. She snarled louder, and there was the tiniest flinch, a shift in his pattern.

    ¡°Come and take it from me.¡± She snarled. It was a calculated risk.

    Compete! Her Instinct snarled, craving violence, action, not all of this silly display.

    I am!

    She shifted patterns, compounding them again and again. She could feel the strain as she did so, and still she worked ever harder, pushing against that limit from before, stretching it.

    Trying.

    To.

    Make.

    It.

    Budge.

    She knew she could win this kind of contest. This was her skill. She would die before anyone else claimed it from her.Stolen story; please report.

    The limit she had reached before moved. Her eyes widened and she hissed softly as she pushed herself.

    Match this, cocky bastard.

    Swooping organic curves and points became unyielding geometric designs. Red and black shapes and patterns shifting along her scales as she felt the tiny muscles undulate under them. Swirling dynamic bursts of vermilion and regimented stygian outlines competing for the dominance of her pattern. Delicate, intricate, and mesmerizing.

    Mine!

    She took a step forward and let out a sharp snapping roar, planting a foot on the resources possessively. It wasn¡¯t her best roar, but she didn¡¯t want to actually draw attention to them both.

    There! She saw it! The faint flicker of brownish yellow and off white, a thin line around the eyes.

    Fear¡­ Her Instinct whispered. She felt it snarl.

    He knows. Her forebrain exuded grim satisfaction.

    She started to play with the pattern, letting a stripe of perfect camouflage run up her body, as wide as her hand. Still continuing to display her shifting and wheeling black and red at the same time. She could feel her body straining, but she knew that none of the others could do this. She had never seen any of them have a moving black and red before, let alone what she was doing now.

    And the whole time she stared back into his eyes. It was clear. He knew.

    He knew that she could disappear almost anywhere with skills this honed, she could follow him and wait in the shadows for as long as she needed, and then strike. And even if he initiated, she could still disappear and bide her time, get revenge.

    Then why not? Her Instinct gnashed, having different ideas and sulking in the angriest memories she had. Kill him! He¡¯ll kill you!

    She took another step forward, snarling, hate and rage filling her. She would kill him, she would compete against a larger foe and feel that satisfaction of her success after his blood pooled at her feet. It had been days since she felt that way, felt so alive. She would revel in his death! His weakness! His-

    What am I thinking?

    She didn¡¯t have time for this. She couldn¡¯t kill Design, not outright. He had yet to attack.

    Plus, what do I get out of his death? The answer was, nothing. Sure it was one less competitor, but each death lessened the pressure on all of the Greenscales. And she didn¡¯t want to help the others. It was risking injury or worse, and unlike him she didn¡¯t have the energy reserves to handle that.

    Not yet anyway.

    Her Instinct growled, her motivations shifting as it accepted the reasoning. Good. Learn.

    Luckily she hadn¡¯t dropped her black and red, though it had stabilized into an unmoving pattern. Incredibly complex based on what she could see of her arms.

    ¡°Leave. Or I will find your nest. Lead the others to it.¡± She snarled.

    They stood like that staring at each other, each one sizing the other up. The neonate¡¯s eyes narrowed, then widened as the time continued to pass. And he continued to stand there.

    Why? What is he doing? She looked him over again.

    The neonate spotted an old scar, from the back of his left hand and up his forearm nearly to his elbow. It was only when he wiggled it that she realized he was purposely displaying it.

    Another with the knowledge of the herb? Is he showing me that? If he was it was to try and intimidate her. Show her that he knew how to heal, that he would be more reckless in a fight.

    Attack! Kill! Should have died. Her Instinct roared.

    Should have?

    The neonate suddenly recognized him, the memory bobbing to the surface of her mind.

    The one who got swallowed.

    She remembered Slash cutting into the mawfrog¡¯s belly, where she pointed, and Design had slid out, still alive, joining the attack.

    But why show the cut?

    She shifted so that her own scars were more visible, including the one from One-eye, the worst one.

    She heard him grunt.

    She could feel him inspecting herself as well, noting his eyes kept looking at the wood, and then the knife. She gripped it tighter, swiping it in his direction. Nothing fancy. She wanted to be clear that she would defend all of her possessions. She liked the soft deadly sound it made as it cut the air.

    Without warning, Design turned and left, his skin fading back to that not quite perfect camouflage as he did.

    Chase him! Her Instinct needed it, demanded it.

    She snarled, sheathing the knife to free her claws for the climb up. He was showing weakness! First showing his injury like that, then running? He was acting like prey!

    Wait¡­

    She paused, watching him run.

    Acting like prey?

    The neonate felt her suspicion grow. Design looked over his shoulder, just once, slowing before facing forward and speeding back up.

    She growled.

    It¡¯s a test!

    She pulled herself short, glaring at him. He glanced at her a few times, and slowed when he saw she wasn¡¯t giving chase. Design made his way towards the flooded section through the trees, at a slower pace.

    It had to be a test. He was evaluating how much control she had over her Instinct.

    Could¡¯ve also been trying to tempt me with herb knowledge.

    It was a bit galling at first to have her own plan or one quite similar being used against her.

    Just shows that it is a good plan. She memorized the direction Design had left in. It might be a feint, but any information was better than none in this case.

    Have to know where they all are if I am to carry out any plans.

    And it was another person she could assign blame to, if she needed that. The neonate bent to pick up the rope to her wood bundle, the bright red and black patterns on her hand distracting for a moment. She had maintained them without thought longer than she had expected.

    Visible! Her Instinct snarled.

    She slammed her camouflage back into place, scanning her surroundings with a feeling of paranoia. As she did, she turned, drawing the matte black blade back out, searching everywhere for possible ambush.

    Idiot thing to be doing, being as vibrant as ripe berries on the ground, distracted. She didn¡¯t see anything, and made doubly sure of it before she started moving again. Adding climbing up into the canopy to check to her routine.

    She didn¡¯t see anything to threaten her, so the neonate continued to the log with a fraction more haste. Worrying about the possessions she had left behind in the log now. I need a place where I won¡¯t have to worry. She couldn¡¯t get anything done otherwise.

    Calm. Patience.

    They could still be missing.

    Then hunt. Fight. Kill.

    She wished that the bag didn¡¯t glow or spark in the rain. Then she could carry all of her valuables at all times.

    But if someone does steal it, they¡¯ll be easy to find.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    With that, she took greater care on her way back to the log. Checking the snares along the way, but they were all empty.

    Leave them. That is their role. Her Instinct hissed.

    If enough time went by and she still hadn¡¯t caught anything, then she would try putting them elsewhere. Her Instinct and stomach grumbled at the lack of food. She would just have to dig for more grubs within the log.

    Planned to do that anyway.

    When she finally arrived she checked for her possessions, which were exactly where she left them. That eased her worries. There were no new scents, and to the best of her recollection they hadn¡¯t even been disturbed.

    The neonate slid all the pealed wood into the log, crawling in after it out of the rain. Once she was inside, she dug into the log to make more space for them, eating any grubs she uncovered along the way. She then began the long process of peeling bark fibers apart. Sitting on inside the log, she used her claws and teeth to separate them into finer and finer strands.

    Match what Ropemaker had.

    She occasionally dug more at the log, popping a grub or two into her mouth as she went.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 24: Views

    Peace is acquired through strife, and ever open eyes.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:27

    By nightfall, the neonate had a sizable pile of fibers to twist into cordage with quite a lot of bark to still separate into more. She placed the fibers all the way into the log, as far away from the damp and the rain as she could. The outer bark she laid down as more bedding under the scraps of cloth, which were soothing on her scales.

    It made sleeping easier, not just in that her nest was softer, but also warmer from the insulation.

    I shouldn''t have shown off to Design. She realized while she was working, peeling another long thin strand the color of fresh bone away with her claws. Now he knows just how good I am at camouflage.

    Her Instinct hissed thoughtfully in her mind.

    I¡¯ll lay low for a bit, process this material. There are grubs to eat, and snares to check. And while I do that I can look for a better nest, maybe mark other locations as decoys?

    Her Instinct grunted. Agreed.

    She picked up the idol to Haan-Kezk, resting it on her chest in the tight dark confines of her log. Using her knife she pricked her thumb, smearing it over the stylized brow of the snarling god.

    ¡°I will try to find more to offer when there is more to spare.¡± she said, not really sure of the ritual, she had been distracted by getting beaten and bitten at the time.

    She plucked a grub from the wood, bursting it in her mouth before placing the little idol back in the notch she had carved.

    It stared at her as she rolled over and went to sleep.

    And that was her routine for the next moon cycle. Separating out the fibers into finer and finer strands, laying out the bark to pad out where she slept. She checked the snares, gathered herbs, and explored the area around her log, looking for the right place to build her new shelter, and any time she spent resting was spent making ever more cordage.

    She snagged a mawfrog in a snare, dispatching it easily with her blade. The neonate used her knife to butcher it with care, climbing high up into a knobbly-kneed cypress tree to eat the flesh with gusto.

    She looked out over the island, listening to the rain as it rattled through the leaves. She watched the river, and something dark and huge moved under the muddy surface, its body darkening the muddy water as it passed. Big as Tok.

    How does Fisher travel through that? She could see that even the massive crocodiles were shifting out of the way of the beast, whatever it was.

    Carefully. Her Instinct hissed helpfully.

    She shook her head, cracking her neck, and turned her attention back to the island. Many of the vines were in bloom up this high, flowers of all kinds open to the sky, enticing Apex butterflies, the only ones large enough to fly through the rain, to drink their nectar, as well as several hornet-birds.

    She liked hornet birds.

    Tiny, something like an inch long, the long beaked avians were incredibly aggressive, attacking much larger foes and driving them off. She could empathize with that.

    The butterflies though, they were much much larger, almost two feet across. Bigger than the river emperor dragonflies. They were ponderously slow, huge wings flapping sluggishly as they moved through the air.

    They were vibrant orange with shocking glossy black and bursts of teal the same color as the glowing shapes and runes her bag made, which signaled them as poisonous. She would have snatched at the slow moving insects otherwise.

    The vines flowers were all kinds of shades. Purple with yellow, pink with dark storm cloud blue stripes, even orange with green spots. And all kinds of shapes. But it was the smell that was the best. Gentle, sweet, calming. She could sit here forev-

    Crackew!

    She leaped to her feet, staring upriver.

    Was that thunder? It was some ways away judging by how it echoed.

    There hadn''t been any lightning¡­

    Danger. Avoid.

    How do you avoid lightning?

    By being careful. Her Instinct once again showed just how helpful it could be.

    She hissed, not concerned. It had happened quite some ways away after all.

    The neonate took another bite of the mawfrog''s muscular hind leg, and settled back into her moment of relative calm, though she did shift to looking at possible locations to live instead. Heading down after she had cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow. Scrubbing herself with scentmoss.

    There were some places that looked promising at first glance, but on further inspection were less than desirable.

    One such place was a hollow in between two large cut stones. She wouldn¡¯t have to even really do much in the way of construction.

    But it was within sight of one of the main paths, and as she was scouting it out Tok walked by with a single gulper. She looked at how big it was in reference to Tok''s shoulder, eyes narrowing.

    It isn''t just that I am getting bigger, that fish is smaller. It seemed she had been right about the challenge. Tok was also increasing the pressure on all of them.

    As the sounds of others eating and snarling at each other began, she gave up the location as a poor choice zipping up into the canopy before she was spotted.

    There was also an unused ruin, which had a roof over a nice flat section of rectangular stones. Solid, spacious, and most of all dry.

    Here might work. She could pile up brush and mud, hide the light of the fire from all sides.

    No. Flooded before. Her Instinct hissed. She blinked and checked again.

    Sure enough, the squashed look of the foliage growing in between the cracks of the placed stones showed that the area had been under water earlier.

    Rain¡¯s been picking up too. Anything low like this would be a hazard at best. So she abandoned the location as a poor one.

    It¡¯s also out in the open anyway.

    Exposed, yes.

    She wanted something that would be hidden and hard to get to if found. She didn¡¯t need anyone to have an easy time paying her back for what she planned to do. And most importantly, somewhere that would not get flooded.

    And so it went, with each spot being wrong in a different way.

    Several of the really good ones were already occupied, though fortunately for her she was constantly scrubbing herself with the moss as she searched, and tried to remain in the canopy. There were also several derelict locations, but from the smell and the lack of useful resources they had been long ago picked over and were well known by the others.

    It was only at the end of the cycle that she found the perfect place.

    South of the log, closer to the flooded sections of the island, there was an enormous thicket of thorns growing on a tall hill. She appreciated it being on higher ground, not in any danger of flooding. Vines and overgrown brush were tangled in with the thorns, propping them up in places. She could see from the outside that there was also a great old tree at the center.

    That would be a good vantage point.

    Thorns, good for deterring entry.

    Yes, I like it.

    Plenty of moss, hide scent.

    She grunted.

    The neonate circled the brambles slowly, keeping an eye out for any signs of the others, either nearby or going into the thorns. She didn¡¯t discover anything that made her think that.

    She bent low, looking into a possible way into the warren. A constricted tunnel through the thorns. Tight squeezes that she would have to squeeze to get through.

    Too tight for anyone but me. Her Instinct observed from her hands as she measured the entrance with them.

    Deciding that there was no time like the present, she entered the thicket.

    It was tight, cramped, the thorns snagging her scales at every turn.

    She started to pant.

    Lightning flashed.

    I don''t like this.

    She moved faster as thunder rumbled, sounding like a growl. She just needed to get through. In her haste she got caught more often, the sharp thorns drawing blood. The smell making her more on edge. She had to get out. No time to think about it. No mental space to either.

    Just do it quickly.

    Out! Get out!

    She saw a brighter patch ahead and burst through, panting and falling into the mud. Staring up at the sky as she tried to get her wind back. It was a welcome sight.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Definitely not perfect. She sat up to examine the clearing at the center.

    There was quite a bit of debris, fallen branches, rocks and stones, many of which were strangely square in shape, like others that she had seen.

    More ruins were built here. Long ago. It was obvious, the stones were shaped, and nature had climbed on top of them.

    While part of her was curious to investigate as it always was, to search for remnants, she knew that she needed to focus on the now.

    You don¡¯t have the privilege to get lost in reminiscences that aren¡¯t even yours. Her Instinct snarled.

    The tree, large enough that the highest branches poked out above the thorny overgrowth.

    Then I''ll see what the view is right now.

    She climbed it, and found she could see the whole island. Marveling at it.

    Could plan from here. Keep tabs on my rivals. Already she knew more than she did coming in. She could see that there were multiple pillars of smoke. Campfires. And she could see just where on the island they were.

    Yes, good.

    She thought about what she could see. There are also probably hidden fires, smokeless ones. The Provider¡¯s fire was that way.

    She wasn¡¯t sure how to get to manage that, she guessed it had something to do with the heat of the fire. She knew it was possible though, and that she would have to if she wanted to stay hidden.

    Here then.

    Thrive. Her Instinct agreed.

    She looked at the way she had come in, her clawed hands feeling at the cuts and scrapes she had gotten in her panic to get through the thorns.

    Need to organize before I head back to the log.

    There was a pause. Agreed. Her Instinct also disliked the idea of crawling back out the way she came in.

    Something sensed her fear. Something malevolent from outside.

    The neonate took a few hours to clear a space for her new base, shifting rocks into their own pile off to the side. She sorted through the wood next, tossing the spongy stuff next to the stones, and making a stack of the less rotten pieces like she had seen the Provider do with his firewood. Once she had a roof over it, it should dry nicely.

    She paced out a space for her own pole building, using a claw to scratch in the dirt to mark out the footprint. The rain would wash it away by the time she brought in the materials, but drawing it out helped her plan.

    She wanted to build it close to the tree. It would provide additional shelter from the wind and rain, and she hoped it might dissipate the smoke from her fire.

    Excitement. Her Instinct hissed.

    Finally, she was catching up with her to do list, getting things done that were long in waiting.

    I will catch up and surpass the others. She hissed her determination. Once she got here she could start a fire, and start to cook things.

    Thrive!

    Eventually though, she ran out of things to do, and could not delay it any longer. She had to go back through the warren. She stared, trying to build up her nerve, and it was like the opening was spreading wide. The maw of some great beast that was to eat her.

    The rain had picked up and lightning split the sky again, and that malevolent thing pounced! Suddenly she was back in the past. but a twisted version. The thing using her trauma to attack her spirit. Not the final strike. A wounding blow.

    Claws burst through the vines, snatching at her. Mad snarling filled her ears. She huddled down, panting, frantic. One-eye¡¯s claws burst through the overgrowth, hunting for her lifesblood, her liver, her lungs¡­ her heart.

    She glared at that thorn-toothed maw.

    I will not be prey.

    Adapt!

    She forced herself to squeeze back in.

    It wasn¡¯t the tight space, she slept in a tight space. It wasn¡¯t the vines either, though they made her think of pythons. Lightning flashed again and thunder cracked overhead.

    She winced. The shadows. Just like then.

    It was all of it at once.

    A collage of terrors.

    The tight space with so many ways in, the vines all around her, tangling around her like pythons, the occasional scratch of the thorns like claws hunting for her death. The smell of her own blood as the acidic fear built up inside.

    All interbred into hideous horrible mutts of debilitating visions and memories.

    Fight!

    She wasn¡¯t sure she could.

    Fight now!

    She snarled, and drug herself farther forward.

    It didn¡¯t get any better, but she didn¡¯t have the luxury to try to get over it now.

    Focus on what I want. She thought about the canopy. The gentle scents, the calming sights. Good food. It was all she could do.

    She would have to get used to this eventually though, to fight this back. She couldn¡¯t afford to abandon this place, it was too perfect.

    And so, she fought the silent battle, struggling to prove she wasn¡¯t prey within her own mind to the most important person.

    Herself.

    Panting as she clambered out, the neonate took a moment to rest up against the trunk of a tree on the other side of the thorns. Her skin matched the bark perfectly, her body straining with the stress of it, her tail becoming a root, her arms and legs becoming a burl.

    The only thing that anyone would be able to see were her eyes, which were wide. She wanted to close them, but she couldn¡¯t.

    She needed to find the threats, the things that would maim her, kill her, eat her! She didn¡¯t want to die! She wouldn¡¯t. Not if she found the threats. They refused to manifest.

    Overcome. Try. Her Instinct was¡­ gentle? The impression of a hand pressing against her shoulder. A soft squeeze.

    She snarled at the insult of her own mind. No time to be weak!

    After taking a few moments to collect herself, waiting for the tension to fade as the rain really started to dump down once more.

    It was a long time before she made her way back to the log. She moved incredibly slowly, sticking to the shadows where her black bladed knife best blended in. she constantly scanned the treetops and back the way she had come for anything that might be following her. She didn¡¯t see, smell, hear, or feel anything to hint that she was being followed.

    Stay vigilant, nonetheless.

    When she got to her den she scrambled in after making completely sure that she had wiped her tracks clean to her satisfaction.

    She wasn¡¯t glad that she was back, she knew she would have to go back through that horrible trail again soon.

    I will fight this!

    She worried she was lying to herself as she rolled into a ball, clutching her tail tight as the storm raged on outside. Cautiously letting herself drift into sleep.

    Snakes coiled around her.

    No, they were vines around her neck.

    No, thorns tearing her apart.

    No! Snakes, their fangs sinking deep, injecting burning poison. Her scales crackled and crisped as they fried in her rendering fat.

    A single massive orange eye opened right in front of her, glaring down as the world trembled.

    ¡°I will consume you! Yes! That will shut the voices up! Eat your flesh off your bones, let your screams drown them out.¡± One-eye snarled, ranting lighting split the sky, tearing it for a moment.

    The black blade was in her hand, but it was too heavy, too large. It was sized for Tok¡¯s hand! It fell to the ground, pinning her, sinking into the mud. Suddenly wrapped in many pelts and bones of everything he had killed. Everything she would kill. The skulls stared at her with empty sockets.

    She couldn¡¯t move! She had to fight!

    I tried to help, but I couldn¡¯t push it away. I¡¯ve been locked up for too long. So, I called for help, relinquishing some of the claim I had on her. Sorry Kiddo, I¡¯m a bit restrained at the moment.

    The orange eye above burst and One-eye roared, the flesh melting away. His skull joined the others, one socket scratched by her infant claw, the other shattered by the matte black blade.

    It rushed towards her with a demoniac hiss!

    She strained to lift the matte black metal, getting the point up off the ground at least, until it was barely as long as her claw, useless because of how small it was. Small like she was. She would have to be culled from the brood.

    One-eye was coming closer! Skeletal jaws snapping!

    ¡°No! I will live!¡± she screamed, and ran. It wasn¡¯t rain coating her scales. It was too thick, the smell¡­

    I know that smell.

    She looked at her hands. Blood and cranial fluid stained them, and gory hail crawling with maggots bounced off of her body as she fled her rivals skull. A perversion of a hero¡¯s burial.

    She was permanently stained red by the blood. The reek of the infection permanently sinking into her scales. She couldn¡¯t hide, couldn¡¯t stay away, couldn¡¯t choose to disengage from the struggle!

    She tried to wipe her hands off, wanting that back, needing that hope for the end of this. Where was her Instinct? It wasn¡¯t speaking to her. Trying to clean herself only made the blood spread as it started to glow in the dark. It stank, she stank, her bloody footprints reeked from yards away, she could smell them. Traces of her violent act against one of her fellows cursing her with the same fate.

    ¡°The smoothskins were cursed to lose their Instinct for their sin against the first genera.¡± Tok¡¯s voice said, echoing back from all those months ago.

    ¡°I had no choice!¡± she screamed at the sky as horrible purple lightning laced across it. ¡°He had to be culled! Please¡­¡±

    ¡°If the brood is weak, then cataclysm will be the outcome. A terminus to the outflow of life.¡± Tok¡¯s voice was a crescendo. ¡°Not just the brood, but all of Szez¡¯tek Vooznal¡¯s children. All life. Scaled and unscaled, flora and fauna,¡±

    They¡¯ll catch me! Kill me! I am unworthy!

    She just wanted to run, to get away, to rest in peace without fear of nightmares or death in the night.

    That life is not earned yet. Awaken.

    ¡°Hello?¡± She called, spinning.

    Was that her Instinct? It sounded¡­ different? Deeper, more resonant, wonderful and terrible in its purpose.

    ¡°What is happening?¡± The maggots swelled and burst their skins, becoming vipers! Venom dripped yellow from their horrible fangs.

    I said awaken, last daughter! You carry the bloodline!

    Bloodline? What bloodline? The snakes were getting closer, coiling, getting ready to strike. She had to do something. Pythons coiled around her ankles and wrists, holding her there. No!

    Enough of this! The voice rumbled like a rock slide.

    The serpents became mist! Light blasted her into particles, every nerve sizzling like fat in a fire, pain gouting through her. Agony! Pure agony! Her very soul was burning.

    ¡°N-no! I will fight!¡± She snarled, voice tiny against the onslaught. ¡°I won''t die here!¡±

    DO AS I SAY! AWAKEN!

    Bang!

    She cracked her head on the roof of her log as she jerked awake. She rubbed at it, trembling. The little wooden idol had fallen from its place, resting on her chest. It made the still tender scar itch a little with its presence.

    Her Instinct! Where?

    It stirred, filling the front of her mind. It was there. Relief helped to decant the fear from her.

    Leaves. Her Instinct said without its usual demanding tone. The leaves will help block the dreams.

    N-no. She didn¡¯t want more leaves.

    She couldn¡¯t keep using them like this. The neonate looked at the wooden idol for a moment in the dark, running a claw over the designs carved into it. Then she placed it back into its notch and rolled over, trying and failing utterly to go back to sleep.

    Not until she gave in and chewed on a pinch of the herb, purposely swallowing all of the juice.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 25: Rous

    There is nothing more satisfying than seeing something grow. It is why being a Provider is a privilege.

    -From Neonatum Provisae: 1:5-6

    Chew the leaves! The neonate¡¯s Instinct demanded with a snarl the next morning, pounding the inside of her skull.

    She shook her head to try and get rid of her headache. It only made it worse. She struggled to keep her eyes open, it was like she hadn¡¯t slept at all and had instead smeared her eyelids with sand.

    Now!

    No!

    Stubbornly, she crawled out into the rain to stand under a solid stream of rainwater, opening her mouth and drinking slowly as it poured down from a spout shaped leaf. Taking her time with it, trying to ignore how her skull was pounding.

    I don¡¯t need more now. Only to help me sleep.

    She glared at her surroundings, not letting her frustration at her dependency stop her from keeping watch. She didn¡¯t want to crave the leaves at all.

    Too many competitors. I can¡¯t be weak.

    Leaves! Now!

    She shook her head again, returning to the log to keep working on the rope. The water hadn¡¯t helped her headache either, so she hoped that time would.

    It took the neonate four days to work up the courage to go back through the warren of thorns.

    She tried to justify the delay to herself with busywork, but she couldn¡¯t lie about it. She knew the true reason for her hesitation.

    I can''t stand the path. The admission was difficult, but both times she had gone through that maze it had forced her to relive the fight with One-eye.

    The tight spaces, the thorns scratching and stabbing her, being able to see the light of the outside but not being able to reach it. It was all just too much to bear again so soon.

    I need the distraction.

    Her Instinct lingered in the back of her mind, not responding to that but acknowledging it. The craving for more of the herbs lingering there as well.

    Should at least do something productive¡­

    Yes.

    So the neonate spent the time making rope out of the fibers, checking the snares, and stockpiling supplies for her eventual move.

    It was getting harder and harder to find herbs near her den, but on the bright side, the berries were producing again, and they supplemented her diet nicely. Unfortunately, she had learned that she had to make sure to only pick the ripest specimens, or pay a steep cost.

    She was in the middle of cutting the sapling poles down to size with the knife, just a bit longer than she was tall, when she was hit with terrible cramping pains. Urges that she couldn¡¯t ignore, lest she soil her temporary den.

    Clutching her stomach and fighting to hold it in, she sprinted away from the log into the deep bushes. The neonate had to constantly dash back to her chosen spot over and over again. It slowed her down during her daily activities.

    Something did speed her recovery though, and it was a surprise when it did. It was the next day, and she was still feeling awful. Holding her stomach as it seemed to slide like a rock inside her, banging back and forth within.

    Her tongue slid out and she looked forward, eyes going wide as she sniffed the air as well.

    A kill!

    Close.

    She stumbled forward, looking around, checking to make sure there were none of the others before she came to one of her snares. An animal in it, garroted by the thin cord.

    Darkly furred, and not yet bloated, it was like a mawfrog, but stockier.

    She looked at the big front teeth, almost orange. Definitely a rodent. She looked at the long bald tail, thick as her forearm and not flat. Not a beaver.

    She felt yellow pride fill her as she pulled the thing closer. About time these snares supplemented my diet. Hopefully the turnover would increase as the Island continued to flood, condensing the prey.

    Consume!

    Carefully, she checked for rivals, fighting back the need to claim her prize, her prey. Once satisfied, she pulled it to her, tongue flickering rapidly.

    She savored the smell before even getting a true taste, and she took a moment to admire her catch. It was one of those too-large rat things that she had seen when shadowing Ropemaker.

    Eat! Now!

    She paused.

    Thunder rumbled.

    No name?

    Her Instinct didn¡¯t respond.

    Usually it named things for her, but this time it refused. Now that she could see it clearly, she turned it over with over-eager claws. It was like a rat, just like how a Greenscale was like a Blackscale. In the same family, closer related than to say, a crocodile. But definitely different species.

    It had the fur, the paws, the same general shape, but it wasn¡¯t just bigger. The jaws were larger, with more muscle, stouter bones and teeth. And the paws, they were odd. She pressed on one, and found that it had retractable claws like a swampcat. She hissed softly, thinking, taking a sniff of the creature.

    Odd. Rodent, mammal, death. But also¡­ Tingling? What did that mean? She grew more curious.

    Well? She directed at her Instinct.

    Nothing.

    She tilted her head as she pulled the snare away from around the thing¡¯s neck. This wasn¡¯t the first time this had happened, but it was certainly the strangest.

    Why? It is a creature, it has a name, right?

    Her Instinct maintained its puzzled silence. She reset the snare, taking the creature away before processing it. Meat was meat, but the lack of a name confused her.

    She got to the bank, holding the thing in her jaws and climbing up into a willow tree. She didn¡¯t want anything to interrupt her meal. Especially any of the numerous apex predators that lurked at the waterline, like Tikabo or Crocodiles.

    The neonate used her knife to peel open the abdomen before carefully removing the stomach and intestines first. If that waited too long, or if she pierced them, the digestive juices would ruin the flesh of her catch.

    The pale organs slipped free, squashy and still hot like the blood. There!

    The warmth was an added bonus for this kill. But she wanted a quick bite first, something to sate her during the butchery. Pleased that she hadn¡¯t ruptured the organs, her Instinct hissing with approval, she separated out the liver.

    It was dark like most, but that strange tingling smell was even stronger. She turned it in her claws, looking at it.

    ¡°Different hue¡­¡± She whispered. Not dark red but dark purple. She bit into it.

    Gods. It was perfect.

    Fresh, unctuous, rich with blood, but there was some other flavor to it that she couldn¡¯t place. It worried her a little for only a moment.

    Ropemaker eats these. And judging by his nest, it had been for quite some time.

    Then, without even realizing it, the lingering gurgle from the unripe berries left her. She felt invigorated! The meat had settled her stomach.

    Safe. Her Instinct agreed.

    Greedily she finished it, tearing away large chunks, swallowing some of those whole to get them safe in her belly. The blood dripped off of her chin, and she savored that feeling, fingers of her one hand gripping the leather hilt of her blade.

    She was still puzzling as to why she didn¡¯t know what this thing was. Her Instinct named all the other things that it was familiar with, and every animal and plant so far had had a name.

    Why not this one?

    Silence.

    Perhaps it is from upstream? Got washed down here by the rain.

    Her Instinct remained vaguely confused, and she licked dripping burgundy blood off of her claws.

    No matter, I¡¯ll eat well tonight.

    She turned the carcass of the overlarge rat like Ropemaker had with a wet splat, quartering it easily with the knife, which sliced just like the obsidian shard, gliding through the flesh.

    She would happily catch more of them. Maybe more could be lured with meat scraps? She found that the skin was easy to remove, peeling away with a sharp yank in one piece, though it had to be cut free at the paws and nose. She set it aside.

    Could make a pouch. She would have to dry it first.

    Good! Adapt.

    She made a point to save the tendons of the front legs of the creature just like Ropemaker had, placing them in the log. She still wasn¡¯t sure what they were being dried for in the first place, but they were a resource.

    Cordage? Flesh cordage?

    Perhaps.

    She ripped another bloody chunk free.

    Give that a try once it is dried.

    She also made a point to save the bones, not sure what she might do with them, picking them clean. Nothing wasted.

    Chew! Snap! Marrow! Her Instinct purred.

    She did enjoy gnawing at them, they had a lovely flavor, and it was something to do. But she also expected that she might be able to use them as crafting material.

    Any edge I can give myself, so long as it cuts.

    The other thing that the neonate spent time on in those four days was testing the properties of the magical bag. Wanting to know what it could do.

    Waste of time. Her Instinct disagreed.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    She confirmed early on that it did keep things dry, and that this ability was something that would wear out.

    So how long can it do that, and how long before it can do that again? It was a mystery, but a mystery she meant to solve.

    Too visible! Her Instinct snarled from her hand, fighting against the desire to let go of the bag and leave it outside in the rain.

    True.

    The bag once again flickered with changing symbols and devices, dancing in circular designs filled with angles of smoothskin geometry.

    It wasn¡¯t as starkly visible during the day as it was in the stygian night, but it would still be spotted if any were to walk by.

    She hissed as the rain pattered onto her shoulders.

    Digging a hole is out. Soil won¡¯t hold its shape, too easy to access...

    No holes!

    Crackew!

    That same sound from the other day, closer now, echoing. She faced it in surprise as she heard numerous birds take to the sky with squawking clamor.

    Not thunder¡­ Then what?

    Danger. Avoid. Her Instinct emphasized it this time.

    She looked up at the birds above, then back at the bag. Contemplative.

    Later, she was up a tree, some distance away, checking on the bag high up in the thin branches she was sure only she could reach.

    She had made a nest by twisting and weaving leaves and ferns with some thin cordage she had just made and placed the bag up there. The nest itself would hide the light from below, and the open top left it exposed to the rain.

    And after a few days of testing it seemed that her hypothesis was correct. The protection from wet lasted until about midday if she took the bag out of the log at dawn, then the amount of protection began to decrease, letting the things inside get more and more damp, albeit at an decreased rate.

    Once the symbols went out at dusk though, no protection was provided. Keeping it in the log overnight out of the elements seemed to give the bag enough time to rest.

    As if it was tired and needed to sleep.

    Magic is strange.

    Is it alive then? Does it need food to grow? What does it eat?

    Her Instinct hissed pensively inside her mind.

    She gave up on such lines of inquiry. There was no real starting point, no frame of reference, no way to even know where to begin. What was more, she couldn¡¯t justify delaying any longer. It was time to travel to her new home.

    Through the thorny warren.

    She hissed, vexed, slinking back to her log.

    The neonate made one last check of her snares, collecting them as she went, winding them around her wrists. She had started to grasp how to read animal sign in the rain while using them, and the bent blades of grass and trampled leaves told her it was a big animal.

    It had left a muddy print on a flat stone, leaving a clear mark that she examined.

    Another one of those strange rodents. Not quite as big as the one that had cured her ailment. She was seeing a lot more signs of them lately. Something she was happy to see.

    Maybe it is their breeding season? That was the only explanation that she could think of for the rise in numbers. Especially with others like Ropemaker killing so many.

    Have to name them at this rate.

    Her Instinct basked, smug. Content with her progress as the neonate continued to learn.

    The neonate tried to be efficient with her packing.

    Into the magic bag went the items from the grave, her healing herbs, the bones, and the bark shavings. They weren¡¯t fit for cordage, but they had dried nicely and were perfect kindling.

    Into a still gory fur pouch went her supply of berries, protected from the flesh of the pouch with more herbs. The knife sheath was threaded onto the strap of the bag via some convenient slots cut into the black leather. The staves were slung over one shoulder.

    With all of her work done, and her supplies tied in bundles to the resized logs, she turned her mind to how best to deal with the wrong colors of those supplies.

    Not to mention that bag. It flickered guiltily in the rain.

    She gathered up the reeds she planned to use for a roof, bringing them back, and like when she was crossing the flooded section before, she draped them over everything, only this time she tied them in place, even about herself. Soon enough everything was under reeds.

    Not perfect, but at least it¡¯s green.

    Visible¡­

    It should work at a distance.

    She couldn¡¯t keep waiting.

    I can.

    No! I will fight this fear!

    Determined, the neonate turned from the log, bedecked in all of her worldly possessions, and began her trek to her new home.

    The journey was uneventful, and she was starting to think that there weren¡¯t any others this far north on the island. That was fine with her. Getting through the thorns was the true challenge.

    Getting the reeds and staves through the winding warren of thorns and vines had her panting and stressed well before she got through.

    And what was worse was she had to make multiple trips, leaving the reeds behind and then returning for them after. She made sure to mask her tracks as best she could, hiding her scent with the fragrant moss as well.

    By the time she was done with the first bundle of materials she was a shivering wreck, having to fight back the urge to chew on the leaves to forget her fear.

    I need a different way in and out. Or just make this way easier.

    Idiotic! Difficulty makes it safe. Over.

    She hissed, clenching her black knife with both hands to keep them from reaching for the leaves. She couldn¡¯t go over the gods damn thorns. What was she going to do? Flap her arms? Jump from a tree and sail through the air?

    Her Instinct struggled, trying to find a concept that seemed difficult for it, but she squashed it down.

    It has to be under.

    And her Instinct was right about widening the entrance. She needed it to look as untouched as possible.

    And I couldn¡¯t make myself go back in right now anyway. She shook herself, thinking of claws punching through. Of insane ranting. The smell of her blood.

    The neonate set to work building the shelter, fleeing the memories with wild abandon.

    She paced it out, marking it with one of the poles as she went. Fresh water ran down the massive tree, forming a little rivulet that ran just past where she had cleared the debris. So she incorporated that, planning to build around it for easy washing and drinking.

    She looked at the back of the planned structure, next to the trunk. Put the fire there, so the smoke runs up the tree.

    Build. Thrive!

    Nodding to herself, she took the bag and hung it by its strap under a branch. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was mostly out of the rain, and the frantic flashes of the designs lessened. She would have to work quickly to keep the tinder dry, but sheltering the bag would buy her more time.

    She started with the staves, using them to dig the holes they would be pushed into to stabilize them. After some figuring out, including getting some nasty splinters she had to spend quite some time picking out with her teeth, she managed to get at least part of the structure completed. She used stones to hammer some of the staves into the dirt, tying cross beams and rafters with her cordage to them, and then stacking the bundles of reeds on top, starting at the bottom and working her way up.

    It was then that she found she had been too ambitious with the size of her shelter. She could only cover the section closest to the tree.

    Enough to sleep under. For now anyway.

    She would have to get more. There wasn¡¯t enough space to make her fire yet, but there were more reeds down by the thorns inside her new territory. For now though, night was on her, black as charred wood. The only momentary illumination from the lightning that started to roll in once more.

    Have to wait until morning.

    She smoothed out the ground, then laid down and wriggled into it, belly down, chin resting in the slowly drying clay-laden mud. It made a depression that conformed to the shape of her body, and it was comforting and comfortable. She piled her bedding on top of herself for now, hoping it would insulate her from above. She planned to use it as bedding again once the depression had dried more and solidified.

    She closed her eyes, sighing. Feeling safe, if a little chilly.

    She woke up cold, the wind blowing through the unwalled structure chilling her to the bone without some other form of warmth and heat.

    The chill made her sluggish.

    She knew she had to do¡­ something about that.

    Thinking¡­ hard¡­

    Warmth. Her Instinct¡­ demanded.

    She struggled to get moving, her body screaming about the lack of heat, her muscles belligerent with their slowness as she tried to force them to work.

    She knew she needed more thatch, so she gathered the reeds first, knife making quick work of them.

    It was when she was placing the last bundle on her roof, when there was a fresh empty space, that she remembered.

    Fire. She needed to get one started before anything else.

    She gathered some of the stones from the pile she had made.

    Rough ones! Her Instinct insisted.

    She couldn¡¯t think of a reason not to listen, so she started tossing the smooth stones in a different pile only taking the jagged rocks. Digging a hole for them with a piece of waiting firewood.

    Will hold heat. Live!

    She was glad that she was still full from yesterday. She didn¡¯t think she would be able to move at all without food. If anything, she was still feeling energetic! Full of¡­ the¡­ she should name the creature¡­ the¡­

    Rous..? That was a name she could use.

    Rous.

    She was feeling quite full of energy because of the rous she had consumed the previous day.

    The neonate piled the stones into the bottom of the pit she had dug, trying her best to fit them as close together as she could, pressing them into the mud. The activity warmed her body as well, not a lot but enough to keep going.

    More stones were placed around the outside of the pit in a crude circle.

    Fire now, precision later.

    With the firepit completed to the satisfaction of the moment, she opened up the magical bag and pulled out the bark tinder. She took the finest pieces of it and rubbed it hard between her hands, breaking it down even further. Listening to it rustle. Pleased. Thinking of Tok.

    Regurgitation for hatchlings.

    She made sure to make the main tinder bundle very lofty.

    Air to breathe.

    Sticks and other small pieces also came out of the bag, and she made the nest to hatch her fire. It would let the fire fight off the wet on its own. As it should be.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    If I can light it, anyway.

    Survive!

    She took out the spindle and flat piece of wood that she had made, placing both on top of the tinder bundle. Hissing softly, matching the tempo Tok had used, she started to spin it back and forth in her hands. She pressed down firmly, the spindle bending slightly.

    It had been just after what she thought was midday when she started, and it was just starting to get dark by the time she started to smell smoke. She was exhausted, her arms were like dead earthworms, her palms had blistered, skin on them torn. Her spindle was stained with her blood, but she forced herself to keep going in spite of the pain.

    She let herself snarl, needing the release, trusting the thorns.

    She would get sick if she had another cold wet night like that, and she didn¡¯t know if she could survive that.

    Smoke started to form.

    That¡¯s it, kiddo! Come on! You¡¯re doing great for a first timer!

    Yes!

    The neonate redoubled her efforts, pulling on reserves of energy she didn¡¯t know she had, driven once again by desperation.

    Fight!

    The wisps of smoke became steady streams, blackened dust gathering in a neat little pile in the notch of the flat piece of wood. She didn¡¯t stop, the dark helping her see that there wasn¡¯t an ember yet.

    On. The. Cusp!

    Her palms were screaming, awkward with cold but not numb to the pain. All the same she moved them back to the top of the spindle and kept spinning.

    Almost¡­ Almost¡­

    ¡°Come on you fucker!¡± she gnashed, panting, spinning faster, the wood squealing as it rubbed.

    A little orange glow.

    Her heart swelled with blazing sunrise pride.

    ¡°Hatch!¡±

    She didn¡¯t stop.

    It was intoxicating.

    So much smoke now.

    Better than the leaves, better than food.

    Billows of it.

    She kept going.

    Just a little more!

    There it was! An ember.

    Hands shaking with pain and excitement, fighting the urge to rush, she tapped the coal out into the fluffy bundle of dried tinder and cupped her hands around it.

    As gently as she could, she breathed into it, watching and smelling as the smoke increased, going from a trickle, to a flow, to a torrent. She blew into the bundle. Softly. A whispering hiss. She tried her best to coax the little ember, to help it hatch.

    Flame.

    Success! Both halves of her mind rejoiced.

    It was tiny. Fragile. But it fought to survive all the same, consuming the tinder she provided it.

    The tinder that she Provided to it.

    She had stolen the knowledge of how to make it successfully from the Provider.

    This is going to change everything.

    Thrive!

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 26: Shift

    The next bend in the river of your life might be just ahead. And it can whisk you into a meandering bayou, swift rapids, or deadly falls. Be ready for such things and you will go far, as I have.

    -From Canticles: 1:17-19

    The neonate couldn¡¯t help but feel the parallel to her own hatching as she acted quickly to feed the fire, knowing it would be ravenous for tinder.

    Gently idiot. Her Instinct snarled from behind her eyes.

    She grabbed a fistful of still dry sticks and scraped bark from the bag. The neonate could see her fingers trembling. Pain pulsed through her blistered palms, and her excitement at her success didn¡¯t help matters either.

    Calm down. Go slowly.

    Hissing out a breath, her forked tongue tasting the wood-smoke, she made herself slow down.

    Small bites first.

    She snapped a twig that was too long in half and put both ends onto the little flame. As it grew, she saw it demand more, consume more readily. It would grow to horrific size like the brutes from the early days of the trial, if she let it.

    Wildfire! Never! Her Instinct snarled.

    Small, unseen, and hidden. Like me.

    Her Instinct hissed in agreement, basking in her arms and taking in the heat eagerly. They shifted to black to better absorb the heat, though flashes of bright yellow lanced through them in gentle patterns.

    She had done it!

    Sure, it was a bit smoky, and she wasn¡¯t cooking anything just yet, but it was truly an achievement. She winced as she picked up another piece of firewood and it scraped the torn skin and scales of her palms. She glared at them.

    Worth it?

    It was, but she would have to do better if she had to restart the fire. Blood oozed from the abrasions, and she knew that she would have to apply more of the herb. Again.

    The neonate clamped down on her Instinct before it could even start, feeling it struggling to break free, to be heard. She didn¡¯t want to listen, but the efforts had the same effect.

    Trying not to drool, she looked through the rain, glancing up once as lightning flashed. She hated the constant struggle against her addiction. It was what she had wanted to do to the others, and she was struggling against it herself.

    That, and if I run out I have to go through the thorns again.

    She had noticed that when she first scouted the place. She hadn¡¯t thought it would be a problem, as she thought she would be over her fear at this point. Used to crawling through the thorns, confined, claustrophobic, and cut to bloody tatters.

    ¡°I will consume you.¡± One-eye¡¯s voice resonated in the darker parts of her mind. She shook herself, the vertebrae in her neck crackling as the joints popped back into place.

    Dig up plants. Move them here. Plant their seeds too. Her Instinct mused, jumping into the breach to distract her from the memory.

    The neonate hissed as the thunder rolled overhead. A herd of migrating boulders in the sky, spooked by the predatory lightning into a stampede.

    She should sleep first at the very least.

    Plans can wait for tomorrow.

    The neonate slept better that night. Not well, but better.

    Her thoughts were much clearer now. The fire kept her warmer than she had been. The wind and the splattering rain did make it difficult to stay that way though. She placed more wood on the dwindling fire. It had also struggled, the wind and rain doing their best to try and snuff out the little flames.

    Need a wall.

    Adapt.

    That and her nightmares had kept her from really falling asleep the previous night. Don¡¯t know how to handle that. Not without perpetuating a different problem.

    Her stomach snarled with ravenous impatience, though she felt it more than heard it. It happened at the same time a long rolling tide of thunder washed over the island, far off but persistent for several minutes.

    All the work she had done was catching up to her. She needed a meal. An actual meal.

    She dug out the whiptail bulbs, as shriveled as they were, and a branch she sharpened with her knife, getting even more excited. Licking her chops.

    Finally!

    She speared several onto the skewer. A couple she grabbed squashed wetly in her claws, reeking. She hissed and threw them away.

    Rot, mold, disgusting. With her clean hand she placed the skewered ones over the fire, shaking the worst of the rot off of her other hand.

    Wash. Her Instinct prompted.

    As she washed her hands in the little rivulet that ran through the shelter, the warm toasty smell of roasting tubers wafted up from her cheery little fire. It pushed away the darkness, both real and in her mind, and she grunted contentedly as she returned to them, rotating them slightly.

    The rain became a background rhythm, and she hissed softly in time with it. Finally, she was moving forward.

    Not stagnant.

    As they cooked, she gulped water from a miniature waterfall that started on the tree before being diverted by the tree and the roof of her shelter. She wanted to quiet her angry stomach for the moment, not needing a distraction while she planned her next move.

    More food, as usual, but she wanted to start pushing back against the others now that she had a foothold somewhere safe.

    At the very least I could see about breaking that log down and taking the remaining grubs.

    Not all. Emergency meal.

    True, though as time goes on the others will also get desperate, and might come across that resource.

    She didn¡¯t want to let any of the others have anything she could take from them. Her eyes shifted to the pile of punky wood. Could keep them alive, put them there.

    Her Instinct grunted, sliding into her tongue as she licked a claw clean. The neonate winced as her blisters got stung by the hot food. She licked at them as well, cleaning them of any fragments.

    She was happy to have something somewhat substantial in her belly, and he whiptail bulbs warmed her even more as well. Clearing her thoughts.

    She looked at the exit through the thorns and shook her head, neck crackling. I¡¯ll have to bring anything back through there.

    Thunder snapped off in the distance. Sounding odd. Almost two separate bursts? She ignored it.

    Focus on getting out first, then with that behind me I can decide.

    Yes. Eat.

    She looked at the fire, wondering at how to keep it going with her away.

    Then she remembered how Tok had fed them.

    Good, learn!

    She dug through the woodpile she had placed under the roof of her shelter, and found a larger log, hauling it out and dragging it over.

    If worst came to worst she could get another one going, but she didn¡¯t want to have to do that.

    She gently placed the log into the fire pit, taking care to not smother the neonate-fire.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Nibble at that little one.

    With her little experiment in place, she gathered up some supplies and headed back out into the rain. She left the magic bag behind, and had emptied out the other pouches and sacks into it. Tying each to a belt she made with rope. She also took her snares and some other oddments too. And of course, her knife.

    At the edge of her new territory, the neonate took a moment, working up the resolve to face the cramped passages of the thorns once again.

    Never stop fighting.

    Survive! Thrive!

    She ducked low and crawled into the warren, back into her personal hell.

    Sometime later the neonate made her way out of the tangle of thorns and vines. She was starting to get better at avoiding them, only getting a few new scratches and cuts along the way.

    The experience was still horrible however, and she had to shelter under a shrub as she gasped quietly for a moment or two. Giving her racing heart a chance to slow back down.

    I need to make a better way in and out, or find one, or something!

    Her Instinct growled softly, concerned.

    It couldn¡¯t be used by the others. Otherwise, she would have to just deal with the thorns both out of and into her base.

    Look while hunting. Her Instinct said as the rain got worse, more thunder snarling through the sky.

    Once she had gathered herself, she climbed up into a buttress tree. She wasn¡¯t happy with what she saw. There was nothing obvious, no way that she could see in or out. Even the way she was using currently was hard to spot from above.

    I suppose that is a good thing though. Less likely to be found.

    Weak.

    She winced at the tone her Instinct had, though she knew it was just because she was frustrated with herself. As well as how long she was taking to try and solve a problem that shouldn¡¯t be any difficulty. Not for a Greenscale that was worthy of a name.

    And I know I am worthy of one¡­ Aren¡¯t I?

    She didn¡¯t let either part of her mind answer that. She had food to hunt, and rivals to compete with.

    In the middle of pondering her next move was when she heard it.

    The cascading slosh of the river, and the heavy footfalls of the Provider. She turned on her branch to face him as he came up and out of the water. Several crocodiles scrambled away, ones she hadn¡¯t noticed, as he passed.

    A good reminder. Her Instinct growled.

    He was carrying two large gulpers, one over each shoulder. She could hear one of the others already scrambling through the underbrush to the nesting sight where Tok would drop his catch off.

    Same path, every time.

    It was an oddity that she had noticed before.

    Wait¡­

    Her mind reeled. She finally was warm, fed, and recovered enough to understand just why that was so important to her.

    That food is for any hatchlings that can get to it! She thought it through, and came to a life-changing conclusion.

    Her Instinct leaped into her widening eyes. She could feel the agreement building.

    Food, that was for whoever got to it first, to do with as they pleased.

    Her stomach grumbled again, and that decided her.

    She leaped down from the branches of the tree onto the massive Provider¡¯s back. He hissed as her toeclaws gripped slightly in her haste, but she ignored him. She could feel one of his crimson eyes staring. He didn¡¯t stop her, even as she climbed onto one of the gulpers, and confidence surged within her.

    I was right!

    She lamented not coming to this realization sooner, tearing into the flesh of the gulper with her teeth alone, wrenching back and forth and tearing free dripping gobbets.

    Consume! Devour!

    This was perfect! She could ¡®ambush¡¯ the food delivery.

    He wasn¡¯t helping by letting her do that either, any of the others could do exactly what she was doing too, if they figured it out.

    What a revelation!

    This was inspired!

    This¡­

    She tore another gobbet free and looked at what was left.

    This was also taking far too long. She felt the matte black blade in its sheath, hanging from her belt of rope.

    Feed! Feed now!

    She tore the weapon out, knuckles cracking around the handle as her grip tightened. She carved another large piece free, swallowing before she gripped the flesh of the creature with one hand to hold it and herself steady.

    So many days getting by on nothing! So many cycles of the moon with just scraps. So many times beaten bloody into the dirt and left to starve by the others.

    Never again.

    She snarled quietly and stabbed into the gulper, the black blade whispering into it with ease. Using her knife, she sliced off large chunks of the fish, blood dripping out. Gorging with ravenous abandon, stopping only when it felt like she might be sick from eating so much.

    More! Take MORE! Her Instinct screamed, and she agreed.

    She had to increase the challenge too. And more.

    Let them feel my revenge.

    Plus, if she got the competition to progress quickly enough, the neonate might just be one of the finalists. She glanced up, seeing the clearing of the nesting area. She wouldn¡¯t have to worry about scent, not with the deluge still in full swing, but if they saw her¡­

    She could hear the others getting closer, already squabbling!

    Quickly!

    She plunged her knife into the fish again. As fast as she could, fighting through the pain of her blistered palm, she sliced off a large section of tail meat.

    The neonate glanced up. She could see the clearing where the old nest was.

    Faster!

    She wobbled as she slung it over her shoulder before she scrambled back into the trees.

    Just in time, as Tok entered the clearing, and she spotted several of her brood. They were bigger than her, much bigger, but none were any she had taken particular notice of before.

    Satisfaction blossomed as a few of them noted that there was even less meat than they expected, hissing and turning to contest their rivals before even getting close. She felt satisfied in knowing they wouldn¡¯t understand what had happened. None of them looked to the trees where she hid.

    Idiots are probably wondering how it happened.

    Good! Dominate!

    They might even think Tok is doing it. He has brought in partial kills before.

    Fools. Her Instinct whispered gleefully as one of the others bit two fingers off of another.

    With the smallest briefest flicker of smug orange, the neonate slunk away from the squabbling, already planning her next move against the group.

    The neonate took her time, slowed by her haul and fullness. The blood that soaked her and the gulper tail was quickly washed away by the rain.

    Good, little chance of leaving a scent trail now.

    I will remain vigilant. Her Instinct admonished.

    The constant paranoia had yet to do her wrong. She made sure to travel away from the base at first, using every chance to double back, to use the scent producing moss, to change which tree she was in as she went.

    She worried about the fire going out, but there was nothing else for it. Peace of mind was more important to her right then.

    I will multitask though.

    It was boring to not be doing something productive anyway, and this was a wonderful opportunity to explore. With food in her belly, she was even optimistic enough to start to think of the future. Of leaving the island. Of seeing what smoothskins were actually like.

    She moved quickly back to the thorns, doubling back, a few times to make sure she wasn¡¯t followed. Climbing above a big python she spotted in the lower branches. Using the moss to scrub herself.

    She found a big hearty bush of herbs and she raided it for leaves, needing them for her hands anyway. She noticed that it also had berries, growing in a tight cluster with about a score of fruits.

    Interesting. She hadn¡¯t seen them before. Must be in season now.

    They were an ugly greenish blue, almost turquoise, and dirty yellow. They each had a pattern that made them look as if the one color was unevenly rubbing off, revealing the other.

    The fruits themselves looked bloated, as if ready to burst. She sniffed them, letting her tongue slide out. She couldn¡¯t decide if the sweet smell they had was too cloying or enticing. They were easy to tell apart from the berries she knew were safe to eat.

    Seeds! Adapt!

    She grabbed them, putting them in one of the pouches. She wasn¡¯t sure if they were edible, but they would grow more herb inside the thorns.

    Better than trying to transplant a whole bush. She looked at the ugly herb berries again. Maybe I could test them on one of the others?

    Her Instinct grunted at that.

    Now on the ground, hands full with meat, bags full of leaves and berries, she made a beeline back to her base.

    She wanted to stash her prize before any of the others found her. She made a point to gather some sturdy branches and sticks, wanting to butcher up the gulper meat and cook it with her fire. She thought she knew just how Tok had dried out the meat at his shelter.

    One traumatizing and annoyingly painful squeeze through the warren of thorns later, she was back next to the fire. Her little experiment had worked, though it was down to coals by the time she got back, and she had to pile on more wood to get it going again in earnest. Literally breathing life into it.

    She sliced the tail meat into thin strips with her knife. She only partially enjoyed the feeling of amused dizziness she had from chewing up more of the leaves. She was glad that her hands were now numb, her palms coated with the poultice and wrapped in ferns.

    She sliced the fish thinner still, unhappy with her first attempt. The meat she had stolen from Tok¡¯s camp had been very very thin, and she thought it had been cooked with fire. It had had a wonderful smokey taste after all.

    Dried meat should last longer. Her Instinct hissed.

    She only realized that she was just sitting there staring when lightning forked across the sky. She was almost instantly distracted again as the brightness of the natural phenomena left appealing purple and blue streaks across her vision.

    Have to stop getting hurt.

    Yes.

    Forcing herself to focus, she tried again to slice the fish as thin as she had seen before at Tok¡¯s camp. Finally pleased with the results, she skewered some on the stout sticks she had collected, pressing the other end of each into the dirt close to the fire.

    She started to drool. Her immediate area started to smell delicious, even more so than when she had cooked the whiptail bulbs. And for the first time, she was happy not eating something that smelled so good.

    Can save it for later.

    Stockpile. Good!

    The wind blew through the open structure, chilling her and making the fire gutter. Worried she moved around to the other side, shielding the flames from the worst of the wind.

    She blinked. Her wandering mind shifting to the ruins. Stacked stones. That¡¯s it! A wall!

    She chose larger pieces of wood to place on the fire so that they would burn longer, sending up another delightful cascade of dancing swirling sparks. The wind challenged the flame, making it waver, but the flame stubbornly fought back, only growing hotter.

    ¡°Good little fire.¡± She hissed, pleased.

    She staggered through the rain to pile of smooth rocks, the ones her Instinct had said not to use for the fire pit. There were a lot of them.

    Use these and mud. The fire had dried out her bed, it should do the same for the walls.

    The rain had slackened again to a drizzle, and the fire and food had heated her enough that she could stand to be out in it while she moved the stones closer, placing the first layer along either side of her shelter. Then a layer of mud, then a layer of stones.

    It was slow work, but the calm nature of it was soothing to her, and by the end of the night she had some partial walls on two sides of her nest, protecting the fire.

    She slept well that night, much warmer, dry, and with dreamless sleep.

    The next day she only had a mild headache, and she had plenty of dried fish to eat. Warm and dry, she was in a particularly good mood, and her hands were healed enough that she didn¡¯t need more of the herb, which meant she could head back out in search of other ways to compete.

    It didn¡¯t make her trek out through the thorns any easier, but she recovered more quickly.

    Right, so I gotta go an-

    Crackew!

    Birds screeched and took to the sky on the far bank.

    It was close this time, the not-thunder! She looked over at it. She might be able to see it from the bank¡­ whatever it was.

    Danger. AVOID.

    Just going to look. She headed off in that direction.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 27: Poachers

    I remember the first time I saw them, and they were hideous to me. All that fur and exposed glands, their soft white exposed flesh, and their wrong eyes. Then they showed me what kept them alive, and it planted an idea in my mind. Migration.

    -From Canticles: 3:1-4

    The neonate heard some odd splashing sounds as she got closer to the river. She had moved through the trees to get there, to stay up and away from any others, and keep her nesting site a secret.

    She shifted along the branch, high up in the canopy, looking out past the bank. Searching for the cause of the rhythmic splashing sounds she was hearing. Wondering if they were related to the not-lightning.

    The little predator paused, listening. She almost hadn¡¯t heard it over the rain, but there had been a sort of vocalization. Some new prey migrating in? She wouldn¡¯t mind that. Her stomach gurgled as she looked both north and south along the river.

    There!

    A boat was being propelled upstream, looking just like the pair that the Provider had repurposed for preparing his own stockpile of meat. It was being paddled by two strangely hideous creatures.

    Parasites! Her Instinct snarled. Mammals.

    She supposed they were. She felt like they didn¡¯t have enough fur though, they only had it around their heads.

    One lifted its paddle and shifted it to the other side, maneuvering around a sunken log in the water. It shifted its grip. She saw its hand and her eyes widened.

    Thumbs!

    She looked at her own. Receivers of the gift of Baha¡¯an.

    That made them one of the genera. Sentient, if lesser. Smoothskins. She continued along to the next tree, tongue flickering. Smelling their smells, listening to their sounds. Trying to identify their species from the fragmentary knowledge she had of them.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this one bit, Tum.¡±

    Words, words she struggled to understand. She thought they were the common speech of the smoothskins. But they were so fast, and there was something like a rhythm to them that confused her. It wasn¡¯t a tempo though. But¡­ she didn¡¯t have a word for it.

    They looked like they might have proportional legs, so they were not the third genera.

    They do have fur on their faces and chins though¡­ Beards was it?

    Her Instinct grunted before joining her in her grumbling about the overly complex and frankly pointless differentiations the smoothskin genera had. They were all cursed, what did it matter?

    The other spoke, ¡°Hells Jeg, easy coin. Not just silver neither, if we get us a live one! And we got the warp scroll from that ruin! So if things look bad we can get outta here quickly. The Fae never ask for too much for safe passage.¡±

    Silver, that was a name for earthbone she thought.

    Searching for resources?

    Her Instinct hissed softly, sliding behind her eyes, watching their progress. It was hard to keep up with their speech. She hadn¡¯t expected the words to be so different from how the Provider used them. Why shouldn¡¯t they be the same?

    Do words find niches like individuals?

    Pointless. Are they edible? Her Instinct grumbled. It made her grip the handle of her knife for a moment before she decided to continue her observations, blending in with the cypress bark. She tilted her head to get a better view of their movements. Judging fitness.

    ¡°But what if it is spreading, Tum?¡± She guessed that Jeg and Tum might be names. It was Jeg that said that.

    No prefixes, like the Provider and Gix. Smoothskins were odd.

    Jeg wiped its brow, his weird red-pink skin secreting a clear liquid before continuing, ¡°The aether byproducts? Last thing the world needs is these scaled devils transforming into shamblers. Or getting any bigger if you were telling the truth about the biggun.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter Jeg my lad, we ain¡¯t here for that. Not really, now shut it! That biggun is off murderin summet, but he has ears like a bat and eyes like an eagle.¡± Tum said, running a hand over its beard.

    She blinked, wondering if they were hunters. And why go after eagles? There were easier birds to stalk down and ambush.

    ¡°This is just the place to get the components for that alchemist fella. What¡¯s¡¯isname, the one in Salkov¡­.¡±

    ¡°Gregor?¡± Jeg said.

    Tum snapped their fingers ¡°Gregor! Right. Gregor Wilson.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s doin a job for the Bookkeepers, right?¡± Jeg asked, paddling towards the island now.

    ¡°The very same!¡±

    The neonate was completely lost. She knew the last word, Salkov. That was the Capital of the smoothskins, or the name of their apex of apexes or¡­

    No, that¡¯s named an emperor¡­

    She couldn¡¯t recall. It was something like that.

    She slid down a vine as thick as the base of her tail before stepping on another branch, her pattern and hue shifting to match the yellow-green of the leaves.

    ¡°Slow up here, watch the rocks.¡± Tum continued.

    The neonate stared, fascinated, as they disembarked from their watercraft and sloshed onto the bank. Close enough to make out more details. They were absolutely hideous! And the disgust she felt only increased as they got closer.

    No tails.

    Barely any muzzles.

    When they talked she could see most of their teeth were as flat as old river rocks, not sharp at all. They had a pair of pitiful canines at least, but most of their teeth were clearly the teeth of prey.

    They also didn¡¯t have any other aspects of being predators. No claws, no scales, nothing. They looked as threatening as a pair of slugs. Maybe even less so, as some slugs were carnivorous.

    How do they survive? They were large, but they couldn¡¯t be that dangerous.

    Tools. Her Instinct pulled her eyes to the strange things hanging from the loops of leather at their waists. Parts of them glinted in the sun.

    Earthbone. She gripped her own knife. Theirs were longer than she was tall. Almost three and a half feet.

    Even Slash and Biter would have a hard time with those. She supposed they could use two hands. That would solve that problem.

    She had also seen the garments, but hadn¡¯t realized that was what they were, taking them for patterns and colorations. But now that she could see what they were she was confused as to why they would wear them. They hung heavily, soaked through by the downpour of the monsoon.

    Skin? Her Instinct guessed from her eyes. Protect?

    Tok had said something about them being flammable in the sun, hadn¡¯t he? But it is raining. So why? She shifted closer, hand snapping out like a kingbill to snatch a tree frog, stuffing it in her mouth and chewing it up while it squirmed.

    Both were very red, but behind the clothing they were stark cowardly white.

    Albinos? If she had that coloration she would try her best to hide it. Did that make them cowards, or were they just unfortunately pigmented over most of their bodies? And why were they here?

    Perhaps a mating pair? Searching for seclusion? She didn¡¯t like the idea of that, more mouths competing for food.

    She wondered if they were Fiendkin, but neither had horns, or tails, so that meant that they were eighth genera. Humans.

    That realization made her snarl, but she managed to restrain her sudden hate.

    Traitors! They had been the ones to kill off the first genera! They had cursed all the genera of smoothskins to lose their Instinct!

    They are to be pitied. Tok¡¯s words came back to her.

    Pity doesn¡¯t mean mercy. She glared down at them. How could you trust them? With no Instinct to guide them?

    Her Instinct grumbled.

    She leaped to the next branch. She suspected Tum was the female. She only had fur on her upper lip. Jeg on the other hand looked like he was looking out of a screen of the stuff. His sky blue eyes looking out from the dark mahogany curls.

    Even their pupils are round¡­ Unnatural.

    Tum sliced and slashed through the ferns with wild abandon, using her long earthbone knife. It was single edged, with a rounded tip. It seemed very sharp given how easily the smoothskin female sliced through the vegetation.

    Both are male. Her Instinct hissed, annoyed. Are they edible?

    The neonate looked again. She thought of the rous, remembering that the females always had strange protrusions along the belly. It was that anatomy that the young used to parasitize off of their sires. Neither had any such growths that she could tell.

    Yes¡­ Both male. But then why would Tum have the facial fur of a female?

    Regardless, that meant that their purpose for being on the island was of a different nature.

    Edible? It had become a snarl, her grip on the handle of her knife becoming almost painfully tight.

    The neonate did wonder what their flesh would taste like. She guessed probably rous, given they all three were parasites. She licked her lips, imagining it.

    ¡°There it is! And there, and, gods, look at all that Tum!¡± Jeg bent over, and picked up fistfuls of the variegated leaves of the healing herb, the tip of his long beard dipping into the mud. Gross. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°Told you Jeg, rich as kings, we¡¯ll be. And sometimes these places have the aethercaps! Just think of it! Have to do a quick scout perhaps, check for caves or temples or some such, but then we¡¯ll be livin¡¯ large!¡± Tum slashed a whole bush from the ground, and tossed it to Jeg.

    Both made strange sounds, baring their teeth at each other, shoulders shaking as if to limber up as they started stuffing them into sacks they had tucked into their belts.

    Are they going to fight? The display distracted her from their words for a moment.

    What had they said again? Something about¡­ becoming high caste from gathering the herb? That didn¡¯t feel right. What did possession of resources have to do with being high caste? And why the herb specifically.

    It was true that it wasn¡¯t the most plentiful plant, but surely they had it back up in their swamp. Right?

    Tok said they destroy the land. She moved closer, not quite within striking distance yet. She couldn¡¯t let that happen here. That was their herb, the broods. And if these humans weren¡¯t only using what they needed to survive, then they were poaching. She hissed angrily.

    ¡°You hear that? There is a snake somewhere here Jeg.¡± Tum¡¯s face changed shape, the neonate couldn¡¯t discern what it meant. Her¡­ No¡­ His voice quavered though. The neonate recognized the word for snake after a brief moment. She looked around, ready to strike out at that instead, then realized they had heard her hiss.

    Too loud. Stay quiet.

    ¡°I¡¯d take a snake over these gods blighted mosquitos!¡¯ Jeg grumbled, slapping himself before scratching the wiry fur on his face.

    Disgusting.

    She was struggling with what exactly to do to stop them. Cursed with weakness or not, they were quite a lot larger than she was and were also armed, and she knew what a difference that made.

    ¡°Shit, Jeg, look at this.¡± Tum said, kicking something out into the open. It was a snared rous.

    Damn. Forgot to check that one¡­

    Mine! Her Instinct butted in, slamming into her eyes pulling back her lips in a silent snarl.

    That was her meat. She fought down a growl.

    ¡°I told you, they¡¯re worldwide now!¡± Jeg nearly shouted, stuffing herbs into a cloth pouch. He cut them off at the ground and just crammed the whole bush in, berries, stems, and all.

    She didn¡¯t notice. What they said about the rous was more interesting to her. So they have rous up north too? I was right! They did wash downstream! She wished she knew more of the smoothskin language.

    She had thought that Tok was a master at it, but it seemed wasn¡¯t the case. She reeled at the idea that the Provider didn¡¯t know everything.

    Focus.

    ¡°Have to bring it.¡± Tum grumbled, picking up the carcass, which jerked to a stop as the tied snare held, ¡°Oi, what¡¯s this here?¡± His grimy fingers pinched the line between them.

    Jeg moved closer to the other smoothskin. ¡°It¡¯s a snare Tum.¡±

    ¡°Morte¡¯s tits, they are eatin these things.¡±

    ¡°Mebbee that biggun likes a little snack now and again.¡±

    Tum jerked and started talking faster, ¡°Shit, this¡¯s too small for that biggun, Jeg, my boy.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more here! Comeon! We gotta Skedaddle!¡±

    The neonate didn¡¯t like the sound of this ¡®skedaddle¡¯ they had to do, and didn¡¯t want to find out what it entailed. It was time to attack, but which one first? Jeg. He was the smaller of the two, then the neonate could focus on dealing with Tum.

    Tok had said that they would be dangerous. She would try to ambush them, kill quickly and then strike at Tum before he could react. She drew the matte black blade, waiting for Jeg to pass right under her.

    Kill!

    She dove, snarling, her knife aimed right for the jugular!

    Jeg spotted her and let out a high pitched battle cry and knocked her out of the air with the bulging sack of herbs. She crashed into a grove of ferns, unharmed, snarling and rolling back onto her feet.

    ¡°Shit! Tum! One of the devils! I am getting the scroll!¡± His teeth rattled loudly as he spoke, a threat display if she ever heard one!

    She snapped at them both.

    ¡°Hells no! It looked like an iguana! We ain¡¯t using somethin that valuable for an iguana.¡± He looked over and spotted the neonate, freezing there. ¡°Sallinnia¡¯s port, Jeg, we gotta run! It¡¯s a damned hatchery!¡±

    The neonate snarled, sprinting through the underbrush and up a log for a little extra height.

    ¡°I¡¯m-¡± Jeg was reaching for the pack on his back. Reaching for a weapon!

    Have to strike! She leaped at Jeg.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare use that scroll! That¡¯s worth the most out of the lot you idjit!¡± Tum screamed, running over. ¡°You¡¯ll bring that thing with us!¡±

    The smoothskins were slow, or maybe they had a hard time spotting her? Regardless she was on Jeg¡¯s back, gripping the pack with her toeclaws as she bit into his shoulder.

    He squealed in pain, writhing. Useless clawless fingers brushing against her but not getting a firm enough grip to dislodge her. She bit again, chomping down harder. Jeg hit the ground with a splatter of mud.

    His blood was hot and rich, but very different from the Rous. Still delicious.

    Whack!

    Tum kicked her, hard, and the neonate sailed off of Jeg¡¯s back and crashed to the ground again.

    Fortunately the neonate still had her blade, as Tum followed up with a slash of his own. The blade aimed at her neck this time. She lifted her knife.

    They are weaker than us! Tok had said so. Tum¡¯s blade connected with hers.

    Sparks flew! But not as far as the neonate did. Spinning teeth over tail, she crashed against a cypress tree. Pain lanced through her with the force of it. Her knife sailed off into the underbrush.

    Based on size. Idiot. Her Instinct groaned from her toes. She wiggled them, checking for spinal damage. She was fine.

    Her eyes went wide and she rolled to the side. The chopping longknife slammed into the bark of the tree and stuck.

    ¡°Shoot her! Shoot her Tum!¡±

    Jeg was still screaming and yelling something, the neonate didn¡¯t pay attention. She hopped and grabbed Tum¡¯s arm. He let go of the weapon, yelling and shaking her back and forth as she dug in her claws and bit down on his bicep.

    His screaming got louder and he pounded her head with his other hand before pulling out a strangely shaped object.

    It was wrapped in cloth that shed the water, and Tum let that wrapping fall away. A tube of earthbone mounted on a wooden handle.

    Run! Her Instinct insisted.

    No! Winning.

    She bit harder, expecting him to beat her with it, shaking her head and making him scream.

    ¡°Little bastard! I¡¯ll solve for you!¡±

    He pulled a mechanism back. She recognized the shard of flint held in earthbone jaws.

    It clicked, then clicked again.

    It stank like bad eggs.

    He pointed the opening at her, and down the tube she could see that there was a sphere of earthbone inside? Why?

    Run! Live! Her Instinct ripped control of her limbs from her, forcing her to spring away.

    Click! The flint sparked!

    BANG!

    Thunderous fire roared out of the tube! She squealed in fear. Smoke, acrid and sulfurous, choked her as a horrible angry something buzzed into the distance.

    CRACK! It blasted straight through a low hanging branch and still going, sending splinters flying.

    Magic! She hissed, the reek of the weapon even stronger. She fled into the underbrush. It had been terrible! It could happen again. She climbed back up into the canopy, grabbing a rock before she did. Not having time to find the knife for now. Better than nothing!

    Thum-thum-thumthumthumthum!

    The roar tore through the swamp. She could hear the sloshing steps of Tok, off in the distance, growing louder, picking up the pace. The humans jabbered louder in clear fear. The ground shuddering even this far away under his mighty steps.

    Jeg was running for their boat, sack in his hands. She snarled. Tum joined his broodmate, hunched over the tube weapon, pouring black sand into it before shoving another dull gray sphere in as well, ramming it in with a short stick that mounted under the tube.

    Dangerous again. Her Instinct hissed.

    ¡°Use the scroll!¡± Tum shouted.

    ¡°But you said-¡±

    ¡°Morte¡¯s tits I know what I said! Use the scroll!¡±

    Jeg pulled his pack off with a wince and rummaged in it, standing in the boat.

    I can¡¯t let them get away! But that weapon! She didn¡¯t know how to fight fire of all things.

    Her Instinct, ever helpful, hissed the answer to her. Rain!

    Could that be? It made sense.

    Besides, the neonate couldn¡¯t let the Provider face a foe with that kind of power alone, nor could she let this opportunity go by. A chance to show him her strength. Even if it was risky. Tum was the threat now. And the opportunity.

    Her greed swelled as she stared at the weapon, imagining herself with such a thing. She knew where black sand was on one of the banks.

    She stood and sprinted along the branch, her black and red snapping into place, rock in both hands.

    Tum saw her, and pointing the tube at her once more. His thumb clicked the flint mechanism back twice. Rain dumping down. She braced for it, hoping she was right about the rain and trusting her scales if she wasn¡¯t.

    Click! The flint sparked!

    Nothing from the tube.

    Her Instinct snarled in satisfaction as she leaped out of the branch. She could see Tok rushing forward through the swamp from the corner of her eye. She landed on Tum, one foot scratching deep gouges in his face before she got a grip on his shoulder.

    He screamed in pain.

    She felt yellow pride as she lifted the rock high and sent it slamming down onto the smoothskins wrist with a crunch. He dropped the weapon and it blorped into the muddy waters of the river.

    She had dealt with the threat, now to kill the prey.

    Take!

    Later! Finish this!

    Yes!

    She roared, lifting the rock high again.

    Tum held up his hand in a feeble attempt to block her deathblow. ¡°N-no! Gods! Please!¡±

    She could see the fear in his ugly round pupiled eyes.

    Whack!

    Jeg¡¯s oar sent her sailing for the third time painfully.

    She was going to crash into the middle of the river! Into the current! She would be washed away! Like Fisher!

    I am not as strong a swimmer! And the current was faster!

    Live!

    She wouldn¡¯t, she was going to be swept-

    A tremendous roar made hope surge back to the fore of her mind, and she thumped into a big black scaled hand. Tok had caught her.

    His fingers closed partially around her, protecting her without squeezing, as he leaned down and bellowed into the horrified faces of Jeg and Tum.

    Their fur blew in the wind of his breath, and she could smell the mammals¡¯ urine. The neonate¡¯s pattern flooded with orange smugness.

    She joined the Provider, standing in his palm, her own roar much higher pitched. She forced it lower, forced it louder, something about joining Tok being right.

    ¡°N-not caste request-plea st-strike, high¡­¡± Tum stammered, in the proper language, or at least, he tried to.

    She winced as she climbed up the big male¡¯s arm to his shoulder, her body sore. Looking at him to see if he had understood any of that.

    Red eyes slid to meet hers, then examined up and down, taking in the state of her.

    He grunted, and they slid back to the eighth generas.

    Pride bloomed in every scale of her. He is impressed!

    Her Instinct roared to the sky in triumph within her mind.

    Tum was still jabbering out nonsense, using prefixes as interfixes, suffixes, and as stand alone words. It was a horrible tangle that was a waste of time.

    Kill them! Her Instinct snarled, and she agreed. Dangerous idiots like this should have been culled long ago.

    Jeg was still frantically rummaging in the bag. Eyes so wide the neonate was surprised they didn¡¯t fall out. Tum wasn¡¯t much better, but he was baring his teeth again.

    A threat! But why?

    ¡°He challenges?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re plotting to eat us Tum!¡±

    ¡°Provider, he cannot possibly-¡±

    ¡°Shut you¡¯re gob I¡¯m tryin to listen!¡±

    ¡°Silence.¡± It was said to her, but Tum stopped his jabbering as well. Jeg had covered his eyes.

    Coward. Her Instinct tried to pull her forward. Kill! Eat!

    ¡°Speak, human.¡± Tok snarled in their tongue. He slid his long bright blue tongue out. Smelling them. His eyes narrowed.

    The neonate snarled, and snapped her jaw. The red eyes slid back to her, staring, opening ever so slightly wider.

    Thunder rumbled as the rain pattered against Tok¡¯s scales.

    She desaturated her black and red in apology.

    His gaze lingered long enough to make his point before he refocused on the smoothskin vermin. While he wasn¡¯t looking she gnashed silently at them.

    ¡°We have gone through the proper channels uh¡­ mighty Blackscale!¡± Tum said, still baring his teeth.

    ¡°You challenge him and can¡¯t fight me?!¡± She roared, and threw the rock at him and he yelped as it hit him in the forehead, starting to bleed.

    Tok growled and she cowered on his shoulder. ¡°Enough!¡±

    ¡°He-¡±

    ¡°A smile. It shows they cannot bite worth a damn.¡±

    She flashed her red brighter, not agreeing, but out of his peripheral vision. She didn¡¯t want to get culled for being insubordinate.

    CLAP!

    His tail slapped the water, and she shied even further back. The human¡¯s boat rocked, and they cowered too.

    Idiot! Live! Don¡¯t tempt.

    She decided her Instinct was right and locked her neutral coloring in place.

    ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t mean to scare your offspring¡­ uh¡­ Ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Male I am. This is the last hatched of my charges. Your presence on my island will be explained, or devoured you will be.¡±

    The neonate enjoyed hearing that, and said the right way, not in this weird rhythmic way that the vermin used. Jumbled up.

    Jeg shifted, pulling up his shirt and a small jar, scooping out a dark brown paste and pressing it into his bloody wound. The pair of her teeth marks deep in his shoulder.

    Tok¡¯s eyes shifted back to the neonate, but briefly. She flickered confirmation in her pattern and he grunted.

    Sunshine yellow tinted her thoughts.

    ¡°We negotiated passage with Shashk-¡±

    ¡°This would not be included in such an agreement.¡± His blue tongue slid out, and his blood red eyes narrowed further. ¡°You have been within our temples. I will devour you now.¡±

    The neonate drooled, leaning forward, only understanding the second sentence. There might be scraps for her to pick through!

    Jeg whimpered and stuck his hand back in his pack and tore out a strange square leaf like the ones in that book she had. He unfurled it.

    The smell of ozone, intense and instantaneous, billowed from the thing. Shapes like her bag and the symbols on her knife blazed into light and she had to cover her eyes.

    More magic!

    The Provider hissed and she felt him lift his arm and bring it crashing down into the river.

    When she stopped seeing spots, she saw that the pair were gone, boat and all.

    Tok hissed, long bright blue tongue humming slightly as it waggled up and down in his frustration.

    They returned to shore, and the neonate couldn¡¯t find that strange earthbone tube weapon.

    Patience kiddo. Need you on the high seas first. Ya-HAR and all that junk.

    She did recover her knife though. Tok left to scout the area around the island for others, growling.

    They had taken her rous as well. Fortunately she found a larger one in the next snare, she would need time to recover, battered as she was.

    She suffered the thorns once more and planned to butcher her catch. Still thinking of that weapon and yearning for one of her own.

    Damn Smoothskins.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 28: Bones

    I always wondered about what the first genera could truly do.

    -From Canticles: 10:1

    The world spun slowly above the neonate, or she thought it did, she could only see the bundled reeds.

    She lay on her back, drifting. Not really sure how long it had been. It was at least the next day¡­ She looked over to see where the rous she had collected had gone, and was met with only bones and pelts.

    Two days?

    She looked more and spotted some strips of meat hanging already, but not as much as she would have expected.

    Need to stop getting hurt¡­ Had she thought that before?

    Yes¡­ Her Instinct lulled in her mind, giving the impression that its tongue was hanging out, belly to the sky.

    Or find a different way to chew the leaves.

    She regretted that thought instantly.

    More! Her Instinct whined unhelpfully.

    N-no¡­ She placed a hand to her forehead. She could taste the feeling of her claws tapping softly, hear the dry sandy taste in her mouth.

    She had tried the ugly fruit from the herb plant, only nibbling off the tiniest piece. She had thought it might have different healing properties than the leaves. Perhaps help heal her bruising from the fight with the smoothskins.

    Idiot curiosity. Her Instinct slurred again, her emotions a vibrant spiral. She growled back at herself.

    Curiosity or no, she had been stubbornly careful about it. Just nibbling, and it had been so incredibly bitter that she had convulsively spat it out.

    She had taken a lot of time to wash out her mouth with rainwater to get rid of the taste, she remembered that. And even then it hadn¡¯t gone away noticeably. As a last resort, she had turned to chewing some leaves as well to help rid herself of the flavor.

    HA! Big mistake kiddo. Though she knows it was now I suppose.

    Either the berries had interacted with the leaves, or the extra herb that she had used was affecting her more than usual. The fire sparked, and it was like the glittering motes were undulating like nightcrawlers for her. Stretching. Pulsing. Wiggling.

    Need to move¡­ Can¡¯t just lay here.

    She hefted herself up, body tingling pleasantly, and the little predator scooped a handful of the berries up as she did.

    Bastard things¡­

    Her Instinct whined.

    Quiet.

    The neonate staggered through the rain to the thorns, stopping just short of them. She didn¡¯t want to fall into the things, even if that would be funny. Standing there, wiggling her toes in the smooth mud, she scattered some of the berries along the edge of the clearing.

    There. Maybe they¡¯ll sprout¡­ It would be one last thing to head out through the thorns to get if they did.

    She could feel the ideas floating around in the general fog, but they just kept slipping out of her claws.

    She looked over at the shelter with one eye, lifting her head. Rain ran along her scales, soothing if cold. She opened her mouth, letting the rain patter into it, tapping on her tongue with cooling wetness.

    She kept her jaws open, letting the water slowly submerge her teeth as she took a small gulp, focusing on the shelter with difficulty.

    Bigger walls.

    She could do that. Simple repetitive¡­

    She gulped the water.

    Thunder rumbled.

    Huh? Oh yeah¡­ walls. Simple repetitive work.

    She had noticed that taking in liquids sometimes lessened the effects of the drug. She took another little gulp, not sure if it was just her imagination or not.

    She lost sense of time, but when it snapped back she moved over to the pile of stones, deciding that this time she would move the whole pile so she could be closer to the fire the whole time. IT was slow work, and she hissed in frustration, and accidentally bit her tongue.

    Really overdid it this time.

    ¡­ Agree¡­ Her Instinct admitted groggily, sounding frustrated that it had to concede the point.

    The last stone was too large to lift, but she found that she could push it easily enough. It slid over the muddy earth with little effort, cutting a furrow into the ground before it suddenly became much harder to push. There was a grinding sound, and she could feel it scrapping something under the earth as she pushed. She paused.

    Grinding?

    She checked the path she had taken. Beneath the furrow, under a relatively deep coating of soil turned into mud, was a regular pattern of square stones, exactly like Tok¡¯s camp.

    Unnatural. Her Instinct hissed, dragging her eyes to take note of the squared edges of the stones.

    She blinked, confused by it. She pushed the largest stone over to her base, leaving it next to one of the poles. Inspecting the construction from ages past after.

    What is it?

    She traced the edges of one stone with her claw. Squared stones, like the other ruins.

    That¡¯d make a wall easy! She reached down and pulled.

    It didn¡¯t budge.

    She looked closer. Is it wedged? The rain washed some more mud away, and the Greenscale¡¯s eyes widened.

    Her hand tightened around her knife.

    Each square stone had a rune carved in it. Like the glowing symbols of the bag, or the ones along the blade of the knife. They were carved. Chiseled into the rock. Still sharp and distinct as the day that they had been made.

    Each and every one of them.

    She suddenly remembered other sections of ruins having the same symbol across the island. She had just never thought of it before!

    The neonate scoured away the soil and detritus, needing to be sure. She eventually found a thick mat of roots and buried vines underneath that sped up the process greatly, letting her pull up a big swath with one tremendous heave.

    She had seen such structures all over the island. With everything that had happened to her, she had yet to have a need to take note of them until now.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Could they be utilized somehow?

    Did they have a secret purpose?

    Her tail lashed once as she squatted in the rain, thoughts becoming clearer as the peak of her high started to erode, the work helping to force it through and out of her system. Or at least, it felt that way to her.

    Why just the one mark? And why all the same?

    Simple purpose? Her Instinct guessed, once again in her eyes.

    It was so different from her knife and her bag, which were both festooned with many different runes and symbols. Like the knife, however, these didn¡¯t glow.

    Perhaps they are decorative?

    Her tongue slid out, flickering slightly, and she also sniffed at them as well.

    No, this is¡­ She wasn¡¯t sure exactly.

    It wasn¡¯t quite a smell. She wasn¡¯t sure what to call it. Whatever it was, it seemed to waft from them. It was similar to the strange leaf magic that the smoothskins had used, which now that she thought of it, hadn¡¯t really been a smell either.

    Aura? Her Instinct suggested.

    She didn¡¯t think so. It was something crisp. Dry. Dusty.

    Ancient. Both halves of her psyche realized.

    She carefully touched one of the shaped stones. She couldn¡¯t feel anything, but rather it was like she remembered them vibrating under her fingers. Or she expected the feeling of their warmth after the sun shined on them for a whole day.

    It was nothing that was currently happening or that looked possible to happen in the rain. She would have blamed it on the effect of the herbs, but the chill of the rain had done a wonderful job sobering her up.

    Magic¡­ her Instinct whispered from the tip of her tail. It was as if it had backed away in the hopes that if something happened, it would be safe.

    She pushed down her own fear. She had the bag, it was magic, and probably broken.

    It hasn¡¯t killed me yet! I can¡¯t be the first thing to walk atop them, surely.

    Survive! Her Instinct whined, focusing stubbornly on the yet. Her hindbrain thought of the tube weapon magic. That would have killed her.

    But it didn¡¯t. Besides, this is my  territory. I need to determine what their purpose is. If I am going to stay here, I need to know what they do.

    And more immediately, she needed mud for her wall. She scooped up some and placed it on the top layer of one of the walls.

    Smooth. Clay. Good for building. Her Instinct agreed from between her fingers as she squeezed the handful of earth through them.

    And it lets me inspect these. She traced one of the symbols with a claw.

    Her Instinct grumbled, but her curiosity was seeping into it, and it grudgingly started pointing out where the large deposits of clay were.

    Lightning flashed and thunder clapped.

    The wall grew, and she started using her knife to gather more reeds and some thorns from the edge of the clearing. The stones had run out, but she had realized she could weave the reeds in between the poles and then cover them with mud to plug any gaps.

    Good, quickly done. More fire. Dry it out.

    She was cold again too. She was also keenly aware that any more wood would either have to come from the tree or be dragged through the thorns.

    I shouldn¡¯t do that, tempting as it is.

    She balked at the idea.

    She couldn¡¯t expend the resources on that just to speed things up. The wall would have to be content with taking some time to dry, same as her.

    It felt good to be doing something to improve her situation, to work her muscles, to see the progress. To enact a plan, no matter how small, with little fear.

    And even without extra wood, the fire did contribute to drying the wall.

    The fish was still smoking, and there were slices of rous drying as well. She oscillated between her construction project and tending the food, testing it for doneness with her claws.

    The neonate had found that she could hang the strips up in the rafters where the smoke gathered, and so she moved sets that were done farther away from the fire to make room for the next. The little predator ate a few while they were still hot, fighting back a groan of pleasure as she ate. Drool spattered out of her maw, sizzling in the coals as she hunched over the fire.

    Finally. More hot food.

    Not smokey enough. Her Instinct whispered from her tongue, the sibilance of the thought almost hidden by crackle of the cookfire.

    She remembered the state of her grubby log.

    Rot is wet. Her Instinct agreed.

    Then I¡¯ll keep the fire and the smoke going. Easy.

    Taking some time every so often to warm by the fire, she continued her work, the strange feeling almost leaving completely as she did.

    She made a point to only take the mud from off the top of the shaped stones, and soon she had a large section of them excavated. They frustrated her though. They were frustratingly uniform, unnatural, and unfathomable. Holding their secrets close.

    Focus! Her Instinct hissed.

    She couldn¡¯t help it though.

    The path was four lengths of her body, including her tail, wide, and continued all the way to the tree. Possibly it even went under it, though she couldn¡¯t reach any further with the roots in the way. It didn¡¯t matter what she did to try and dislodge the carved stones, they wouldn¡¯t move.

    She even found the edge of the construction and managed to dig under it. And the stones stubbornly stayed in place, even though they should have fallen or at least budged when she pulled on them. She didn¡¯t understand what the purpose of the path they made was. It was clearly old.

    The roots of the tree where she could dig followed the right angles of the stones at times, even filling the symbols here and there. But even the tree was foiled by whatever magic or power the construction had.

    Why though?

    Distracted idiot! Focus.

    She snapped her jaw in frustration and got back to building the wall, knowing she needed to make more progress than she had. The day was waning fast under the dark blanket of clouds.

    It wasn¡¯t until the wall was half done and night fell that she realized why she was so frustrated.

    She had been hoping to get some answers.

    Something simple like this might give her insight into the workings of her bag. It was a curiosity that had been repressed from necessity, and now she was let down by the lack of answers. What was worse, it had only added to the number of questions she had.

    She glared at the knife at her side.

    One of the runes carved into the black blade was the same as the one in the stones, she had looked through them all carefully and that alone was enough to make her wonder.

    I need to know. I need to know if there is some hidden power to this. All of it.

    Her Instinct grunted.

    She stared at the blade, not remembering when she had drawn it. She slid it back into its sheath again.

    That night she was distinctly warmer, the completed wall holding the warmth of the fire close and blocking the chilling wind and rain.

    She also found that it acted as a heat reservoir after a while, which made it wonderful to snuggle up against in the night. The best part, the small area where she had made her little bed was finally dry too.

    She ate some of the pilfered and cooked fish, delighted by the taste, though it wasn¡¯t as smoky as the dried meat that she had taken before the others had access to it.

    The worked stones though, they vexed her to no end. They were about six feet across, and traced a straight line down the hill that the clearing was on. Forming steps in a couple places, unnatural in their uniformity.

    They also seemed to go the other way as well, going under the tree. The other side went straight for the thorns. That was about the extent of her discoveries though.

    She growled and ripped a piece of fish in half, chewing.

    That¡¯s it. I am figuring this out.

    The neonate returned to the stone she had tried to pry free, needing to try again. She used a pole for leverage, dug out the mortar, and expanded the excavation to try the neighboring stones as well. Nothing. None of them budged.

    She pounded it with a river rock, which only made a terrible racket. She kept it up anyway. When she looked at it after she was worn out and tired, there was not so much as scratch on the unnatural thing. It had jarred her hands terribly. In a fit of rage, she hefted the river rock over her head and hurled it into the thorns.

    It snapped and crackled through them, sounding like a startled rous. She didn¡¯t pay any mind to the sound, she had been making something of a racket for a while now. It ended with string of loud hollow sounds echoing dully before there was a splash like a diving mawfrog.

    She froze.

    Lightning lanced across the weeping sky.

    Cave?

    She scrambled to the end of the organized stones, trying to peer through the thorns.

    Can¡¯t see! I need to get in there!

    Careful.

    It was too dark, the rain too thick now. The black blade was a lethal shadow in her hand. Unable to stop herself, she hacked through the thorns. She did her best to avoid cuts, mostly using her claws to pull the vines away.

    Dangers.

    She couldn¡¯t be careful, she was almost there!

    Ambush.

    She slowed. She had made a lot of noise for a long time now.

    Idiot. I can¡¯t let myself get too comfortable here.

    She became much more deliberate with her knife. It wasn¡¯t really suited for such work anyway. Too light, too narrow. She thought about making a new hand axe, but then she would get torn up by the brambles.

    A handle! I could attach one.

    That would require her to figure out how to do that though, and she wanted to find this out now. It was worth looking into though. She could see it making it easier to chop down more saplings. Make her more efficient in getting wood and the materials for cordage.

    Deadly weapon. Her Instinct hissed with delight.

    It would give her something to put in her other hand if she had to confront one of the oth-

    She broke through the thorns.

    Distracted by her ruminations, the neonate almost toppled into the dark abyss before her. She snarled and planted her foot, extending her tail behind her as well, using it as a counterweight.

    Danger. Her Instinct reiterated, a scale¡¯s width from smugness. She wasn¡¯t sure why she was so hard on herself.

    The neonate could see the rain pouring down the path, cascading down and into the strange structure. There was a constant roar from the water flowing down into the dark, each step making its own little waterfall and adding to the cacophony.

    It doesn¡¯t explain why it is so loud though.

    Her Instinct grunted in agreement from the tip of her tail.

    Now that she was there, she wondered if she really did want to go in.

    Crackabroom!

    Lightning burst overhead, bellowing thunder coming instantly, making her jerk and duck, almost slipping on the wet stone down the steps. It echoed weirdly, dopplering back and forth in the pitch black. The unknown filled her with dread, her imagination populating her thoughts with terrible nebulous things that she was worried might just exist in such a sinister place.

    Open now. Have to see. Her Instinct gulped.

    She hated that it was right.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 29: Ruins

    These words are chronicled to serve the most important purpose the brood has. Preparing the offspring of the brood for their duty in the outside world with lessons from the past. History, therefore, is a precious thing to all, both personal and general. Never forget this.

    -From Neonatum Provisae: 1: 1-4.

    A dank musty smell wafted up from the depths. The neonate¡¯s tongue flickered out, probing. Bitter and unfamiliar. Her eyes narrowed. Ugly brown displeasure and faded green exhaustion washing over her mind.

    She didn¡¯t like the idea of going down.

    Need to see. Her Instinct insisted.

    That was the other thing. She had gotten used to how dark it got at night with the constant monsoon, but the complete darkness of the depths of the ruin was something else. No light at all down there.

    Even owls wouldn¡¯t fly here.

    She needed light. And the only way she knew how to bring light down with her was to somehow carry her fire in her hand or something similarly ridiculous.

    She hissed. About as helpful as flapping my arms to get across the thorns.

    Her Instinct snorted as she turned back to her shelter to take stock of what she had.

    As the rain ran down her scales, dripping from her chin, she wondered if the bag could hold the fire and protect it from the rain. But she discarded that plan as well. The idea of putting something as destructive as fire in an already injured magical object was ludicrous. Especially with the example of the tube weapon still so fresh in her mind.

    No, better to try and think of a mundane solution.

    She sat under the roof of her hut, chewing on the cooked gulper meat. Smoke wreathed her as she shifted in the rag padded hollow that was her nest. Her treasures all splayed out before her. It agitated the neonate that the pile was so small.

    She had already tried holding a piece of firewood, a smaller stick, dried reeds, one piece of the fish, and even a thin slice of the cloth of her bedding. All burned readily enough, but none had the sort of brightness that she needed, apart from the reeds.

    She had been excited with how bright they had gotten, rushing back out into the rain to head down into the ruins, but the fire devoured them like they were snip bugs. It had nearly singed her claws before she tossed them to the ground.

    She stomped back under cover and shook the majority of the water droplets off before basking in the heat of the flames to dry herself.

    Take inventory perhaps?

    She didn¡¯t know what that would change, she had done it already. The fishhooks, disks, spheres, spikes, and wire were all earthbone, which wouldn¡¯t burn. The bones of the rous only charred and became brittle, so she had set those aside. There wasn¡¯t much left.

    Her tongue flickered out and she winced for the fourth time. The rous skin was rotting, and the smell was terrible. It wasn¡¯t helped by the fact that the one clear container of liquid from the grave, the liquid that was thick as honey, had leaked on it. The neonate had since moved the bottle to a flat stone where it could sit upright.

    She reached over and grabbed the skin, wanting to see if any of it was salvageable. A single drop of the viscous liquid dripped onto the coals.

    Fire!

    Bright and sudden, it flared up and lit the pelt, which blazed into flame rapidly.

    The shelter!

    She hissed and threw it out into the storm, the tenacious flames roaring as the pelt sailed through the air. It splattered in the mud, the fire burning easily despite the rain and puddle the fur had landed in. The unstained portions just smoldered and stunk.

    Gagging at the smell she grabbed a stick and used it to toss the reeking thing farther away. Coughing and waving her arms to dissipate the black smoke and smell of burning hair, she looked at the bottle of viscous liquid.

    Liquid that burns?

    Danger.

    It would let me have light down there though. She glanced at the stairs as her Instinct hummed softly.

    She took the piece of firewood she had used to flip the fur farther into the rain, uncorked the bottle, and dribbled some of the thick liquid out onto it. Almost instantly it slid off, not sticking in the way she wanted, and instead running onto her hand.

    She snapped her jaws.

    Holding her now slick hand away from the rest of her body, she tore off a piece of her cloth bedding to wipe the smelly stuff off of her skin. The thick liquid soaked readily into the fabric. Taking on that slick feel and the odd scent.

    Her eyes widened.

    That¡¯s it!

    Learn!

    Her knife whispered through the cloth as she sliced some of it into long strips. She wound them tightly around the piece of firewood, soaking them liberally with the¡­

    Should name this stuff¡­ Firehoney? Yes. Firehoney.

    Her Instinct grunted in approval.

    The neonate soaked each strip in the firehoney as she wrapped them around the piece of wood. She also used one of the wires to hold the cloth in place, twisting it down tight. When done she had a total of three torches made. The neonate glanced at the diminished pile of bedding.

    I wonder if I could use cordage instead. She could test that, delay going down.

    Idiot. Focus. Her Instinct snarled, tightening her grip on the haft of the torch. Her stomach grumbled in agreement. She had to get moving soon.

    The neonate made sure that she had the knife in its sheath, and put three of the torches in the bag, wanting to keep the firehoney soaked ends dry as possible. Taking the first one she had made, she lowered it towards the fire carefully.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Instantly, with a sound like a gust of wind, it caught. She was glad that without the stinking fur to burn as well, it was almost scentless. Not wanting to waste any time she ran towards the strange dark cavern.

    The worked stones gave her a dubious grip in the rain. She had to make use of her tail as if she was up in the trees. She was glad to be under the stone roof of the ruin, though the pouring water down the stone steps made it feel like tiny hands were trying to pull her deeper in.

    Survive. Her Instinct was hushed, as if trying to not drown out any sound echoing up.

    She descended down into the depths, her scales shifting to match the hue and pattern of the stones without her needing to think of it.

    The water ran over the backs of her calves as she moved down the stairs with deliberate strides. The only sounds were the echoes of the flowing water, which poured into her ears. The dank musty smell was overwhelming getting more intense as she moved lower. The stone steps were awkwardly high for her, designed for someone taller.

    She ran still tender palms along the wall of the stairway, strange shapes and depictions carved into the stone. They looked like members of the brood, Truescales, but for each one something was slightly off.

    A tail too short here, a claw too blunt there. At least for the Greenscales depicted. And if she was using Tok as an example, it was a similar issue with the Blackscales. They were things that should have been obvious to the carver.

    She recognized one scene, the founding of the conclave. One of each brood. Black, blue, red, and finally, smallest, green. Different pigments marked each of them, now faded with time and damp. There were also scenes depicting unfamiliar events, with actors with utterly alien features.

    One such held a flame in his hand, the other missing with the rest of the relief, which had crumbled away who knew how long ago.

    I mean, I could say, but that would be telling. And the kiddo doesn¡¯t need to know much about me yet.

    Studying the reliefs as she went lower and lower, it seemed he had taken the fire from some sort of mountain or plateau. And he was running from something. What exactly was lost to the ages, broken off as well. It revealed more of the rune carved stones beneath.

    It was a shame, it was quite beautiful in a strange way.

    The next scene showed him somewhere completely different. Somewhere dark. Somewhere deep. From the remaining pigments, somewhere full of shadow.

    She shook her head, joints in her neck cracking.

    I need to get back on task.

    Her Instinct grunted like Tok. She turned away from the carvings, and it wasn¡¯t long before she was nearing the bottom of the stairs.

    The light of her torch bloomed outwards as the space opened up, and awe washed over everything above her ankles. They were already submerged.

    Gods¡­

    Titanic in scale, it was a space that would make Tok look minuscule. Ceilings so high that even the tallest trees she had seen above would fit here below. Supported by colossal pillars that sprouted from the flooded waters.

    Everything was elegantly carved, a work of art made by a master. So intricate and beautiful that it was hard to spot that even here there were carved runes in the stones.

    She marveled at it. Looking around and feeling completely insignificant with the cold water flowing against her feet. She took a step in, wanting to explor-

    Eyes! Seen!

    She jerked and spun around, holding her torch high. There was nothing on the stairs.

    Look up, fool! Her Instinct snarled.

    She did, just barely seeing the ceiling, the cold rainwater at her feet sloshing. There was nothing there. Nothing that she could see. No movement.

    The feeling only grew in intensity. Not just two eyes, thousands, millions. Wide open. Staring at her.

    She waited, slowly drawing her knife, scanning the ceiling for movement, staring back at the dark. Slowly, head on a swivel, she made her way farther in.

    This wasn¡¯t the herbs.

    She could tell.

    Something about the smell of the place, the scent of something, made her bare her teeth in a silent snarl. She had to fight the urge to run. She knew if she did it wouldn¡¯t help her in the slightest. Her scales shifted again, and she watched her legs vanish, the effect ruined by the water at her ankles. The smell wasn¡¯t new, but it was prevalent. Something powerful. Unimaginable.

    The reek of an unknown predator.

    Whatever this is will slink out at night and kill me.

    Survive. Her Instinct hissed from her knife hand.

    The feeling of being watched grew oppressive, weighing down on her until the neonate found herself crouching near the water. She was trembling, teeth bared, her mind rebelling at the fear she had vowed wouldn¡¯t rule her.

    She shut her eyes, feeling her skin flickering between the black and red and the white and dirty yellow. Shame, acidic and overwhelming, stung her intestines as she cowered there.

    The torch was almost out. She would fall into darkness and the things there would kill her.

    No!

    It couldn¡¯t end here! But she couldn¡¯t move.

    Oh stop picking on the kiddo already.

    The pressure lessened. It didn¡¯t leave, but it moved away. As if to let her up. She looked around the space, slowly standing. Her sharp eyes straining against the dark, lifting the torch high. Water continued to roar all around, knee deep now. Cold.

    It should stink, shouldn¡¯t it? Be stagnant and slimy. It wasn¡¯t though.

    And the air wasn¡¯t still either. Gentle breezes blew this way and that. Her tongue flickered out. Dank smells. Dark smells. Wet stone. Moss. Slow clean decay.

    And something sharper. Territorial.

    She growled.

    Run! Leave! Live!

    She ignored her Instinct. She couldn¡¯t leave. Not yet. Not without finding the eyes and putting them out for good.

    She felt their gaze sharpen, grow more hostile.

    The neonate shook herself again, wishing she could re-crack her neck. She started forward, and nearly fell into a massive pool of water. Snarling and spluttering from the chill of it she looked closer.

    It was hard to tell through the constant disturbance from the rainwater, but it looked like there was much more to the structure beneath the surface.

    Kneeling, she stuck her head under, and could see more stairs and passageways going deeper. Periodically there were circular platforms in-between submerged bridges. It was so strange to see such a large body of water with no algae.

    There was something odd about the water something like thirty feet down, but she couldn¡¯t tell without getting closer. And she wasn¡¯t about to do that. She¡¯d lose the torch.

    What was this place? Where are the fish?

    Her Instinct hummed, aware that some caves had fish.

    She pulled her head out of the water, spluttering slightly before making a more careful way farther in.

    It just kept going, her torch struggling against the gaping dark. The echoes and reflections of the water played tricks on her, making her stop often, scanning scent and sound for the hidden creatures whose eyes she still felt.

    Screeeeeee!

    She was completely engulfed!

    Buffeted on all sides. Flapping fluttering shrieking things blocked her vision. She couldn¡¯t even see the torch. All the tension, all the fear and anger burst from her as a tempest fit to rival the monsoon.

    With a snarl she lashed out with blade and torch. The firehoney stuck to some of the creatures, the additional flames only making the combat more disorientating.

    She smelled blood.

    Her own and others.

    She fought harder, spinning, lashing with her tail, her clawed feet, snapping her jaws. She caught something, and it wriggled, furry, tiny claws and teeth scoring the inside of her mouth.

    That was all her Instinct needed to know.

    Devour! Kill! Kill! Kill!

    She crunched down. Blood, delicious and hot, filled her.

    Bats!

    Her forebrain took a beat longer than her Instinct, even as she snapped and bit the air even faster. Her shoulder went numb.

    Kill!

    The flat of her blade cracked the skull of a slightly larger bat, killing it as it lapped at her blood. Even larger ones assaulted her now, swooping through the little ones. She could somehow sense most of them snapping up the smaller breed. Her Instinct interpreting all of her senses for her.

    Unnatural!

    They were too large, as big as mawfrogs! How was this possible?

    Doesn¡¯t matter. Kill!

    She shoved the torch towards them, and many veered away from her. Those that didn¡¯t met her knife. One, larger than the rest, clamped onto her. It¡¯s fangs sunk into her clavicle, making her yelp. She staggered, about to fall as the water sloshed about her calves.

    Stand! Torch!

    With a snarl she planted her foot. She felt woozy. It was¡­ The bat was¡­ licking at the wound¡­ She stumbled slightly. It had some sort of venom? Snarling, her scales shifted into the black and red as she struggled against the soporific saliva.

    Cull! Unnatural!

    The matte black blade slammed upwards. She felt the blade jar against the beast¡¯s ribs, blood and air hissing out of the punctured lung. She kicked it off to splash in the water. She pounced on top of it, getting a firmer grip on her weapon. Bubbles boiled from the wound.

    ¡°Die!¡± She snarled. Her head darted forwards. She tore out its throat. She pinned it there, letting the water fill in. Watching it drown. Liking it.

    Her own chest heaving, she swallowed the chunk of flesh, glaring into the dark. Waiting for anything else.

    Nothing came at her. She was alone.

    And she still felt like she was being watched.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 30: Fungi

    Sometimes to see, you must first snuff out the light.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:14

    She panted, glaring down at her slain foe.

    Grab! Take! Consume! Her Instinct snarled from her gnashing teeth.

    The corpse of the enormous bat had started to drift towards the submerged edge of the walkway. Her hands full with the torch and her knife, she bent down again and bit into the clavicle of the beast, feeling her teeth jar against bone.

    Clamping down, getting a firm grip, she hauled her slain prey farther into the constructed cavern.

    Meat! So much! The back and shoulders. Her Instinct drooled from her own mouth as she kept an eye out for anything else. Needs a dry place!

    Need to get out of the water. She hadn¡¯t seen the bats, and didn¡¯t know what else she hadn¡¯t seen.

    Now that the sharp staccato fear had worn off, she was starting to notice more of the signs of neglect in the structure. Strange moss and mushrooms grew over the stones, pale in the slowly dying light of her torch. Several structures that looked as if they had been knocked over, their jagged remains not tasteful variance as she had first suspected.

    She almost staggered as she felt a series of deep gashes in the stone beneath her feet. She wondered what could possibly tear out stone like that with claws. It had to be that, the spacing was right, if incredible in size.

    She saved that question for later though. With no turnings and fire for light, her only option was to head forward. She wanted to butcher the thing in her jaws and eat for a bit. She continued to pick apart the strange smell of the space. It was mostly damp and dark, and the smell of wet bat was not helping much either. She focused on the subtler smells though.

    Death¡­ long sitting death¡­ like sun-bleached bones.

    Not the wet maggoty sweet smell of rotting meat. Nor that fresh earthbonian smell of blood, though that she smelled that too.

    A dryer smell.

    A disappointing smell. Or a warning.

    The torch started to flicker slightly, and she reached for a fresh one. She didn¡¯t want to be in the dark down here at all.

    I should wait¡­

    She felt her hindbrain focus her attention, ignoring the taste of fresh killed bat or the feeling of her blood dripping into the water. It was how it was ignoring the usual impulses that made her pause. It pulled her eyes to a pillar, half in the water, the portion above covered in the strange pale mushrooms. Something about them¡­

    Go to embers first¡­ Her Instinct hissed, still feeling a bit frantic, speaking from her chest with a rapid tempo. It didn¡¯t like the idea, but her curiosity in this place had infected it.

    The neonate felt that so long as there was an ember left, she could coax the next torch into flame. She kept moving forward, making sure to keep the dim light from the entryway in sight. She knew she could swim if she slipped heading back. She just hoped nothing in the water would come up to eat her. She didn¡¯t trust that the water was actually empty.

    The light grew dim, the flame eventually going out, leaving just the embers at the end of the stick. It was almost pitch black, she couldn¡¯t see.

    I need to light the next one!

    Wait! Adjusting. Wait.

    It took her a moment, a terrifying moment, but when her eyes did adjust she realized that she could make out things in the dark. The mushrooms were glowing with a pale blue light.

    That hue¡­ It was the same color as her bag¡¯s runes.

    She walked over to one, still dragging the dead bat, looking at it. It was long. About the length of her forearm, the stem as wide around as both her thumbs. The cap was about half the size of her palm.

    She sheathed the knife, plucking the fruiting body from the stone pillar. Spiraling shapeless lights, swirled around it, flashing and flaring even brighter than her torch had.

    Magic!

    Jerking she hurled it away from her. It lit up the dark with trails of light like darting dragonflies, flaring bright as it hit the flowing water before going totally dark.

    The soft sound of the tiny splash was drowned out by the constant roar of the water. She watched it for a moment before realizing that it had stained her fingers. They glowed now with that same blue luminescence.

    Visible! Her Instinct hissed from her hand, just under the offending stains. She tried to wipe it off on her side but the glow stubbornly remained.

    Is this permanent?!

    She started to panic.

    Some terrible curse that the plant had evolved.

    She dunked her hand into the water expecting to have to scrub herself viciously to get rid of it. In spiraling fractals the wet juice dissipated almost instantly. Relief washed over her mind as it washed away from her fingers. Her neck dripped blood into the water as well, her blood black in the dim glow of the fungi.

    I need to get out of this water, tend to my wound.

    Consume! Her Instinct demanded.

    She shifted to take out another torch out of the bag when she realized that the one she had been carrying had completely gone out. Starting to curse, her eyes fell back on the mushrooms.

    I wonder¡­

    Her Instinct watched curiously as she plucked another mushroom, dunking her torch into the water to cool the wire that remained with a sizzle. She smeared the freshly picked mushroom onto the pillar, well above the waterline. It left a long glowing line that lingered, steady as sunlight outside the occasional motes that zipped out of it.

    Good! Learn¡­ Caution, however. Her Instinct said after a moment of waiting to make sure the glow wouldn¡¯t dissipate.

    There was a new smell as well that made her think of lightning.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Ozone.

    She nodded, and with a glowing hand she picked several mushrooms and put them into her bag. As she did, the bag blazed into light. Not flickering or flashing like before, but steady. The bright spiraling symbols rotating through distinct lines of the same colored light.

    In the opposite direction? What did that mean?

    She realized that she didn¡¯t even need the torches. If she wanted, she could just smear herself with the mushrooms.

    No! Danger! Prolonged exposure! Her Instinct shouted.

    Well she could put them in the bag and hold it open as she walked. Or smear some on the spent torch.

    All that work, wasted.

    The bag suddenly stopped glowing as the mushrooms went dark. The neonate blinked, tongue flickering.

    The smell of ozone from the bag was gone.

    Reaching in to take one out of the bag to examine it, it crumbled as her claw brushed the plant¡¯s flesh. Each ashy part floating up into the air before completely vanishing, deteriorating away into non-existence.

    Magic¡­ Her Instinct whispered from her eyes.

    Did the bag¡­ eat them?

    Her Instinct and forebrain both shrugged.

    She picked the last one from the bunch, holding it in her hand as she sloshed forward towards the next exposed piece of stone and a fresh patch of mushrooms.

    She smeared one on each stone that was above the waterline, leaving a trail of light. Her hands and arms soon were also coated in the juices, so that she lit the way easily as she traveled. She tilted her head.

    Is the sound of water getting louder?

    Her Instinct filled her ears.

    She listened, it sounded like it was. The current of the water was growing stronger as well, pulling her forward from her ankles down.

    She had gathered as many mushrooms as she could carry in one arm, and it was by her light that she saw a shallow torrent pouring down another set of stairs. The neonate had to brace her feet firmly, dig her claws into the cracks between each stone, lest she be sucked down the stairs by the flow.

    At the bottom of the stairs there was an octagonal space. Pillars or posts were at each of the sides, and there was something that looked like dirt in the gloom as well.

    Consume¡­ Her Instinct sounded halfhearted.

    She didn¡¯t want to chance anything, but what else was she going to do.

    I¡¯ll run if something comes, I can see the way back now.

    Agreed.

    The sound of flowing water was incredible, so loud that it was a physical force. She had to use one clawed hand to descend, keeping the mushrooms and her bag out of the water as she went. The water was all flowing into a lattice of earthbone set in the floor, descending deeper still into a void.

    It left the center of the eight-sided space dry and out of the water. She could see that each side of the octagon was made by a set of stairs. Each of those led to a path.

    Cardinal directions. Her Instinct interrupted from her inner ear.

    The pillars, as it turned out, were carved figures, in a style she recognized from before, the detail becoming visible as she brought the mushroom-light closer.

    The Idol! Her eyes went wide.

    The feeling of being watched intensified again.

    The gods¡­ this is their house. Her Instinct said, resonating in her chest.

    She wasn¡¯t sure how she felt about the gods. Tok had spoken briefly about them. It felt like she didn¡¯t have much to thank them for.

    She thought of her size. I¡¯ve been more cursed by them than blessed.

    She wouldn¡¯t be disrespectful though. Not out loud anyway.

    In the center of the space was an octagonal platform, a dais.

    Symbols and runes were carved along the edge, dark as the stones. Decorative geometry ran parallel to the runes, and atop the runes were piles of the earthbone disks, glittering strangely in the light of the mushrooms.

    She knew that the gods were the original Providers, and so in this space, so close to their idols, she should be safe. The neonate let the bat corpse fall, checking the wound at her neck, which had stopped bleeding.

    Have to clean that at some point though.

    Butcher! Now!

    I need more light, last thing I need is to cut open the stomach and ruin the meat.

    She felt the unseen eyes pulse, and she turned to face the statue that matched the idol she had dug out of Gix¡¯s grave.

    ¡°Both our purposes then.¡± She whispered, words silent in the roar of the water.

    The neonate coated each figure with the mushrooms, taking the time to highlight portions that she felt were the distinguishing aspects of each. She started with the one that matched her idol, the one that was on the side that led back to her territory and the thorns. She didn¡¯t spend too much time, but she did make sure that it wasn¡¯t a sloppy job either.

    As she finished, the feeling of being watched shifted slightly. The manner of the gaze becoming more relaxed.

    Eyes half lidded. She hissed, thinking of Tok. A sunshine yellow thought.

    The giant bat didn¡¯t take long to prepare, the matte black blade taking only moments to split it open. She was surprised at just how hungry she was as she tore meat off the bone, though she wasn¡¯t hungry enough to eat everything. She ate the organs apart from the intestines and stomach, letting those squelch wetly through the earthbone gratings.

    I wonder where it is draining. It had to be an incredibly deep space with that much water pouring down.

    She tore the last bit of the meat from the left humerus and placed the bone with the others in a neat little pile. She had saved the wing leather as well as the pelt, the skull, and the meat she hadn¡¯t eaten and placed it not quite on the pedestal, planning to come back later for it.

    As she did, her eyes were drawn by the pile of yellow earthbone disks. This close and now in the light, she could see that there were also other things there.

    More yellow earthbone, larger flat disks, rings of many sizes, from about as big around as her own fingers to as big around as her waist.

    More idols and other figures were there as well, glinting as she shifted to look. Most mesmerizing of all though was the earthblood, glittering stones of all colors, translucent and sparkling. They sent facets of light scattering all about the space.

    She ran her fingers through the things, taking care to not spill any, finding a red one, the color of purest power. It shone bright from the light of her painted hands.

    She didn¡¯t want to take it, just to stare into it for a moment.

    It was heavy, and the size of her head.

    Enthralling.

    Idiot! Distracted! Her Instinct snarled.

    She hissed and placed it back. The trinkets were pretty, but they were only that. They weren¡¯t tools, they weren¡¯t food, and they all would give away her position from their shine alone.

    That, and they belong to the gods anyway. Last thing she needed was the all-Providers chasing her down to make a point.

    Gentle as the rays of the sun, she felt it. Her tongue flickered out and she turned to the right, facing southwest.

    Wind.

    And not from the way I came either. It smelled fresh though.

    Pulling her knife back out, still coated in the glow of the mushrooms, she strode up the too large stairs and planted her feet against the flow of the water on the far side. She drew the black blade, taking the spent torch in her other hand, scanning for threats. She didn¡¯t see any.

    Means nothing. Her Instinct growled darkly from her knife hand, ready to thrust.

    Her Instinct tugged on her eyes, dragging them from their relentless scanning for threats, pulling her skull to face into that breeze. She could see that the way ahead eventually came out of the water.

    I have to look now. It might be a way out!

    She suddenly realized something else.

    After months of not being able to, and dealing with the bats, she had a long straight path. A place perfect for her to run. To sprint. To challenge herself to go ever faster! In complete safety!

    She hissed in pleasure and ran up the steps.

    Once she was out of the submerged section she dashed down the pathway, feet pumping. The freedom of just running full tilt with a full belly was exhilarating. She couldn¡¯t smell any creatures. None at all now that the bats had gone.

    The glow of the mushroom remnants let her see the places where she had to leap over missing sections of the bridge. The swirling motes chased after her from the pigment.

    She could hear the sound of pouring water getting quieter as she ran. She squashed each group of mushrooms she passed, leaving lights as she went. Both in the patches and her footprints for several steps after.

    Her tongue flickered out, and she slowed. Bright. Green. Full of familiar earthy smells. The air was definitely fresh. That could mean only one thing.

    There is another way out. No more thorns! But that came with a caveat. Also another way in. She¡¯d have to be careful using this path.

    Survive. Her Instinct pulled her eyes up for a moment, letting her forebrain take control back after satisfying the need of checking above her and seeing nothing.

    She slunk forward, wishing for a way to wash her body clean of the glowing mushroom pigment before she went up. But the stairs were dry, devoid of the water she had expected. But she didn¡¯t want to double back.

    I could use the rain and leaves as fast as I can. She could hear it again now, echoing down. Wash with those.

    Learn. Her Instinct hissed, tugging at her feet.

    This was a way to travel the island in secret. And depending where it came out on the island above, it could be incredibly useful. So up she went, trying not to be too hopeful that it would turn out well.

    She didn¡¯t want to be disappointed.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 31: Scavengers

    The dead have no need for anything they had in life, only heroes deserve to keep their skull so that we may remember them and their example.

    -From Vocationals: 1:14

    The neonate made her way up the dry steps.

    In the glow of the mushroom pigment on her body, she could see that there were stone reliefs here too. Knowing that, she could guess who was being depicted, smearing the wall periodically as best she could.

    Hopefully it will still be lit on my way back down.

    Her Instinct grunted in approval.

    It was definitely Haan-Kezk al¡¯Shezd. The God of war, of combat, of challenges, of blood and bloody deeds.

    Compete! Her Instinct whispered.

    Standing above the fray of a terrible battle between a single member of the brood, and something that was confusing to understand. Like the other side, the reliefs were broken and chipped, and the entirety of the strange beast was never complete. Sinuous like a snake sometimes, long clawed hands at others.

    The broodmember could be a Greenscale. The claws were the wrong shape though. Much too long, even with Slash as an example. She couldn¡¯t tell what color the eyes were meant to be either, but it hadn¡¯t been yellow.

    I don¡¯t know this story.

    She placed a hand on one of the carvings. The not-Greenscale lay bleeding on the ground, the entire section that would have depicted his foe crumbled and gone.

    Move. Her Instinct snarled from her tongue, which only detected old smells, no new ones. Now.

    It was good to know that nothing had come down the stairs recently. She continued up the steps, her claws scraping ever so softly. It was going to take some time heading back up.

    She had to be getting close. Her tongue flickered out, and she sniffed the air as well.

    Wet soil, lush ferns, and crisp rain. She heard a distant rumble of thunder.

    Definitely leads outside.

    Caution. Her Instinct hissed, filling her eyes and clawed hands. Looking at the luminescent pigment coating her.

    She gripped the hilt of her knife.

    I¡¯ll dive into the mud first. It¡¯d be the quickest thing to hide this bright color. She¡¯d scrub it off once she could be sure she had the time to.

    The breeze coming down was full in her face. The little predator tilted her head, sensing a change in the odor. The scent was getting more complex, and more familiar.

    Pillarwood bark. Perhaps near Ropemaker¡¯s territory?

    Reddish brown, darker blue-green in wide leaves. Her Instinct remembered in the far reaches of her hindbrain.

    Yellow flowers here and there. She shifted to the pattern, just a rough estimate, something to quickly adjust to best match that location. She shook her neck to crack it again, getting excited about returning to the outside.

    She had wanted to steal some more rope as well, perhaps catch Ropemaker using the dried tendons, learn that skill.

    When she reached the top, the neonate saw that the entrance was screened by thick foliage.

    The neonate crouched low, trying to slide through the plants without making any noticeable disturbance. She reached down in front of her to get mud to smear over the bright marks of the mushrooms.

    Her hand couldn¡¯t find ground!

    Her Instinct hissed smugly as it slid into her feet.

    She shuffled forward, looking through a gap in the plants to see that the ground dropped away into the river. The flow was roaring past only fifteen feet below, pregnant with rain. Now that she could look out, she could see that the entryway was on a thin ledge.

    She thought back to the view from the tree in her territory, trying to match it with what she was seeing. There was another smaller island to the south, and another behind it that she couldn¡¯t see. After a moment of piecing it together she felt that sunshine hue fill her again.

    It¡¯s the other side of the flooded section!

    If the other pathways lead out to other areas like this one, she could increase the range she traveled to gather food. She¡¯d have to keep the entrances hidden, but they seemed to be doing that fine on their own.

    And I won¡¯t be seen going in. I¡¯ll make sure of that. She hissed quietly to herself.

    The rain had washed the majority of the mushroom off of the neonate, enough that she was comfortable shimmying along the ledge, keeping her back to the earthen wall above.

    She remembered Fisher, and the neonate was certain that the far island was where she had made her territory.

    Probably washed up over there. Had to get strong enough to swim over. That meant that she had been feeding herself without help from the Provider for the longest time out of all of them.

    Her Instinct grunted, agreeing with her forebrain¡¯s assessment.

    Something crawled onto her shoulder, scratchy chitinous legs. The black blade was in her hand, and she pinned the thing to the cliff of soil behind her.

    A poisonous centipede, garishly orange with teal spots arched back, mandibles reaching for the blade and her fingers.

    Speckled death. Hissing with distaste and frustration, knowing she couldn¡¯t eat the ten-inch-long thing, the neonate flicked it into the rushing waters below. The arthropod¡¯s ichor splattered on her shoulder only to be washed away by the rain.

    The malevolent thing stirred once more. It now had all it needed. But it would need some time. Not much, just enough. One last gambit. One last try. It needed to shift its focus regardless of the outcome. To Salkov.

    I need to get off of this ledge.

    Agreed. Her Instinct pulled on her eyes just long enough for her to see that there were many of the scavengers crawling up from their own burrows.

    She hissed again.

    Fortunately enough though, there were some roots to climb up just a little bit farther down. One of the bugs managed to bite her, venom stinging even as she retaliated by crushing it with a swing of her bitten tail.

    As she climbed the mangrove roots, she blended into the bark of the tree as the rain hammered down, not chancing Fisher or anyone else seeing her climb up.

    Once at the top, she poked her head over the roots very carefully, making her face the color of the river moments before she did. She was trying to spot landmarks.

    She found them.

    In the very mangrove tree she had climbed, the neonate saw bundles of thick cordage hanging in the branches. She stilled.

    Not moving, not even to breathe.

    Her bright yellow eyes were immediately shut. She knew where she was.

    Ropemaker¡¯s tree. She was at Ropemaker¡¯s tree. In daylight.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    I expected to be close, but this? If he was there he would attack as soon as he detected her. She had to come up with a plan. I¡¯ll wait, see what happens.

    She couldn¡¯t duck back down, that would give away the secret path, exposing her nest to the others.

    Her bitten tail itched. She didn¡¯t hear anything but the rain.

    With her eyes closed the neonate could imagine the crawling things below getting closer and closer. But she had to make sure he wasn¡¯t home if she was going to climb all the way up.

    After an age of hearing nothing, she decided to chance using her next sense as well.

    Her tongue flickered out, tasting the smells in the air for an instant.

    She knew that smell.

    Death¡­ Hatchling death.

    Carefully¡­ Her Instinct filled her snout and tongue, resting there gently.

    She cracked her eyes open, climbing up, one clawed hand over the other. Her fingers were trembling as she got closer.

    I killed One-eye. It is dead.

    The neonate focused on each action to try and cope with the memories and fear. She got away from the ledge and all the Speckled Death Centipedes. Their presence in such multitude now clear to her.

    Scavengers.

    Keeping her eyes mostly closed, the Greenscale peaked around the side of the trunk, pressed against the tree to best disguise her silhouette.

    Frayed, sliced, and tattered lines hung limp in the rain. Ropemaker¡¯s nest was wrecked.

    As she opened her eyes wider, she spotted a dark stain on the trunk. Blood, long dried. Staining the wood so completely that no amount of rain could wash it away. Fragments of bone, stark white against the brown of the mud, were scattered there.

    Ropemaker died here.

    Four holes pierced the bark under the tied roof of leaves and branches at the epicenter of the blood splatter, more centipedes probing for any remaining carrion. She slunk forward slowly, looking around for any of the others.

    The centipede snapped at her, bold with their bright poisonous coloring and she pulled back before fighting through the impulse. She wasn¡¯t going to get close enough to get stung again.

    The tree too had been harmed. She ran a hand along deep claw marks in the bark, touching another long-dried spatter of blood, smaller than the other. Her tongue flickered out. She fought down panic for a moment. Remembering the last time she had smelled that. The last time she had run from that smell.

    The thing that haunted her nightmares.

    One-eye¡­ the monster¡­

    Running. Fleeing. Terror in the night. She couldn¡¯t help but remember it.

    She started to pant, standing in the ruins of Ropemaker¡¯s nest, gasping. Her heart racing.

    Claws, sharp, serrated, painful. She looked at the slashes in the tree, remembering how they had slashed into her flesh. Her muzzle ached with phantom pain.

    The toothy maw of the world started to shut around her.

    He is dead! Dead! I killed him. I killed him!

    Lightning lanced through the sky as thunder snapped loud enough to rattle her bones.

    Her Instinct jumped to the fore. Was weak. You killed the killer. He died.

    She swallowed. Some yellow returned to her mind at the complement, flowing out from her hindbrain. Still needing a distraction, she climbed up into the nest proper. Hoping to leave the signs of the violence behind.

    She wasn¡¯t lucky in that regard.

    The organized piles had been scattered about, and a lot of it had been destroyed, but there was still more that was untouched. Ropemaker had been truly prolific in his production.

    I can use all of this¡­

    The dead don¡¯t need possessions. Her Instinct quoted from her hands as she sheathed her blade and started uncoiling the cordage from the branches.

    The neonate tied the bundle of rope to itself, leaving enough extra to tie it to the strap of her bag, which was when she noticed that it was soaking wet, and not glowing. She blinked, opening it and feeling the inside.

    It was dry.

    Mushrooms! Fed the bag! More sunshine yellow, bright as buttercups. Finally, some good luck! Finally, something that didn¡¯t cost her something dear.

    She looked up at the tendons that had been left to dry. Only a few were missing. She snatched them, shoving them into the well-fed bag.

    I need to travel the other paths below. She was delighted that she now had a safe way to travel though the island, all centered around her tree.

    Thrive!

    Find the other nests, raid them for supplies in the night. No more scrounging for scraps. And no more passive survival.

    Good.

    Thin cordage for snares, heavier line for lashings and general use, and netting all were taken and tied or stuffed into the bag. She had to use her knife to get the netting, tied as it was to the tree.

    The neonate still had space in her bag for something else, so she looked for more dried tendons. After checking everywhere else, she slowly lifted a section of tied roof. The leaves had wilted and browned and she winced as some fluttered to the ground.

    Take care idiot! Visible!

    She looked under the fallen roof. There was something new to the neonate there.

    A device of stone, tendon and wood.

    An ax! She looked at the shape of the stone head, how it was chipped down from a larger stone, shaped. It explained the stone flakes Ropemaker had used to butcher the Rous.

    It too was covered in blood. Her tongue flickered out. One-eye¡¯s blood from the smell. She stuck it out into the rain, and it washed free. It hadn¡¯t sunk in like the blood on the trunk.

    Thunder rumbled off in the distance.

    The wood wasn¡¯t Pillar wood, bright and almost the color of bone. It was dark, almost a reddish brown, with heavy rings in it. It had been smoothed somehow, and fit well in her hand. The other end was split, which she assumed to be for holding the ax head.

    Looking again at the hue of the wood, the neonate thought might be bloodoak wood.

    The fibers of the tendon were loose and dry, and had been pounded flat with something and were wrapped around the split of the handle.

    Wet them! Her Instinct insisted, yanking at her hand and pulling it towards the ax. Tie them tight!

    It was so vehement that she did what she was told before she realized she was doing it, moving away from the blood and centipedes, and out into the rain. The fibers took in the moisture readily.

    Gripping them, she wound them tight around the bottom with the stone head in the notch. Her instinct guided her. She wound the fibers around and around, lashing the head tight to the handle, closing the split above as well with a tight knot, tucking the excess under one of the loops as she did.

    The work done, she hefted it. It was heavy. She gave it a swing, and it felt good. A new tool.

    A second weapon. Her Instinct insisted from her palm.

    It was the answer to the question she had posed about how to improve the hand ax. How long had that been? She thought about it.

    Two cycles?

    Had it only been that long? It felt like it had been longer, especially with everything that had happened since then.

    Distraction, idiot! Focus!

    She turned to leave, and spotted some stone flakes on the ground, partially obscured by part of the bark pile. Picking them up she looked at the head of her new ax.

    With a quiet high-pitched grinding sound, she found where each one of the flakes fit against the stone ax head. Studying how it had been made. They were so consistent and delicate. Not like the time she had knapped stone.

    How?

    Two. Her Instinct answered, annoyed in her eyes and already looking.

    She found the other stone, a round one, and it also fit well in the hand. It didn¡¯t seem any different than the hammerstone she had used.

    No. More, keep looking.

    She found the femur of a rous, knowing the shape from her trapping and eating of the strange creatures. From the shape of the joint, it looked like it too had been used to shape the tool.

    Hits the edge with this, gentler, finer shaping¡­ Her Instinct said, shifting into her hands.

    One held the ax, the other had the femur. She held the bone hammer against the head, angling the head and seeing how each flake must have come off. Trying to improve her own skill through study.

    She put the hammer stone and the rous bone into her now bulging bag. Some thin cordage worked as a loop for the ax to hang from her belt. Not wanting to overburden herself, she headed back out into the rain.

    It still didn¡¯t flash or flicker, and she marveled at it. Having that would make it so much more useful in the days to come.

    Now though, laden with her new treasures, she quietly made her way back to the entrance back to the temple, walking behind the leaves and plants and heading down once again.

    She glanced around, pulling her eyes away from looking down and admiring her new ax for just a moment when she was back in the temple.

    The glowing marks she had smeared onto the wall of the stairs had only been faintly glowing. The little predator was surprised and pleased to see that her more substantial marks down below were just as bright as they had been earlier. She saw there were still mushrooms on the floor.

    Might as well add to them on my way back.

    She waited until after she had moved down the path, far enough away from the stairway. Wanting no doubts in her mind about any of the light filtering to the outside. Night was coming soon, and she needed all of the light to stay down in the temple.

    Last thing I need is for Fisher to see the light and come looking.

    Her Instinct bristled. I have two deadly weapons. Kill!

    She hissed pensively, bending over to pick up another mushroom from her path.

    Eyes!

    The feeling of being watched had returned.

    She crouched low, pulling out her knife and ax.

    The neonate stared into the temple, her tongue flickering out as she leaned forward, scanning what she could see of her horizon in this blackness.

    Danger!

    She could feel it. Something physical, not just a nebulous feeling of trepidation and unease. Stalking her.

    Danger! Her Instinct was louder this time.

    It was more than bats.

    Where is it?

    Her tongue flickered out.

    Idiots don¡¯t look up! Her Instinct shrieked.

    Her scales flashed into the dirty yellow and off white of pure dread. It cascaded into her. Just at the edge of her hearing, there was something.

    Without thinking the neonate dove to the left.

    She felt something she couldn¡¯t see swing through the air where she had just been! It was almost entirely silent. And the space was brightly lit by the mushroom pigment.

    She scrabbled along the ground on all fours, needing to make space, not believing that something invisible was after her. She bruised her knuckles as she did, holding tight to her pair of weapons.

    She got to another pillar and planted her back firmly against it, too rattled to acknowledge the mesmerizing size of the construction. She stared into the black, eyes as wide as they could go.

    She saw absolutely nothing.

    Her tongue flickered out.

    There it was, the sour stink of stagnant meat. So rotten that it was almost a smell of anaerobic mud, but still too sharp, not blunt like the smell of a bog.

    Does it have camouflage? Where is it?

    She pressed harder against the column and scanned more carefully in all directions. She was now close enough to the flooded sections. The echoes of the flowing water rendered her hearing just as useless as her sight. She tasted the air again, forcing the fork in her tongue to spread wide. One tip sensed something.

    Right side!

    She rolled left again. Something tore into the pillar. Sparks danced like stars in the darkness. The pillar was marred with deep grooves now. And still she saw nothing.

    It¡¯s between me and the way out! She hissed, not knowing what to do!

    Run!

    And she ran! Sprinting along the dried-out path towards the center octagon.

    Bending low.

    Tail stiff.

    Toeclaws clacking as fear gave her speed.

    More sparks sprayed behind her, her sudden shadow in the depths and horrible screech of claws on stone telling her as much.

    The crossroads. Need to get to the crossroads!

    It was brighter there with the mushroom painted statues of the gods. Room to maneuver. She needed to see.

    It would at least give her a chance at life if she could only make it there.

    Survive.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 32: Abomination

    The smoothskins know not that they pervert the natural into the unnatural. And are so arrogant that they think that they are the only ones doing this.

    -From Canticles: 3:7-8

    I wanted to help her. I really did. But I¡¯m stuck, as ever, and I had to deal with a¡­ let¡¯s call Him another person sitting at the table.

    She will overcome. Or she will die. I hate how he talks.

    You know, this is why I don¡¯t like you Maruc. Especially when the Scaled worship you.

    Silence, thief. Watch from your cell. She must prove to ME that she is worth MY notice.

    Good luck, kiddo. Maruc pinned me in my prison, so you¡¯re on your own for this fight.

    Should¡¯ve known it was too good to be true! Why would anything in my life be easy?

    All the free things, Ropemaker dead, not being caught by anyone like Biter, Slash, or Fisher. The bait to lead her into the snare the world set for her.

    Distraction! Run!

    Something scraped behind her, tiny splashes in the water. Clicking. The splashes were getting closer, the unnatural terror catching up!

    What the fuck is it even? She was panting, sprinting forward away from the thing. Damn my Instinct for not-

    Sparks from the invisible aberration scattered towards her, burning against her skin. Keen grains of pain that made her yelp as she rolled out of the way of the invisible slash from the beast.

    RUN!

    She was going all out, the wind at her back. She kept having to turn her head though. She didn¡¯t expect to see it, but she needed to smell it. She had never needed to use her smell so precisely before though.

    Look up idiot! Her Instinct boiled with scorn. She dodged left, claws scraping.

    Something sharp as death sliced through the scales of her left arm.

    Fuck! Too late!

    The pain took a second to register, but when it did, blood followed. It spattered onto the scarred walkway, black in the ethereal blue light as she staggered back. She snarled, pressing a hand over the wound as she turned to sprint away.

    The thing smelled like hot earthbone. Like rotting eggs. Like danger.

    The neonate almost dropped the knife before she forced her fingers to clench with a snarl, her wound stinging as muscles went taut.

    The center! Need to get to the center! There would be room to maneuver there.

    Her tongue flickered out, and she sensed it swiping at her again. She dodged right this time, and it missed her. She had spotted the tip of the enemy weapon. It was stained with her blood.

    Ax! Now!

    Snarling the neonate lifted the stone weapon. She swung it laterally. Guessing where the center of mass was.

    Crack!

    A solid hit! It jarred her hand painfully. Ignoring that she followed up with the matte black blade. No blood or ichor, no resistance.

    Missed, dammit.

    Despite that, she thought that she had made the invisible thing move backward, making an educated guess based on where her blood floated in the air. It was almost black in the bright blue light.

    That¡¯s it!

    She ran again, heading at an angle now. She stayed on the right side of the pathway.

    Stay out of reach¡­ Don¡¯t flee though. She didn¡¯t want this thing to sneak up on her in her nest in the night. Invisible and deadly. Need to kill it.

    She could smell the thing following on the cross breeze that had guided her out. It was catching up.

    I can almost hear it.

    The neonate thought it was something like a dry scraping sound, but as she ran the water flowing down only got louder. It could just be her adrenaline talking. She skidded to a halt, keeping her back to it as she was lit brightly from below.

    Come on, you freak. Tasty meal right here. She swallowed convulsively.

    Live! Her Instinct screamed, irate with fear.

    She waited, listening. Sniffing and tasting the air as well.

    Not yet¡­

    Not yet¡­

    Reeking death!

    Now!

    She spun, scooping low with the flat of the ax. Mushrooms, brilliant azure in the dark, sailed through the air. Arcane sparks, spiraling trails, and random shapes trailed from nearly two dozen of them in a wide arc.

    Several splattered into and bounced off of something she couldn¡¯t see. Like an earthblood gem, the light of the stain reflected and refracted through the creature¡¯s body. It was hideous, insectine, and unnatural.

    Eyeless, it had huge now luminescent mandibles. They opened wide, revealing armored fingerlike mouthparts that wriggled wetly. She could see one of its powerful shoulders, plated with spiked exoskeleton.

    Its head twitched as the mushrooms landed behind it.

    Listening¡­ She moved slowly, placing her foot down.

    It turned to face her, mouthparts wiggling faster, making her jump.

    It lunged, arms spread wide!

    She ducked under it now, swinging upwards with the ax.

    Crack!This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    It connected! Chipping carapace with a fiery spark in the gloom. Fractal light reflected into her eye as she was nearly knocked off the platform by something that was still invisible.

    What?

    The abomination writhed. Its arms were long and thin, like a mantis. It spread them, wiping at itself, only spreading the mushroom glow more. It didn¡¯t have grabbing pincers. It had hands. Long, knobbly, with sharp talons.

    And Thumbs. Her eyes bulged in horror.

    It had the gift of Baha¡¯an! That could only mean-

    Sentience! She stepped back a step in horror. That thing could think?!

    Then the similarities became obvious to her.

    A torso, but stretched far out of proportion, stretched like a hide. Skin instead of chitin there, tight over bony ribs where she could see them with the glowing pigment. The hint of scales.

    Someone cursed!

    The light exposed what looked like the digestive tract, the organs. Coiled ropes of sickly yellow intestine. The heart pumped within the chest arrhythmically.

    But the similarities only served to make the differences more horrible to behold. The chitin, the eyeless head, the proportions wrong, shell and bones at once. And the thing didn¡¯t have legs. Instead, the elongated torso burst out of the body of a colossal centipede. Skittering feet. Thick chitin armor.

    An amalgam that should not be.

    The glow didn¡¯t spread far enough to expose the whole thing, but it was huge. Almost seven feet tall. So much larger than her. Something prickled in the back of her mind about that.

    In pure silence it turned, not facing her, as if it was searching.

    A stone fell from up above and splashed into the water flooding the temple, barely audible over the roaring water and echoes. The monster still twitched towards the noise, dripping mouthparts wiggling, before refocusing on her. Skittering silently forward to continue its attack.

    She could see it now though. The neonate dodged easily away from it. She sidestepped one slash. She leaped over another.

    Need time to think. The flow of blood from her arm had slowed, but it hadn¡¯t stopped yet.

    She chose heft over nimbleness. Her ax came down.

    Bang!

    It connected solidly, chipping the exoskeleton again, but not breaking through. And the abomination¡¯s head rolled, as if it had hurt. Fingerish mouthparts wiggling, not slowed by the strike at all, mandibles snapping in rage.

    No! She snapped her jaw in frustration. Its shell is too thick. Even if it had hurt the thing it wasn¡¯t injured. It wasn¡¯t dead.

    The neonate stabbed at the monster¡¯s chest with her knife, but it was too quick for her, retracting away like it was an angry spirit, only its clattering feet made it clear that it was physically there.

    The other taloned hand swept upward, its fingers splayed. She leaped back in surprise.

    Pain!

    Her leg this time.

    Ignore, thin cut. Focus.

    It brought the clawed hand to its face, mouthparts opening and wriggling as it tasted her blood. Wrapping around the claw grossly.

    Not like this.

    Live! Fight! Kill!

    I need a different plan.

    Find the weakness! Her Instinct hissed.

    Blue tinted light shone in her eyes for a moment. The torso coiled backwards, the centipede body still moving closer.

    ¡°What?¡± She didn¡¯t hear her own question in the roar of the descending rainwater. What is it doing?

    She didn¡¯t understand, backing away, left arm and right leg both throbbing painfully. The chitinous legs skittered faster. Coiling the beast.

    Like a serpent! It was going to lunge forward.

    Defense is attack! Ears! Her Instinct gnashed. She understood. Sound. Fight back with sound!

    She scraped the ax against the ground just before leaping behind a pillar, lifting her toes so she landed silently on the stone.

    Come on, strike the pillar! It was blind, surely this would work.

    To her dismay, it didn¡¯t. The abomination paused for just a moment, mouthparts wriggling wetly. It skittered around the side of the pillar, moving so much faster than she had believed possible.

    She leaped over it, having to spin to avoid the talons. They gouged into the floor, sparking like earthbone.

    It¡¯d slice my legs off at the knees!

    She struck out again with the ax as she did so.

    Bang! She chipped the carapace! She could see a nick in it, shimmering strangely through the ugly clear body.

    How did it know? She had leaped and landed in the echo of the ax.

    Did it sense the pillars somehow? Or did it have a map in its head? Or was it something else?

    Distraction! Fo-

    She ducked under another strike, one of the claws slicing along her thigh. She hissed in pain and slammed her will against her Instinct.

    How does it sense me?! She knew that her best chance would be ambush, but how did you ambush a thing that knew where you were at all times?

    Adapt. Her Instinct whispered with satisfaction and the tiniest smidgen of apology. It hovered around the stampeding rhythm of her heart. It was glad she had figured out the problem on her own.

    She snarled at it, regretting the noise instantly and ran, her three toed feet pounding, claws clacking on the stone.

    It lashed forward, long arms extended to either side, fingers spread wide. Only her experience with snakes and their lightning speed saved her. She leaped up onto the pillar, clawing her way up with her first two fingers and thumbs. Gripping her ax and knife with the last two of each hand.

    Crash!

    The whole structure shook with the force of the thing crashing into the pillar, arms squeezing, claws digging in horribly, tips screeching against the stone. The limbs were so long that even wrapped around the pillar the fingertips clattered against the armor on the monster¡¯s back.

    She scrambled higher, her own claws scraping. It looked up. Its articulated legs scraped on the stone floor, piling into itself. The talons and mandibles squealed shrilly against the pillar. Nails on a slate. Both sparked bright orange in the surreal gloom of the mushroom glow, shaking the pillar even more. It seemed dazed, staggering to one side, one horrible hand clutching to the pillar to not fall in the water.

    Now!

    She leaped from the pillar, landing in a roll. Her legs screamed as blood flowed from her wounds. Fore and hindbrain mixed into a confusing inelegant jumble as she fell to her hands and knees.

    Survive! Ignore everything but staying alive! I have to! Must! I must live! FIGHT!

    The little predator forced herself to her feet and ran. She could see the statues clearly, and she put her knife in her mouth to free her left hand. She wanted the ax in her right, it had more reach, so it needed to be wielded by her uninjured arm.

    She was near the edge, almost at the top of the steps down.

    The neonate focused her mind towards where she thought the Gods were. Help or get out of my way! She prayed, too stressed for something less antagonistic. Why would the gods pay attention to such backhanded prayers? No matter, it was done.

    She gave a little hop to set her feet and tail, landing on the lip of the stairs down.

    Like the trees!

    Biting down on the flat of the blade, she leapt with everything she had and more. A burst of energy that lanced through her legs and tail as she used all three in her mighty leap.

    She soared through the air.

    Silent as time.

    Landing on the idol of Haan-Kezk al¡¯Shezd.

    She clambered up to the top of it, facing the abomination as it followed close behind. Left hand gripping the idol, the neonate¡¯s right hand lifted the stone ax high.

    I leaned forward, on the edge of my seat, pressing against Maruc who also watched with an intensity that the kiddo could sense. Still holding me back. Frustrating me to no end. I still couldn¡¯t help my favorite neonate of the era, and I knew Maruc would just watch how it played out.

    More eyes! Instinct gnashed.

    She ignored them. Bats or gods, it didn¡¯t matter. She had to kill this thing.

    The brighter light of the idols painted with the mushroom residue made the abomination easier to see.

    It traveled low to the floor. Taloned hands making it look like it was dragging itself along. It was clearly following her scent, mouth-fingers finding each drop of blood as it went.

    It reached the point where she had jumped from the stairs onto the idol. It reared like a mantis, head turning this way and that. The mandibles snapped, opening wide enough to encircle her before snapping again in frustration.

    It has the same mannerisms.

    The mouthparts wiggled, and she could hear them sliding and clattering together. Saliva of some kind splattered onto the stairs from them, gross in how much there was.

    She took her blade out of her mouth, standing on the shoulder of the idol. She spat something bitter from her mouth. Something that was on the blade? The neonate glanced at it, seeing it shone wetly with something dark green. It looked like bog water.

    This is important. Why? She glared at the beast, not looking away for long.

    Same as Tok. Same as the path. Something obvious that her frazzled nerves wouldn¡¯t let her comprehend. The Greenscale thought furiously. Crouched low, waiting, knowing that something would happen presently.

    Its arms shot out! Extra joints she hadn¡¯t known about surprising even her with their speed. She staggered back, but couldn¡¯t get far. She was at a lethal height.

    The talons skewered her sides and she snarled in pain as she felt something on the left puncture inside her. Hot, searing, acidic.

    Infection! Her Instinct bellowed, full of fear.

    The beast yanked her off of the idol, its hands were painfully cold, like something long dead, draining the warmth from her. She hacked at it with ax and blade as blood poured down her sides. Pain racked her as something within burned. She kicked at its second pair of wrists with her toeclaws.

    ¡°Damn you!¡± She screeched, voice echoing in the dark, not caring it was high pitched like prey. It didn¡¯t twitch, though it did with every strike.

    That. Focus. Why?

    The mandibles snapped, then spread wide and locked. Level with her neck.

    No!

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 33: Twice

    Death isn¡¯t always simple.

    -From Canticles: 1:8

    <hr>

    Such a shame. Your weakling will die.

    I almost lashed out at Him, but I like living sooooo, I didn¡¯t. I got crafty instead.

    ¡°Care to wager on that?¡±

    For what, thief? You have NOTHING!

    After wincing into next century at the volume, I realized I had to tempt Him, so it had to be risky for me.

    ¡°Oh, bragging rights. And all of my followers.¡± I made a point to list two things.

    DONE.

    Got to love a meathead like Maruc, agreeing before I even said what I would get out of it. He didn¡¯t even give me a chance to change my mind. I wouldn¡¯t have. You¡¯d think with the Fae being a thing¡­ whatever, anyway¡­ I believed in the Kiddo. Hells, even Gods have faith in some things. She had the key to my release, after all.

    <hr>

    The neonate slammed the ax down, jarring the one set of talons free, cracking the exoskeleton. Blood gushed out of her, but she fought to stay conscious.

    The matte black blade sparked against the shell of the forearm. She stabbed again, seeing the mandibles tremble. The point found a gap, sliding in easily into the first joint.

    Thick wet translucent ichor spattered onto the idol below. The little predator fell, the monster flinging her against the war god¡¯s idol, nearly knocking the blade from her hand.

    The abomination¡¯s body flickered into opaqueness, dark brown for moments before going clear once more. The Ichor did the same, the translucent dark green ooze spattering onto the ground, remaining visible after.

    The reek of death billowed from the monstrosity as it writhed in agony.

    ¡°Weakling.¡± She spat, all the more frustrated when it didn¡¯t respond to the taunt.

    The neonate knew pain well now. She glared as she picked herself up from the ground, staggering only once as blood mixed with the ichor. Her chest heaving painfully as she gasped for air.

    Chipped ribs.

    She ignored that. Diagnosis was only important if she didn¡¯t die. Besides, she knew what to do now.

    It¡¯s the knife. Not the ax. On the joints. She glared at the stuttering heart, knowing it was her target.

    Kill!

    She hopped backwards into the center of the statues, landing on the dais. The neonate winced in pain as she landed, careless of the earthbone trinkets and disks that she scattered onto the floor.

    As the disks and shiny stones bounced and clattered along the floor, the creature¡¯s head shifted and twitched. Its uninjured hand shot out to snatch at the ground, the fingers so wide she had to dodge in between a pair of them or be grabbed once more.

    More earthbone scattered to the floor and its eyeless head darted towards them, mandibles snapping.

    Like the mushrooms!

    What?

    It had only twitched towards them before, what was different now? It was blind so it wasn¡¯t the color. Then she realized.

    The earthbone is heavier!

    The taunt. Her Instinct hissed from her own ears.

    It can¡¯t hear? Then how- Sudden understanding flowed into her. How it twitched at each blow, the way it sensed things. Noting collisions.

    Vibrations! Like a spider.

    She understood! Forcing her body into action, wounds screaming as she stumbled in the pile of shining earthbone, foot pushing through to the solid dais below. The beast spun, lashing forward. She had to leap over grasping hands.

    She landed higher up on shifting drifts of earthbone, and staggered even more. She didn¡¯t lift her feet, but shuffled them, knocking over drifts of the treasure. She hoped it would be like hiding in the foliage. A cacophony of colors obscuring her movements.

    The swipes of the monster became less accurate. It landed a thin slice along her one shoulder. A nick near the tip of her tail. But she got closer to its torso. She lashed out with the matte black blade. The tip sliced along the fleshy chest of the beast.

    It writhed in pain, its body once again flickering into opaqueness, the ichor that touched the blade staying that disgusting dark green.

    There! Between the back and the centipede body!

    She rolled around one of the hands, which slammed down blindly into the pile of treasure, staying low. She stabbed into the gap there, forcing upwards. Uncoiling herself as if she were a viper bursting out of the ground. The blade sank in deep.

    The abomination coiled around itself, almost catching her. She had to leap off of the plates of its back to get away.

    The neonate stumbled and fell flat as she landed, her one toe screeching in pain.

    Damn you! Stand!

    She snarled, forcing herself back up again. The reek of her own blood joining the ichor. She wasn¡¯t done. Not by a long shot. Not until that thing was dead at her hand.

    Thunk!

    Something stabbed deep into her shoulder. The neonate bellowed, back arching away from whatever it was. She couldn¡¯t see it. There was something else to the monster! Something was pumped into her shoulder! Searing pain followed by horrifying numbness.

    A third limb with a sting.

    Venom!

    She was going to die.

    Kill!

    Unresponsive fingers dropped the ax.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I won¡¯t die quiet. Not down in this useless hole!

    She snapped her head towards her shoulder. Jaws wide.

    All my work, wasted.

    Her teeth bit into the invisible weapon. She could feel its shape.

    I haven¡¯t even been named yet.

    She bit farther down, past the armored bulb, finding the joint. The neonate yanked and wrenched her head back and forth, snarling.

    Even if I live, I might lose this arm.

    The stinger she couldn¡¯t see slid out of her with a fresh spray of blood.

    Rage boiled inside. No, righteous fury! Her skin snapped into the red and black, the patterns the most complex she had ever made. Patterns that were for her and her alone.

    It isn¡¯t over. Not until I say so!

    Snarling, the neonate hacked down again and again and again with her knife. The pain lancing through her injured left arm ignored. Chitin sparked. The beast flickered, writhing, her body getting jerked around because she wouldn¡¯t let go.

    She snarled, spotting a gap in the armor in the crystalline refractions. She wrapped her legs around the sting, dug in her toeclaws. Her knife hacked and hacked, chopping at the joint.

    The bulb, splattered with her blood so she could see it, twisted and turned, trying to find an angle to pump in more venom.

    Snap!

    Her jaws clamped down on the pointed bulb at the joint, pinning it. It wouldn¡¯t sting again. Her left arm was bleeding, her right arm was dangling nervelessly, flopping about. Somehow painful even while the injury was numb.

    Fight! Her Instinct howled, blazing like the morning sun with pride.

    She plunged her blade in deep, sawing, cutting through dense connective tissue. The odd tail-limb tried to fling her free. And she did. But only after sting did, still pumping venom the color of stale urine. Completely visible now that it had been removed. Her grip slipped, and the neonate smashed into the stairs painfully.

    Stand! Her Instinct screamed.

    It was hard to. Everything hurt. She was so tired. Luckily the beast was distracted by its own pain, writhing about and slamming into the massive painted idols. Spraying ichor out of its tail.

    She had no way of knowing just how much had been pumped into her system, but if she was this dizzy¡­ She started to fall off of the dais.

    No! Vibrations!

    Clarity returned in that instant of terror just as she jerked to a halt.

    The rope she had on her bag had caught on a statue made of the yellow earthbone. It was in the shape of one of the brood, reaching towards the sky. The rope had tangled around the arms of it, its weight jerking her to a stop when she had run out of line.

    She could see the abomination writhing in pain, jerking back and forth. Then it started grabbing great handfuls of the earthbone trinkets and tossing them out of the octagonal central space.

    It can think¡­ Her Instinct said drunkenly from her shoulder. She looked at the wound, expecting to see herself standing there in the oozing orange pus. She almost thought she did.

    Her Instinct jibbered in fear at the amount of venom in her system. She would probably die. She felt sleepy, her eyelids heavy. Fighting to stay awake, to not just flop backwards, to die right there, it was hard for the neonate to find hope.

    She saw the creature get control of its rage. She struggled to focus on it. It swept its hands from side to side, searching for her. The mouthparts clacked angrily, its drool joining the spattering liquids on the floor. It was heading right towards her, away from the earthbone figure, Ropemaker¡¯s rope trailing over the central dais to her bag.

    Live fool!

    She drunkenly appraised the space between the figure and the dais. She took the rope back up again in her one working hand. The abomination was closer now. It was being methodical in its search.

    I¡¯m the smartest one in the room. She felt the shadow of sunshine yellow fill her thoughts at that.

    She pulled as hard as she could, feet sinking into the treasure, pulling even harder as they reached the bottom. The abomination twitched, mandible snapping loudly, coiling. She gave one last heave!

    Clang!

    The yellow earthbone figure fell with a loud ringing chime. The beast redirected and lashed forward towards the decoy. She dropped the rope and pulled her feet free of the disks and earthblood stones.

    Her vision was wavy.

    Succeed! Fight!

    She forced herself to focus. The knife was inverted in her hand, point down, her thumb on the pommel.

    She leapt one last time.

    She crashed into its back. Her teeth latched onto its neck, not piercing the flesh. The mandible snapped loudly, mouthparts clicking.

    This close it had a familiar smell.

    The long hands moved towards her as the stump of its tail smashed into her back over and over, trying to use venom it no longer had.

    The talons found her, scratching painfully into her back to try and pull her off.

    The matte black blade slammed down into the armpit, towards the beating heart of the monster.

    It writhed, becoming opaque as it threw her off with enough force to bounce her off of one of the idols painfully. She thought that her shin was broken. Her blade had sunk deep into the armpit. The tip piercing the pumping organ.

    It continued to writhe. The elongated form knocking all the piles of oddments aside. Each time it did so the claws swiping and sending more things scattering about which only made it swipe in even more of a frenzy. Attacking the movement while she quite happily laid there, wallowing in her pain.

    It started to slow, its back end curling as the torso fell onto the dais, and finally became completely opaque. The flesh was a sickly green color, dead, rotting already, starting to slough off of blackened endoskeleton.

    Pain scraped against her very soul.

    She whined, one hand pressing to her one side.

    The other she couldn¡¯t move.

    It did nothing to abate the pain.

    She could smell her own guts.

    Infection. Dull fear tried to compel her. It was all too much.

    Punctured internal organs. Broken bones. What little sense of accomplishment ruined by her own idiotic need to win.

    Feeling is a good sign right now¡­ worried about your back. Guts too.

    She focused her attention to her back, which didn¡¯t feel great, but nothing felt great.

    Toes. Wiggle them.

    She did, stretching her neck uncomfortably to see. The one wouldn¡¯t but it was crooked in its brokenness.

    She looked at her left arm and shoulder, both swollen and discolored. Even her fingers bloated to the point of immobilization. They had become unrecognizable grubs with only one mandible.

    The eyes of the doomed neonate slid in their sockets. The horrible corpse was still there. The flesh of it had sloughed off of the shell, and she could see that there was an endoskeleton underneath some of the plates.

    All oddly visible in death. Realization filling her tired mind.

    It had camouflage.

    Her Instinct snorted. The thing was dead, why care? She had major injuries to-

    It had camouflage¡­ She had to know, had to see.

    Not like me. The snarl of her Instinct came from her nostrils.

    With a terrible effort she forced herself to her hands and knees, crawling to the monster. The smell was unbearable, making her gag. A fetid almost fermented reek. Yeasty. Sharp. Overwhelming.

    Familiar.

    The head and shoulders of the corpse hung limply over the edge of the dais. Her answers lay there, but she needed to gather herself first before dealing with that.

    The sense of being watched, that judgmental set of eyes out of the wherever, was gone, fading behind the veil of reality.

    There was a jangle. She looked up, seeing another pile of the earthbone disks falling over on the other side of the dais. It was sinking. It had been waist high when she first saw it. Now it was only as high as her knees. A slow soft grinding sound that was hard to discern with the cacophony of the rainwater. She kept crawling, needing to know.

    She reached the head of the beast. The unnatural decomposition had made the shoulders and head break free of the main mass.

    The mouthparts and pincers were still horrible. The saliva was sticky, shining in the weird blue light. As she picked it up with her good hand, her claws sank too easily into the shoulder. The flesh of the skull oozed off.

    The rotting soup wriggled. Writhing. Full of maggots.

    Familiar maggots.

    No! Why?! It was strange to have her Instinct ask a question. A question her forebrain had suspected the answer too when she had time to wonder about it.

    The thing had been eyeless, but underneath that flesh she could see the shape of two eye sockets. She stared into them. One socket was cracked, a neat thin hole piercing the skull. The other had the mark of a claw, gouging out the bone.

    The claw of an infant.

    Her claw.

    ¡°One-eye¡­¡± She whispered and her Instinct reeled in horror.

    She flopped over to the stairs, panting as the dais continued to slowly sink. More and more of the abomination rotting away.

    It was too obvious now. The shape of the top of the head. The dimensions of the torso even stretched to the absurd degree they had been. The placement of the eyes. Even what was left of the snout under the new growths and joints.

    I have killed him twice.

    She looked up at each of the painted idols. Work she had done because she had felt like it. She wondered if this was a punishment for her killing him the first time.

    A runt like me denied life by the gods? Could that be so?

    Water roared all around her. Pain throbbed in her wounds.

    Survive.

    She closed her eyes, body aching, burning, bleeding. She wanted to rest, to not have to deal with the pain anymore. To not think about her punctured intestine. Her shattered ribs. Her mangled toes. The bloated thing that was once her shoulder.

    So, she let the darkness swallow her, just for a moment.

    Just to rest¡­ to take a break from the pain.

    Yellow eyes shifted, unfocused, vision swimming¡­

    Was that¡­ the abomination¡­ melting into the dais?

    No¡­ I¡¯m already dreaming¡­

    Black, dominant in all things, swallowed her world.

    Adapt.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 34: Light

    So be like fat, return with food. Be like teeth, regrow with time. Be like bone, mend with rest. And learn how to maintain your edge.

    -From Vocationals: 2:5-8

    Boom!

    It echoed throughout the temple and the Neonate¡¯s eyes snapped open. Louder than the flowing water. Loud enough to make her wonder if those on the surface had heard it. Deep enough to rumble in her chest, her broken ribs stinging with it.

    Boom!

    Again, it resonated. The symbols around the dais were lighting up, coming out from under the horrible corpse and traveling around the edge of the platform.

    She watched, determined to see this one last thing. The glow bright and richly yellow and a bright green like sun through the leaves, wavering back and forth between the two.

    The joyous light that lit the runes in the stones spread to the corners of the octagon, shifting into contentment and back again faster and faster.

    Boom!

    Back away. Her Instinct hissed deliberately from the souls of her feet, yanking her up and making her take a step backwards. The lights of the runes moved more quickly now.

    Boom!

    The neonate turned, staggering up the stairs now, clambering on all fours and gasping in pain, her blood spattering onto the ground. Light lit the runes under her feet as it spiraled upwards, faster and faster. Clenching her jaw with stubborn determination, the Greenscale made it out in front of them!

    Why? She was going to die anyway. Maybe that would be quicker?

    No! Move!

    Boom!

    She was sloshing through the water now, trying to get to the exit. Instinct driving her like prey in front of a hunting pack.

    Boom!

    She slipped and fell, sprawled painfully on the stones. The light shot past her and filled the chamber.

    Boom!

    She looked back. She had to know. To see. Eyes wide. Ready for whatever came next.

    Boom! Shhhhhhaaaow!

    <hr>

    A pillar of light!

    Octagonal.

    Precise.

    Unyielding.

    It shot up to the ceiling!

    Blinding in the gloom.

    And yet somehow,

    As if in spite,

    The neonate saw,

    With eyes screwed tight,

    The corpse did fall,

    Into the dais,

    Now opened wide,

    To nothingness,

    A gaping void of black.

    And down did it rain,

    A glimmering skein,

    Earthblood and bone,

    The treasures blown,

    Into the air,

    The path clear for her twice foe,

    Doubly slain.

    The offer taken,

    The dais then closed,

    Neonate shaken,

    Void no more exposed,

    Gentle as a hymn,

    Free of sin,

    The light pushed forth its golden glow.

    She sat in that din,

    Doubtful in,

    What would happen down here below,

    As it washed over her.

    Within the tide,

    She could not hide,

    From the grandeur of unknowable things,A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    No sense of dread,

    Her fear had fled,

    Replaced by the neonates¡¯ heartstrings,

    Humming in sympathy with the tune.

    <hr>

    The light faded. She panted, shaking, the water washing against her as she stared at where the pillar of light had been.

    Did¡­ did I just¡­ Please the gods? Or was it just the inherent magic of the dead creature being absorbed by the place? How could she know?

    Can¡¯t. It¡¯s called belief. I live for now.

    Her Instinct was right.

    So many questions, and no ready answers. She knew that Tok worshipped, but she was more dubious after this whole experience. From what he had explained of magic, it could also come across as deific.

    But what if it was real?

    She wasn¡¯t sure.

    Provider is devout.

    She grunted in the sudden comparative quiet of the temple. The rainwater flowing the only sound once more.

    It was his duty to guide them to the proper path and not allow them to stray from it. Would he have taught them about the Gods if it wasn¡¯t important? That was the real question.

    Better safe than sorry I suppose. Even if the Gods hadn¡¯t done this, thanking them wouldn¡¯t hurt.

    Her Instinct grunted in agreement as the neonate pulled herself to her feet, pushing with both arms to stand. She blinked, looking down to realize her arm wasn¡¯t swollen, the throbbing stinging pain gone.

    What? She blinked, looking at it.

    It was like she hadn¡¯t been stung at all.

    She flexed her fingers in wonder and started to take note of her body. It wasn¡¯t just her arm! All of her wounds were healed to one degree or another, her punctured intestine sealed, her broken bones knit, the multitude of lacerations and bruises soothed and smoothed away.

    Some remained, she would still have to spend time recovering. But she no longer had to worry being taken by Ravo in the night. Almost she could believe without suspicion, only the faintest remnant of that remained. She couldn¡¯t help it, it was a part of her very soul.

    Always a price. Her Instinct snarled darkly with flitting eyes.

    I will acknowledge this gift. She remembered what to do for this, memories of Tok¡¯s teachings about religion floating to the surface of her mind.

    She limped down into the octagon. She dug around the scattered trinkets, none organized anymore. Pushing some aside with her foot the little predator found her ax. Amazingly enough it was still in one piece. She took it in her healed hand, still holding the knife in the other.

    The neonate stepped up onto the dais. The runes still glowed, bright as daylight, steady and golden.

    There was a sense of held breath.

    A moment of decision.

    The neonate spread her arms wide above her head, weapons in hand. She fought through the pain of her remaining wounds as she lifted knife and ax high. She included all eight idols by swinging her arms back, before bringing them back in crossing her forearms.

    Embracing the gift of her life and weapons before them, embracing their grace and their mercy. She accepted the gift and favor of the gods. Bowing over her crossed arms, holding weapons to show her reverence.

    Her Instinct joined her, filling her body, her shadow within herself.

    I will pay more attention to my prayer, the ritual washing. It was a promise to the pantheon, but also one to herself. Never again would she skimp on such things so long as she had the space and safety to do so.

    No time like the present.

    She left her bag on a pile of the earthbone disks, planning to come back for both it and the rope after she was done with cleansing her body. She did take her weapons though, as both needed to be ritually cleaned with her. They were a part of her now, the same as tooth and claw. Up the stairs she went, into the water of the flooded space on the pathway.

    With the runes lit she could see that the flooded space below was even larger than she had first thought. A positive labyrinth. Stairs, platforms, massive statues and strange spaces, and ones even further down that became obscure with the distance.

    The strangeness of the water was more visible than ever, as if there was a second layer that was rippling and flowing something like thirty or maybe forty feet down.

    Distraction. Ritual.

    She took both tools and placed them on the walkway, under the flowing rainwater, letting it wash the reeking fluids off. Then, slowly and meticulously, she washed herself. The blood and ichor were sucked downward, washed into whatever depths the second corpse of One-eye had been taken to.

    The cool water soothed her hot wounds and aching joints. She noticed that she was starting to shed again. She took the time to peel what she could off of herself here, not leaving any aspect of her grooming undone in this holy place.

    She was glad she had wrapped the majority of the giant bat¡¯s meat in the wing leather. It had protected it from the taint of the abomination and its ichor, so it would still be good to eat. The neonate tied that to the outside of the bag as well.

    She planned to come back later, to make sure there was nothing else in this holy site. The little predator didn¡¯t think there was with it being so lit up now, but she wanted to be totally sure. Especially if she was going to use it to travel, and so she wouldn¡¯t worry in the night about something like that abomination coming for her.

    Her hands shook slightly, and she placed them flat against the path to still them.

    Freshly washed, she gathered her things, grabbing the bag and coiling her ropes back into neat bundles. It was when she looked up after tying the netting to the bag that she saw that the sting of the abomination was still there.

    Harvest! Compete! Her Instinct hissed, tugging at her hand, though she managed to resist it for a moment so she could think that through.

    It was offered with the rest, right? Or did it fall off the pile?

    She wasn¡¯t sure as she picked it up.

    The Greenscale looked at the dais.

    She placed it up there, waiting to see.

    The platform didn¡¯t even budge.

    Is it okay to take the thing? It was a mark of One-eyes curse, and she was not sure she wanted to trust such a thing.

    A weapon. A tooth in my mouth I refuse to bite with. Her Instinct grumbled.

    Hissing thoughtfully she took it back and lifted it high before bowing over it as she had her weapons. Hoping she wasn¡¯t doing something foolish, she put the sting point down in her bag. And finally, from the top of the octagon, she checked one last time for any strange movements.

    Don¡¯t need another one of the cursed hatchlings coming for me in my sleep.

    Her Instinct grunted from her eyes, helping her focus.

    She saw nothing. Had she earned the use of this temple as well?

    Too many questions. Rest now.

    Satisfied for the moment, she finally made her way back to her camp. She didn¡¯t look forward to needing more of the herb. She did like the sound of some sleep though.

    When the neonate got back to the surface, it took her a moment to get used to the returning gloom. The runes of the stairs got dim near the surface, winking out entirely when she could see outside. She hoped that the other entrances would remain secret from the others.

    She took her time walking to her shelter. For once the cool rain was soothing to her, further washing her wounds. And it was more than that. It took her mind to a place of quiet, a place she needed more than anything in that moment.

    Soft pattering. The tapping of droplets on the shell of her egg. Soothing. Floating in the warmth of-

    Leaves! Like the snapping jaws of a crocodile her Instinct shattered the quiet moment in her mind from the throbbing of her cuts.

    She hissed in frustration and snapped her own jaw loudly. Tomorrow.

    Lea-

    Tomorrow! She did not want to deal with the side effects after that. Not in the night anyway. She just wanted to enjoy the sound of the rain. But now she was chilled.

    Snarling to herself she walked under the roof of reeds, getting out of the rain, shaking to get the droplets off. She hissed, wincing as it yanked at her injuries.

    Leaves. Her Instinct hissed.

    She snapped her jaw again.

    The first thing she did, making a point to herself, was offer one last simple prayer to her wooden idol of Haan-Kezk. She found a roughly circular stone, and placed the idol on top of that after sinking the stone in a central location under her shelter.

    I¡¯ll make something more elaborate later. For now, she was too exhausted to do more than that.

    Her Instinct grunted begrudgingly.

    That done she walked past her supply of drying herbs, with difficulty it was true, to settle in near the fire. It had burnt low, almost to ashes, starting to starve with no Provider or readily available fuel within reach. She reached for the bottle of firehoney, pouring a little bit into the coals, expecting it to perk back up immediately.

    At first, the fire was so weak that at first it didn¡¯t drink the viscus liquid. It couldn¡¯t.

    Odd. It had burned well enough as a torch. The neonate thought about using one to get the fire going again, but that seemed a waste.

    Taking a stick and her knife, she shaved off curling slivers of wood into the coals. She waited until she could see a little smoke, making a moderate pile of the tinder. Bending down, she breathed on it, getting smoke, then eventually flame. After a moment or two of more coaxing, and with a little flame back, the fire began to guzzle up the firehoney greedily. Growing expansively rather quickly.

    She quickly gathered some wood to feed the revived blaze. Piling the wood high, getting more warmth back into her body. She took the time to prepare and dry the bat meat, roasting and eating her fill and preserving the rest with smoke.

    Full, partially healed, and with a new way to travel the island, she felt hope kindle to light in her chest. She would try the other pathways as well. See where they came out. She would run, sprint, lose herself in the speed and dexterity of it down below. But that was for tomorrow. Right then, she wanted sleep.

    She curled into her nest, wonderfully dry and warm. She let her eyes drift closed, her weapons close to hand.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 35: Recovery

    Some will fail, it is inevitable. Let their bodies sustain yours. It is the ones who overcome their faults and foibles that are of value to the brood.

    -From Neonatum Provisae: 1:7-9

    That night, she struggled to sleep, the pain of her wounds waking her several times.

    Leaves!

    No! I will not be controlled by them anymore. She had faced a demon, she could go one night without giving in.

    What was worse was her dreams. The same things every time. All the dangers she had faced, all the horrors, just amplified by her visceral imagination.

    Dripping wiggling mouthparts lowered against her belly. They slowly tore the flesh from her as she watched. She couldn¡¯t get away, her body pinned by cold clammy too-long hands. A sting lifted, dripping venom.

    She struggled, snarling. She had killed it, it was dead! And yet it wasn¡¯t.

    The sting shot into her eye, bursting it, a spray of writhing maggots raining down onto the rest of her body.

    The neonate woke with her blade in her hand, for what felt like the thousandth time that night, gasping. Her scales were ghostly white with brownish yellow splotches. Fear.

    She swallowed, scanning for threats.

    He¡¯s dead¡­ It¡¯s dead¡­ Dead as dirt.

    She lowered her knife, finding that she couldn¡¯t let go of it. She leaned over and drank water from one of the rivulets falling from the reed roof. She didn¡¯t want to bend over to drink out of the little stream. Need my eyes up, to watch.  She didn¡¯t lay back down in her nest, instead feeding the fire before curling around it.

    Maybe the heat will bake the fear out of me.

    She fought a losing battle to stay awake and keep the nightmares away. She didn¡¯t mean to stay awake all night, just long enough so that she would dream of something, anything else. When she finally closed her eyes for rest, then opened them again, it was morning. It had been a relief to have no dreams at all.

    Rest is needed. Too much stress¡­ Her Instinct hissed, weighing down her limbs so that they felt like they were made of earthbone.

    The point really came home when thunder crashed and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Several fresh flakes fluttered in the light breeze.

    I do need rest. She had plenty of food, so the little predator could afford to recover from her wounds, mental and physical. So, finally giving in, she got some of her herbs and chewed up a poultice. She tried to only take what was necessary. The neonate still spent the rest of the day in a dizzy stupor, and hating it. Already trying to think of a different way to use the herb.

    It took her ten whole days to start feeling better, which wouldn¡¯t have been possible if she hadn¡¯t come up with something new.

    She had known that she would need to use the leaves, but she was completely sick and tired of relying on them. Of being only partially awake and aware. Surrounded by threats. She had wanted to forgo the herb in exchange for having the healing take longer.

    Then she thought of something. She didn¡¯t have to be the one to chew the leaves. With a pair of stones, one grinding against the other, and with the help of some rainwater, it made the poultice just as well if not better than chewing the leaves.

    When she had figured that out, her Instinct screamed, begged, and whimpered all across her body.

    No. No more. Never again.

    It lashed out by making her apathetic to the point of almost complete inaction. Sullen and irritable, her limbs and digits shaking with the need for the drug.

    The Greenscale started to get frustrated at mundane things, snarling at the firewood that she accidentally knocked over, hurling the bag at one of the walls when the strap tangled in her feet and nearly tripped her. She even threw a partially completed snare into the fire because her clumsy trembling fingers couldn¡¯t twist it right.

    And all the time she craved the leaves. Not for the dreamy feeling, but just to feel whole again.

    The neonate tried to keep herself working. Distracted. And even then she found that she didn¡¯t want to do anything. Just lay around. And on the worst day she only managed to move some more stones and place them in a little wall on the far side of the fire. To reflect the heat back at her from the far side.

    It wasn¡¯t a full wall, only about knee high. So she could still see out and keep watch. But it surprised her how much more warmth she felt at night in her nest of rags.

    Which was good, because it was the nights that the cravings were the worst. Just before falling asleep. When her will was stretched thinnest with her exhaustion. She had to fight to keep her trembling hands from grabbing the healing herbs and stuffing them in her mouth. It was more than once that she had to force herself to put the dried medicine back into the rafters.

    I can¡¯t have them here.

    Leaves! Leaves! Leaves! Leaves! On and on and on her Instinct screamed within her whole being. For days on end.

    But she didn¡¯t give up, determined not to.

    No more, I am done. She had a way to get to the others, it would be too dangerous to give in. She was ready to start enacting her schemes against them. That, and she was tired of wasting her thoughts on artificial peace. She would have to deal with earning that through surviving. So she fought back.

    She moved the herbs to the temple, making it more of a chore to go get them. She used some of the cordage and sticks to build a little rack to keep them dry. She added a shelf as well, placing the grinding stones there as well so she had no excuse to put them in her mouth.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    This also helped with getting her up and over to the temple every other day, which needed to be cleansed of the viscera of her combat with that abomination. It didn¡¯t seem right to not try her best to keep the place clean, and rude to expect the Gods to do it.

    <hr>

    Such a good Kiddo, isn¡¯t she?

    <hr>

    She washed out the central octagon, placing intricately shaped earthbone bowls in the waterfall going down the steps, filling them. The little predator had picked them out of the piles of trinkets, after deciding that the Gods wouldn¡¯t mind if she didn¡¯t intend to keep them for herself.

    Dumping the water over the odoriferous viscera, the neonate let it sluice away the gore down through the gratings and into the depths below, scrubbing the more stubborn sections with extra whiptail reeds that she had. They were the leftovers from building her shelter.

    She hissed in rhythm as she did, a tempo from Tok¡¯s teachings.

    It was the work that helped occupy her the most, distracting her Instinct. She still had tremors in her limbs, still felt drained a lot of the time, and still was irritable at the most inconsequential things. But the work was something to do, and it also wasn¡¯t so strenuous as to slow her recovery either.

    And hopefully it was pleasing to the pantheon.

    She bathed ritually each time in the fresh water flowing into the temple from the monsoon outside. And her wounds healed well. Every time she had to reapply the healing herbs though, her Instinct rebelled.

    NOW! GIVE! LEAVES! It snarled and gnashed, fighting for control of her body. But the stronger it got, the stronger she got. It was her, after all.

    Several times it sneakily got her to put a leaf in her mouth before she could think about what she was doing. And every time she spat it out before it could start to work on her, before even chewing once. The little predator fought the shakes and kept using the stones to grind up the poultice.

    As she did her work, she wished that she could see more overt signs of the gods¡¯ approval. It would help with her motivation. Still, even if they didn¡¯t care, the cleaning that she was doing would make traversal through the temple more bearable, especially through the central octagon.

    It was when she was done, feeling proud of how the place no longer smelled like a rotting heap of gore, that she noticed that the whole temple smelled fresher. Brighter. Like it has been purged of threats? She would remain vigilant, never again would she trust anything to be safe, not if she could help it.

    The symbols continued to glow, not dimming in the slightest, and she didn¡¯t think they would. Eventually, when she was feeling up to it, she traveled back to what she had started calling the Ropemaker door at night. She climbed up the stairs, going outside and seeing if the runeglow was visible.

    It was just a clump of ferns to her eye.

    And I know it is there.

    Lea-!

    She clenched her shaking hands as she grit her teeth against the sudden urge, silencing her Instinct.

    Give up. I will not chew them again!

    When the neonate fought that wave of craving down, she used the opportunity of being near Ropemaker¡¯s old nest to scavenge more of it.

    With exceeding care and stealth, she gathered up the unused bark fibers, bundling them with more of the netting that she thought had been his bed when he had been alive. That tied tight together, she brought it all back to her base.

    As she passed the drying rack for the herbs at the top of the stairs she gripped her bundle with both hands. Not even looking at it and feeling her Instinct growling about it.

    She piled the fibers into her nest to use as further bedding, but she wasn¡¯t sure what she would do with any of the netting she had just yet. It was too awkward to take through the canopy, and if she left it anywhere, like trying to use it for fishing, it would get taken.

    She liked the idea of using it to tangle the others, but again, it was so large and awkward that it would be a chore to just carry the netting. Maybe there is something else I can do with it.

    For now, she would just hang on to it. The neonate tied it to the pole running along the bottom of where the thatch started, still bundled up, out of the way until she found a purpose for it.

    She was glad for that extra bedding on the eighth night.

    Chills!

    Cruel, slicing, rending, tearing, gnawing chills.

    They ripped through her, her whole body vibrating with them. She had a hard time even feeding the fire, her fingers dumb and clumsy. It was agony, she could not get warm.

    What sorcery is doing this to me? Am I sick? She had to be dying.

    Leaves.

    No.

    Leaves!

    No!

    Defiantly, the little predator just pushed several logs into the fire, more than she usually used. Her joints felt stiff as she did. It burned high and hot and she was still cold.

    The neonate curled up so close to the fire that she almost burned her skin. She didn¡¯t care, she almost wanted to crawl into the coals themselves, become part of the heat, the warmth, the light.

    Her thoughts were not¡­ straightforward.

    No¡­ not¡­ what? She struggled, looking for the term. Rational. There it was. Her thinking wasn¡¯t rational.

    But she didn¡¯t fucking care¡­ and dug deep into her own stubbornness. The same stubbornness that screamed at her to live. It was part of her damn it, not she of It. She bundled the fibers of her nest around herself, trading cushion for insulation.

    She covered everything but the front of her body, and that only because she was facing the fire. The neonate hunkered down, and stared at the flames. She was glad she had left the leaves in the temple.

    If they were near at hand she wasn¡¯t sure she could have stopped herself. She couldn¡¯t stand because she felt so cold, so she wouldn¡¯t be able to get to the herbs. Not with the rain and the wind.

    Her Instinct screamed in frustration until exhaustion sent her to sleep.

    The next day, she felt surprisingly well. It wasn¡¯t that the urge, the need, for the herb wasn¡¯t there anymore. It was much easier to push aside though.

    After recovering, she decided to head back out into the island proper. She had to scope out her competition and continue her campaign against them. Stealing parts of the brought food before the others would get it, as well as more directed methods of sabotage.

    I should also check the snares and gather more firewood. She had used too much of the wood the previous night with the fire, and her recovery had depleted her supplies of food.

    She climbed back up into her tree, looking across the island at the trails of smoke. One of the easiest things she could do to sabotage the others would be to raid their camps, soak their fires, scatter their wood.

    That would be best. But did she want to do that right away though? Or did she want to observe for a while, learn some more and gather their skills first?

    Both, idiot.

    True.

    She tried to visualize where the other entrances to the temple would end up, using the two she knew of to make an estimate of where the others might come out. She thought that one in particular might open up close to one of those little trails of smoke. The perpendicular exit to the east.

    That should be close to Harvester¡¯s territory.

    Agreed. Her Instinct was still sullen at losing the battle of wills. She did miss the leaves. It stirred inside her, sensing her weakness.

    No, I do not! I refuse to miss them! She would lie to herself if it meant that she could keep her thoughts clear.

    Refocusing on her plan, she felt that that direction would be a good start. Somewhere familiar and with the added bonus of being in the direction of a fire. She would travel along the coast from there.

    Check in on any of the others I come across. Start narrowing the competition.

    Compete!

    Plan set, the neonate climbed back down to the ground. She snatched one rope, her bag, and her weapons. She also grabbed the leather pouch with a stopper she had gotten from Gix¡¯s grave. She had found that it could indeed hold water. Her torches were still in the bag. She wished she could use the mushrooms as light, but she had double checked with whole ones and taking them into the rain had melted them like fat in the fire.

    With what supplies she needed, she was off down into the temple, only pausing to fill the waterskin from the rain running down the stairs.

    Confidence soaring, she decided to be a bit bolder on this excursion.

    Thrive!

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 36: Sap

    The complexities within their structures alone are fascinating, though it was quite some time before just how complex they were became apparent. In my defense, I was quite distracted at the time.

    -From Canticles: 10:2-3

    The neonate finished up a quick prayer in the central octagon, kneeling for a moment before the statues of the gods. The mushroom paint was still there, glowing, though it was difficult to see in the light of the runes that now filled the temple.

    If anything, it made the scale and scope of the place even more impressive, revealing the full extent of the massive claw marks that ripped into the stone.

    They had torn into the pillars, smashed statues, even dug massive furrows up in the ceilings. And not just above water either, she could see them through the ripples far below. Some in the path were almost two feet deep into thick stone, positively enormous.

    What could have made them? She didn¡¯t remember any stories from the Provider about such a thing. I wish I could ask Tok about this, find out what he knows. But the little predator knew she couldn¡¯t. Even the smallest possibility of being overheard, of having the existence of the temple be known was not something she could risk.

    Too big anyway. Her Instinct hissed in its ever patient and eloquent manner.

    He wasn¡¯t always big.

    He didn¡¯t hatch here, he is a Blackscale, idiot.

    She hissed, looking into the water. She thought she could almost see what it was. Some sort of statue¡­ but it didn¡¯t-

    Enough. Action! Besides, dangerous.

    She supposed that was a good point. No telling what might lurk in those depths. If there was anything, she could handle it. I¡¯ll have to.

    The left-hand path, the one that went east, was also dry like the southwestern one, the water just barely lower than the surface of the walkway. The neonate noticed that there was a separate room up ahead though, closed off unlike the expansive space all around her. A small set of stairs led up into it. She looked up at the archway that led into that separate space, eyes narrowing.

    Survive¡­

    She listened, waiting, only hearing the distant echoes of the rainwater pouring down the stairs. She let her tongue flicker out once before heading up slowly, hands on her weapons.

    Something thin and small clung to her face, stretching. The neonate jerked back, sputtering as she was snared by the cobwebs of ages past. They snapped easily, but each thread was an irritating little jerk that she had to deal with.

    Enough of this.

    She took out her knife and ax and waved them about to get rid of most of them. The Greenscale kept an eye out for the deadliest arachnids she could face down here, remembering that this was one of the things that Tok warned the whole brood about when they were freshly hatched.

    Lockjaw Spiders, black and yellow like hornets. Big as her hand, with tight fur like a mammal on their slender limbs. And also there was Ravo¡¯s Dancers, shiny black with slender legs, smaller, maybe an inch and a half long.

    Any spider bite would be painful, but those two meant death.

    And of the two, if she had to run into either, the little predator would prefer the Dancers.

    ¡°Bounce back and forth on their web. To ward off threats. Flash Ravo¡¯s eye at you.¡± Tok had said, drawing the shape in the mud, a half circle with a line for the pupil.

    Don¡¯t see any though.

    Good.

    The room felt much more abandoned than the rest of the temple, rather than forgotten. Dust coated the floor in a thick blanket, undisturbed for Gods knew how long. No tracks of any kind, either on the floor or along the walls or ceilings from the looks of the cobwebs.

    There were actually remnants of whatever had been in the space still there as well. Hanging cloths, faded to near grayness, tattered to rags adorned the walls still.

    They shifted tiredly in the air stirred by her passing like so many ghosts.

    It didn¡¯t help that she could still feel that presence watching her.

    Hopefully it¡¯s just the Gods¡­

    Her Instinct grunted.

    She tried to see if they depicted anything of note, but everything was too degraded, their secrets lost to time.

    Shards of wood were strewn sparsely through the space. Barkless, stripped and carved by the look of the remains. None of it held attention though, all too contextless to be even mildly distracting, and too dry rotted to collect on the way out. At least not in this moment of action.

    Good! Move on!

    There was a smell though, one she remembered, but she couldn¡¯t place it. The little predator hissed, contemplating the smells with her tongue.

    I have smelled something like this before. It wasn¡¯t a creature. She remembered that much. Something¡­ thin?

    Move. On. Compete! Her Instinct knew that her knife and ax changed everything.

    The neonate left it for later. It looked like she had something else to deal with. Her way forward was blocked by stones, worked and placed inside the far archway in an intricate pattern. She snapped her jaw quietly as she got closer.

    Why even build an archway if you are just going to stack stones in front of it? She wondered if she could knock out the worked stones, but she was far too small. And it¡¯d make noise, could alert anyone or anything on the other side. Not to mention that nothing she could do had managed to budge any of the stones.

    It made her ponder those claw marks again.

    Fine, go back. Her Instinct growled.

    She paused. Noticing something. What is that?

    Go. Back. Now.

    No, there might be a way through. She felt her Instinct slide in behind her eyes at that thought.

    There was a mechanism on one side. Earthbone, tarnished, with a sphere attached to it. She took hold of the thing and pulled. It didn¡¯t budge, but the handle seemed to be able to move. She twisted, and it rattled slightly, but it was held in place.

    Her Instinct hummed inside her mind, thoughtful. Both her forebrain and hindbrain enjoyed the puzzle of it, it seemed.

    The Greenscale stepped closer, tongue flickering. She tested the stones with the tip of the black blade, looking for defects, a change in materials, some sort of difference. It felt too much like a passageway to her, there had to be a method to get in.

    There¡­

    Three of the stones had the tiniest gaps separating them from the others, just enough to get the edge of her knife into them. The gaps were uniform all the way around, so they weren¡¯t resting on top of the stones below.

    A mechanism? They must move. If they are flush¡­ then they probably slide in. She tested her theory, and as she pushed each one slid and locked into place.

    Click, click, click.

    There was a short pause.

    Clank!

    Something had changed! Eagerly she twisted the earthbone handle.

    Clunk! Thu-dunk!

    Nothing happened. Growling the neonate yanked on the handle. The whole thing slid silently open, startling her with how easy it was. She almost fell backwards.

    A way out!

    Move!

    She walked through.

    Lightning flashed over head as she looked around. The little predator was inside one of the surface level ruins that dotted the island. Overgrown but still with a roof. Her tongue slid out, twin tips spread wide. She couldn¡¯t detect any sign of the others.

    Thunder grumbled as her scales finished shifting to match the surroundings, slipping out into the undergrowth.

    A tree, that¡¯s what I need.

    The neonate slipped out of the structure, sliding through and around the ferns and shrubs that surrounded it.

    Click.

    She spun, weapons in hand, but found it had just been the door shutting.

    She couldn¡¯t see a handle on this side, and she rushed over, panicked that it was only a way out. But before she could really curse, she saw three stones slide slowly into slightly different positions.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Clunk.

    She put her weapons away and moved the stones back. The door opened!

    She hissed softly in relief.

    Letting the door shut again, the neonate slunk through the underbrush to a tall tree to orient herself, climbing up and searching for smoke. Scrubbing her body with scentmoss as she did.

    Should be just south of Harvester now. Maybe I find her camp and move from there?

    That way.

    She stayed low as she traveled through the canopy, staying on high alert, inspecting every sound, checking every smell. Prowling through the canopy.

    There was a rous below, scurrying in the opposite direction and squeaking to itself.

    Kill!

    No. I need to focus.

    She quieted both her Instinct and her belly by drinking more rainwater. She would have time to hunt after. It paused below her, unaware, licking its paws and wiping its face.

    Meat, waiting to be butchered.

    So tempting. The idea of hot blood on her scales, in her mouth, the taste of it. Rich and nourishing, made all the sweeter with the knowledge that she¡¯d killed it. She felt herself starting to salivate.

    After this. There was always more rous. I need to find a rival first.

    Her Instinct hissed with excitement.

    Harvester¡¯s farm was completely abandoned. Not only had it been flooded, but what little infrastructure Harvester had put in was still there, rotting. It confirmed that the neonate had been right though, and helped her know where she was.

    Another one I have outlasted. Remembering how thin Harvester had looked last time she saw her, she wasn¡¯t surprised. She hadn¡¯t seen Harvester¡¯s corpse, but a part of her knew. And that part was proud that she had been a part of it.

    Unworthy, just like Ropemaker.

    Should have learned to hunt better. Her Instinct snarled with contempt.

    Or to make her own fire.

    The neonate could tell there was nothing of value from where she was, she didn¡¯t need to dig through waist high water. She moved on, heading south. That side of the island was new to her.

    I¡¯ll learn all I can about the island. Then I¡¯ll know what to do.

    Yes! Learn! Adapt! Compete!

    So she headed south, along the coast, searching for targets.

    The trees gave way more and more to open marshgrass, eventually becoming so sparse that she had to travel to the ground, unable to reach the next through the canopy after a certain point. She was heading towards a thin line of smoke on the horizon.

    The rain had made it so that scents didn¡¯t linger, and combined with the scentmoss she shouldn¡¯t have to worry about that.

    The mud however¡­

    The neonate hissed as she nearly sank up to her knee in the mud, and she had to spend more time than she would have liked hiding the print it left.

    Impossible to leave no trace. Unless¡­ She looked over to a fallen log, and leaped to it, trotting along it and looking into the grass for where she should step next. It was hard going, but she found that there was a way to move forward.

    Stepping in places where the prints were either hidden, or she would be out of the mud. Natural divots, puddles, stones, or deep in the brush so that they weren¡¯t readily visible.

    Exposed¡­ Her Instinct whispered.

    She shoved the uncomfortable feeling down. Crouching a little lower to be more in the grass as she moved. Still following the smoke.

    There is enough ground cover, and I have the best camouflage out of all of the hatchlings. She was confident in that. Prided herself in it. The little predator was convinced she could just disappear and sneak off if she needed to. And I have stone and earthbone claws to contend with. She patted her weapons.

    Sunshine yellow filled her thoughts at that, tinted softly by the red and black.

    Dangerous.

    As she traveled, she spotted something strange stuck into the ground. It was hard to miss. Pale against the dark green of the waving grasses. Something fluttering in the wind at one end. Feathers, attached to a pale stick of pillarwood.

    It was in the middle of a small clearing at an angle.

    Why is it there? What is it?

    Duck low! Lower! Her Instinct yanked her almost into the mud, under the tall grass to the point she couldn¡¯t see. It let her pad closer, close enough to reach out and pull the object out of the soil.

    The wood was incredibly smooth, and the other end that was stuck in the ground was burnt, scraped down to a point. The neonate let her tongue flicker close to the feather.

    How is it stuck there?

    Woody. She sniffed as well. Cooked. Almost but not quite burnt. A sharp smell. And deep down there was something distinctive. Something she recognized.

    Pine. The sap. Cooked? Her Instinct surmised.

    She felt the tip with a scaled hand, eyeing the char of it.

    Why would it be burnt then scraped?

    She pressed her claw against the charred end, and the wood didn¡¯t give. When she tried the uncharred wood it dented. Not much, but slightly.

    Fire hardened the wood.

    That alone was worth the trip in and of itself!

    She thought back to the whiptail bulbs, how difficult they were to dig up. She had managed to dig them up, but it was hard going.

    Char some pillarwood like this¡­ Should dig through the soil much better.

    Yes! Learn!

    How easy it would be to use a pole with a strengthened tip to get leverage under them.

    This sap, this is interesting too. She wondered how well it worked, and for how long. Could I use it to trap prey? It at least could bind things together.

    She touched where it held the feather to the length of stick and found it not even tacky. She hissed softly in displeasure. Perhaps that would help reinforce the stone head of her ax? She would find more devious uses for it as well

    It was shortly after that that she spotted another one of the object just a bit farther south of the first. This one was snapped, looking like it had hit a stone. It didn¡¯t have a pointed tip, instead having a small rounded stone stuck to one end with the same sappy glue.

    But what is this thing¡¯s purpose? She turned it over, looking around from her crouch.

    To kill.

    How?

    The little predator got a jumble of impressions from her Instinct. Something about distance. Like the tube, but different.

    That makes these some sort of weapon? She looked at the broken one. Did you throw them?

    Inefficient. Her Instinct growled. Distraction.

    She slid both into her bag, next to the torches. She was taking too much time with them, and she had spotted something much more interesting next to the broken one.

    Right next to it, in the mud, was a water filled three-toed footprint. She sniffed it, processing.

    This was made close to sunrise. It was pointed away from her destination, heading roughly north.

    She took a few moments to move to either side of the track, taking even more care to keep her own hidden.

    None coming back. Whoever it was could be back at any time. Gotta be quick.

    Find the origin. Survive.

    Now that the little predator was alerted, she could see the slight bend in the grasses, the minimal change in hue of damaged stems. A path, not overly traveled, but a path nonetheless. She could use that to find the nest of this rival. She was glad to see that up ahead there were more trees, close enough to each other that she might be able to return to the canopy.

    She swung wide, moving off of the meandering path covering her own tracks as before, stepping on rocks and fallen branches, moving as fast as she dared. After some progress she moved towards a cypress tree, clambering up it to check for movement, especially to the north.

    Nothing! Go!

    She dashed along the branch, gripping with her toeclaws as she ran. She let her scales shift to something simplistic. A good color to blend in but not a perfect match to her surroundings. She was moving too fast for that.

    I should practice. She thought it was possible if she did.

    Faster!

    She leaned into it, legs pumping, and sprung to the next branch. The wind and rain pressing against her face. Her wounds ached as she leaped, and it wasn¡¯t the most graceful landing, but she didn¡¯t slip, which was the most important part.

    As she moved quickly through the trees, the grass below her became water, and just before she could think about how that was better if she fell a massive form floated to the surface.

    As she leaped to the next tree, she could see the shadows of many large crocodiles under the surface. Her foot landed on some slimy algae, sliding out from under her.

    She nearly yelped, snatching at the branch and digging in her claws. She pulled herself up.

    One of the beasts below snapped at something and the whole lot turned to inspect. Shallow water sloshing. A couple of the closer ones snapping onto something pink that bled red.

    They took turns spinning in deathrolls, ripping the thing to gory tatters.

    A crimson flower of blood floated lazily across the island.

    She slowed slightly, partly to plan the next jump, but also to inspect more closely.

    Are they passing through? She hoped so.

    No. Her Instinct whispered from her eyes, pulling them to the bank, focusing in on the silk-smooth sections of mud that indicated slides. She looked up the bank, and sure enough she could see prints still visible where they were sheltered from the rain.

    I suppose that they make a good deterrent against intruders.

    Dangerous. Not ideal.

    She saw it then. The mounds. Nests. She hissed and one of the beasts below rumbled loudly, a big bull claiming territory. Water danced over his vibrating back.

    Why live so close to danger? At least purposely anyway.

    Could everywhere else be taken? Or did the crocs not show up until after the monsoon? They were apparently not enough of a threat for Tok to get rid of them. At least not anymore. She worried about that. Just how dangerous are the others?

    Lightning flashed.

    Her Instinct grunted. Onward. It thought of the abomination she had fought.

    True. She could probably, if she had to, fight off one croc. She didn¡¯t like her chances though. Especially in the water. She did think about those eggs though. Soft, but full of thick yolks. She shook her head, moving on. Too dangerous.

    Thunder boomed.

    The little predator could smell the smoke now, not just see it. Not a lot, but she caught a whiff of it on the wind as the breeze shifted. She crouched low, slowing down, tearing free some of the scentmoss and scrubbing it against herself to make sure that her scent was hidden.

    Best to be safe. She could be wrong about the owner being home.

    Yes! Good!

    The outpost was in the center of several large boulders. The space in the center had been filled in with smaller rocks and earth, forming something of a platform. Several pines sheltered the inside from the rain, and the smoke drifted up out from the center of them.

    Good placement. It was sheltered And had a good view of the surrounding area. If this one has a tube weapon, they can just keep watch and use it against any trespassers. This was the first time something felt like territory to the neonate.

    She jumped into the nearest pine, grabbing the branch easily and moving in close to the trunk. She let her tongue flicker out as her coloration shifted to something more complicated to fully match her surroundings now that she was moving slowly. Smoke. Old blood, the smell of butchery perhaps?

    And pine sap. Lots of it, but fresh, not cooked.

    She looked at the trunk of the tree, touching it, and giving it a sniff. Her hand came away sticky.

    Well, I was right.

    Her Instinct wriggled in the back of her mind. Settling into its mental nest next to the warm radiance of her accomplishments. She felt sunshine yellow in her forebrain as well. It was good to be out competing again, learning.

    She checked for movement again to the north, and again, she saw nothing. So far so good.

    The little predator continued downwards, finding that the pines were much easier to climb through. The branches grew in layers, making natural platforms as she went, and the wood was soft, easy for her claws to dig into and grip.

    She slid onto the ground, pulling out her knife and ax, looking around.

    Nobody.

    She sniffed the air. Tasted it with her tongue. The smell of another hatchling was heavy in the place, but it was the kind of smell that settled in. Male. Not fresh, not a living body here.

    Loot! Nobody! Her Instinct gnashed savagely.

    She stood taller. She could see that this hatchling had also gathered up tendons from rous, pounding them with stones just as Ropemaker had.

    Sinew. Her Instinct named it, giving the impression of pulling something out of a bog. She could almost smell the name of the weapon back there, but it wasn¡¯t yet free of the mental quagmire.

    Could he have also spied on Ropemaker?

    Her Instinct shrugged. Impatient. Nervous. The feelings started to sink into her forebrain and she had to control them.

    Distracting herself from that a little bit, she saw organized piles of feathers. Piles and piles of them.

    How did he get so many.

    Lightning flashed and cracked like the tube weapon just overhead and she jerked hissing. Then off to the south she heard it.

    Quackquackquackquackquack! Quack!

    She turned, nostrils flaring, eyes going wide, tongue flickering out.

    Ducks! Her Instinct knew that smell. That sound.

    She moved to the other side of the outpost. They were only just audible over the sound of the constant precipitation. She slowly pushed aside the branches.

    There they are¡­ Her eyes widened as greed surged.

    Thousands of them. Or hundreds at least, off to the south of the camp. Waddling in pairs. Bending down to pick at the grass. To tend to something there.

    Eggs¡­ Her Instinct growled from her abdomen, and her eyes glowed with gluttonous intent.

    But ducks could fly, how had they-

    The snap of a twig jerked her back out of her own thoughts.

    Shit!

    The neonate heard a hiss. A Greenscale hiss.

    Shit!

    She needed to hide!

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 37: Restraint

    It is not cowardice to learn more before striking at your prey. So long as you strike when the time comes. Nor is it bravery to attack too soon, that is foolishness. This control is required for both edges of this particular knife.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:8-11

    Another twig snapped. The neonate wondered if she should just attack, ambush her foe before they knew she was there. She had to decide now!

    The branches across the camp started to move.

    Hide!

    Flexing the muscles in her skin, she silently lost herself in the needles of one of the pines, sheathing the knife and putting her ax in its loop. She reached behind herself, claws sinking into soft bark. She felt the bark, and growled in her mind.

    Need to get higher, hide my scent and get out of any eyeline too.

    Moss.

    These pines don¡¯t have any, the scent will stand out. She wished she had noticed it sooner. Maybe it was something about the sap?

    As quick as she dared, feeling for every branch and loose piece of bark and avoiding them, she climbed upwards. She faced out, with her back to the trunk, keeping an eye on the moving branches below, still not getting a glimpse yet of her rival. She needed to do something about the smell.

    Adapt! The answer was all around her.

    As quietly as she could she crushed some of the deeper needles as she went, the scent of the pine growing stronger as she did. Hopefully overpowering the delicate masking smell of the moss.

    And hopefully enough to trick this fool.

    Through slitted eyes the little predator watched as the other Greenscale finally entered his outpost. He was tall, and his fat tail showed he was eating well. His arms, chest, and back were enormous, almost bloated with muscle.

    Not in the way that One-eye had been, but she was glad she had decided to choose caution this time. She would have to be thoughtful in how she competed with all of them, take care not to get herself maimed. At least until she started to really catch up in skill.

    If I ever do. She knew she would never be able to fight Biter or Slash, not and come out of it with all her limbs anyway.

    He too had a rope belt, and on it was a container of some description. It was made from what looked like bark, folded over itself. The top was open, and it was filled with more straight sticks with feathers stuck to them with the boiled sap.

    In one hand there was a dead mawfrog, its skull transfixed by one of the strange pointed devices.

    The dead beast was such a surprise to her. Not that this male had killed one, but more because it was¡­ small prey for him.

    He can¡¯t be feeding on just mawfrogs. I mean, I could, maybe. With enough of them. She looked at his muscled back again from the shadows. But he has to be eating more to sustain his frame.

    The neonate looked at what he held in his other hand. It was a strangely shaped piece of wood. Carved, thick in the center, thin at the extremities, and curved. Held in that shape with a sinew string.

    Bow and arrows! It was as if the pairing of the objects together had been the key for her Instinct to remember that information, and she suddenly understood how it was similar to the tube weapon.

    She watched from the shadows as the Bowmaker tossed the corpse of the mawfrog by the fire. He unstrung his bow. Bracing it against his leg and pressing down on the wood, unhooking the sinew string from one of the notched ends.

    Maintains weapon¡¯s strength. Her Instinct whispered, just behind her eyes.

    She watched with fascination.

    He placed the unstrung bow against the tree she was hiding in and she held her breath to remain as still as possible. As Bowmaker hung the string on a broken off branch right next to it, the little predator closed her eyes, hiding their shine. Listening hard.

    She was ready for him to look up and somehow recognize her shape in the shadows. Part of her almost wanted it to happen. To release the tension.

    The neonate slowly drew her knife, glad that it was nothing more than a shadow itself in the darkness. She wouldn¡¯t be easy meat to beat up. Not anymore.

    Steps, moving away.

    Wood tumbling to the ground. Crackling.

    A loud pop as steam cooked out of slightly wet wood. Fortunately it wasn¡¯t loud enough to startle her in her hiding place.

    The neonate cracked open her eyes. He was feeding the fire, with clearly wet wood. It smoked and snapped loudly again as it burned.

    Idiot. Her Instinct grumbled from her snout, and she agreed.

    That draws attention. I¡¯d never do that. Why invite the fight? But she knew, secretly, she thought she might feel the same way.

    Knows he can win. Believes it. Her Instinct said, pulling her eyes to his wide back. The muscles rippling underneath his scales as he pulled the fire sharpened arrow out of his prey with a spurt of gross purple gore and a deep growl of effort.

    Her heart sank a bit, intimidated by the physicality on display.

    Bowmaker was definitely a predator. One that was dangerous both up close and at range. She didn¡¯t know how far, but far enough seeing as she was about as dangerous as she could throw something. And he kills things at range. She did not like being this close, not anymore. She wanted to flee.

    He could kill me without meaning to.

    Her Instinct locked her limbs. He¡¯ll shoot you if you run. It hissed.

    She eyed the Bowmaker again. Then looked closer. She studied his face.

    I recognize him!

    He had been another one of the other smaller competitors. One of the ones who would rush in and then rush out with armfuls of meat.

    He¡¯s caught up! Found a way to thrive!

    It was the same as what she was trying to do, just with different methods. And he had already succeeded.

    Compete.

    A strange sort of kinship blossomed in her chest. She remembered him as thin, long-limbed, lanky instead of muscular.

    It¡¯s possible! He had done so! Method didn¡¯t matter, the result mattered.

    Thrive.

    Her thoughts shifted. She clenched her jaw to keep from hissing thoughtfully.

    He would be a decisive victory if I bested him somehow. But how could she do that while staying safe and not killing him?

    Compete! The impulse from her Instinct was so strong that she almost left her hiding place.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Almost let her skin turn red and black.

    Almost jumped onto the Bowmaker to sink her blade into his throat.

    Feel that warm arterial spray spatter against my hands!

    Yes! Kill! Cull!

    Her Instinct latched onto this, fueling the need and desire to claim her superiority. It would be a way to earn her way to the next step in her life cycle! The need grew. A primal desire for physical action and flowing blood.

    Her teeth bared. It would be so easy!

    She shivered, forcing her eyes shut and mentally digging in. She wouldn¡¯t! She couldn¡¯t! She was still sure that they couldn¡¯t kill each other unless in self defense.

    Kill! Consume!

    So much protein. It would last her for months. His tail, rich with fat.

    No! He isn¡¯t the right one to cull!

    She hadn¡¯t known that there was one, but the thought lit something inside her mind. She knew she had stumbled onto something true.

    There was a right way to go about this. She thought of One-eye. Driven mad by infection and cursed for his taboo actions.

    I am not letting that happen to me.

    And what if her plan of attack failed? Bowmaker would break her like a twig, her injuries were still fresh enough that she wasn¡¯t at her full strength.

    No, there was no chance of her being able to or wanting to face off against him in any direct confrontation. Not unless he started it. Not unless any of them started it.

    She needed to believe that for her own survival.

    The little predator opened her eyes again, making sure they were only slits, as always maintaining the discipline of camouflage.

    Lightning flashed in the sky.

    He had a shard of stone in his hand, deftly using it to slice away the slimy skin of the mawfrog. He too knew knapping it seemed.

    He held the skin in his other hand, pulling it free in long stretchy strips. He slit the belly next. She could smell the organs from her hiding place. The liver, meaty and full of minerals, the heart, rich with the blood.

    Her eyes followed the wet mass the organs as he pulled them free. She fought not to drool, swallowing it instead.

    Compete! Take the prey! Now! Her Instinct chanted.

    Not now! She gripped her knife tighter. He had started doing something else and it interested her.

    The Bowmaker then pulled out a sack from his prey. It was the same purple color as the viscera when he had removed his arrow from the beast. She had seen those, they were glands of some kind in the mawfrog. Bitter and slimy.

    He placed it to one side, apart from the other organs, but he didn¡¯t toss it in the pile of scraps.

    He¡¯s saving it¡­

    Her Instinct hummed.

    Bowmaker continued to slice, then paused, looking around. He repeated the action every so often, even getting up once when the thunder rumbled, checking outside of the pine trees.

    She judged his ability with the camouflage as he shifted to match the pines.

    Passable at best. The hue was off.

    Pattern. Her Instinct added.

    That was true as well. He had gotten the gestures of a pine needle pattern correct, but it wasn¡¯t good enough to break up his silhouette. It was something that might only work at a distance.

    But he doesn¡¯t need to get close. Not with that bow. So that would be good enough.

    He continued to butcher the amphibian. Smooth motions, practiced cuts.

    He¡¯s done this a lot.

    In a short time, he had found five more purple pods, making it a total of six. Though he put the sixth one in the mouth of the beast. It leaked the purple gore as he did. After, he lopped off the hind legs from the front of the beast.

    They were bony, covered in warty skin that had simply refused to come off of the flesh, and he placed them in the fire, burning the flesh off instead.

    Why hunt such meager prey? He can get any game he wants with the bow. She wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the weapon could kill small crocodiles or a young Tikabo¡­

    Lightning forked brightly right above them, flickering for several seconds.

    Learn. Needed knowledge.

    Bowmaker skewered the still twitching muscle of the creature¡¯s hind legs, sinking the back end of each of the sharpened sticks into the dirt by the fire to roast. He also skewered the heart and the liver. The roasting smell was agony to her.

    I need to pay attention! I am learning so much! She needed her Instinct to be silent for now. She would eat soon.

    The ducks went berserk again as thunder cracked loudly overhead.

    Eggs. Her Instinct decreed from her tongue, making her have to swallow her own saliva again.

    Her tongue flickered out, and white and muddy yellow filled her heart. She was starting to smell her own scent again.

    The moss is wearing off.

    She was going to overstay her welcome at this rate.

    The tall male gathered the guts and the upper half of the carcass and walked out into the rain.

    Wait, why?

    Crocodiles, removing the scraps to keep them away.

    She let out a sigh. She turned to see what he was doing from her treetop vantage, shifting into a more comfortable position. It didn¡¯t help much, it was getting dark, and the rain was cold. Her hand bumped something hard. A large cluster of hardened tree sap.

    She snatched it, stuffing it into the bag, which was still fed enough from the temple mushrooms to not be flickering. She looked back at Bowmaker, checking on him, thinking it was about time for her to run. She didn¡¯t want to stay up in this tree in the rain all night.

    Bowmaker walked over to the river, and with an impressive display of strength, threw the top half of the mawfrog well into the flow of the river. Far enough so that it was carried downstream and away from his outpost. She saw it again as lightning lashed off in the distance, and something big snapped toothy jaws, swallowing it.

    Bowmaker waited for some time, then he then squatted and started to clean out the intestines.

    That feeling of kinship returned. Nothing wasted.

    This is my chance! Her Instinct snarled, grabbing her limbs and sending her down the tree.

    Clambering down, the Greenscale snatched two more clusters of dried sap as she passed, the bow, and the string. Now that she had it in her hand, she could feel that the cordage was coated in something slimy.

    Damn¡­ A secret I missed¡­

    Distraction! Compete! Her Instinct drug her eyes to the fire. It wanted to light the pines, to burn them down. The torch was in her hand before she stopped herself.

    No.

    I can¡¯t pity! Cull! Kill!

    The pines are a resource for this sap!

    That gave it pause. It walked her over to one, taking a look at it. Fine. As she put the torch away, her tongue flickered out.

    And now her scent was everywhere. ¡°Shit.¡± She whispered.

    She had to act fast. She let her tongue flicker near the bowstring, trying to see if she recognized it. It smelled horrible! She nearly gagged. Bitter. She knew exactly what it was coated in now. And it made perfect sense.

    The purple sacks. She wasn¡¯t sure why, she would have to try and figure it out.

    But do I take all of them? They could be used to draw in other predators possibly. Or hide my scent!

    Act now!

    Jerking back into action she stuffed the bowstring into her bag and set about sabotaging everything. She yanked the stopper free of the waterskin, dumping it all over the fire. It hissed loudly, steam belching forth from the dying coals. She made sure to soak them completely, killing even the tiniest of the coals. .

    A thrill filled her. Time was limited now. She scoured the site. She saw Bowmaker¡¯s fire spindle and took it. She devoured the heart and lungs, even managing to strip one of the legs. She mashed the liver into the dirt, wishing she had the time to eat it.

    She grabbed the still hot other leg, almost burning herself and hurled the it into the rain to be lost in the grass. The gathered wood joined it, rolling down the hill, scattered this way and that, and her ax made quick work of the lean-to. Echoing thrillingly as it did.

    She hurled the purple sacks against the trees where they burst wetly. Her tongue flickered out to make sure Bowmaker wasn¡¯t getting closer. She could only smell the awful reek though.

    The neonate looked at the fifth and final purple gland in her palm. Her eyes narrowed. Was it safe to take along? She would take this chance. Instead of tossing it out with the others, that also went into her bag.

    She heard the male¡¯s snarl from the river.

    Flee! Spotted the steam! Heard the ax! Her Instinct gibbered, giddy with excitement and mild terror.

    And she ran. She made sure to scrub herself with ferns as she did, wanting to get rid of the smell of the sacks as quickly as possible. She had to make sure that she didn¡¯t leave an easy trail to follow once her scent was dealt with, back where there was moss to use.

    I competed! It was a start at least.

    The neonate was already back on the main island and in the trees when she heard the bowmaker¡¯s frustrated cry.

    Found I took his bow! Smugly orange thoughts washed through her mind.

    She kept sprinting. She didn¡¯t expect to be able to use the bow, it was much too big for her. It would make a good template for her though, and she would make something more her size. Maybe, if she got strong enough, she could use Bowmakers.

    She looked back at the camp, unable to keep herself from flashing orange with her pattern.

    Bowmaker snarled, standing in the rain, their eyes meeting in a flash of lightning. He sprinted forward.

    She rushed along the branch, leaping across to the next tree with wild abandon, having to grab a vine and swing to get across.

    Got to run! Quick, moss!

    She tore up a long strip of it as she went, springing to the side onto yet another branch as she scrubbed herself with the moss. She didn¡¯t care if it was too strong now, it would fade enough soon.

    And maybe he¡¯ll be too angry to think of it?

    She glanced back for just a moment, flashing sunshine pride at him with her face scales too now. He flickered into a red and black that was a bit too maroon, a bit too charcoal grey. He couldn¡¯t keep up along the trees, too big to go as fast as she could, or as high.

    He snapped off a branch and hurled it at her. She ducked under it and kept going as it whirred hatefully.

    Just need to break line of sight.

    The neonate got to the far side, and deeper into the thicker canopy, making a sharp turn to her left, heading south, towards the tail of the island. Breaking line of sight.

    Now!

    She leaped off a branch, feeling the rush of weightlessness before she caught a vine, winging in an arch around a tall cypress tree before landing against the far side of it.

    Blending completely.

    Closing her eyes almost shut.

    She heard him roar.

    Snapping branches and snarling.

    Bowmaker¡¯s footsteps came, rapid, heavy, powerful, and then they had passed her, right to left. Along the path he thought she had taken.

    Feeling smug, the little predator headed west. She wanted to avoid Bowmaker¡¯s wrath, so for now she would take the long way back to the temple. She would find her next target tomorrow. Maybe do some more scouting and assessment.

    Thrive!

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 38: Shaping

    Think of the Trial that every hatchling of the four broods lives through. That moment when the secret skills and tools start to become common knowledge in the hatchery. How, soon after, the competition became ten times as fierce, forcing learning, cutting out more of the chaff. Imagine that, but on a global scale, across broods, across species, across cultures! Imagine how much stronger we would all become before the inevitable return.

    -From Aphorisms: 16:7-11

    The neonate, slathered in scentmoss, watched the rous from the dense fern she stood in, mostly sheltered from the rain. She was so close that she could reach out and grab the beast¡¯s tail if she wanted. Snatch it as it chewed on the remains of a smaller rous that it had killed.

    Two for one.

    It surprised her that the parasites were cannibalistic. Most mammals weren¡¯t. Her Instinct was still confused by the creatures, still not knowing what they were.

    It was the next day, and she had been testing just how well the moss masked her scent, practicing with it, testing its limits.

    The effects wearing off the previous day hadn¡¯t been too much of an issue, but she wanted to better understand it so it never would. And now she was starting to figure out just how much to apply, when to apply it, and how to extend how long it worked in the monsoon.

    And it was a marvelous improvement. Combined with keeping track of the direction of the wind, and her highly developed camouflage, the Greenscale could sneak up on almost anything now.

    Kill!

    She thrust the black blade into the back of the beast¡¯s skull. It twitched once before dying without even a squeak. She quickly started to break down the carcass, trying to use some of the techniques she had seen Bowmaker and Ropemaker use.

    Getting pretty good at this. She enjoyed the heat of the cooling corpse as she pealed the skin away, licking the sweet blood from her palm before continuing. The large rodents were becoming a staple of her diet.

    She let her thoughts return to the moss.

    I even startled the Provider this morning.

    Her Instinct grunted from her bloody hands, sunrise yellow and smug orange flowing up her arms to wash over her.

    The neonate had hopped onto his shoulder as he had brought in a fresh crocodile. He had actually stopped when she landed, turning his head and blinking once, clearly startled.

    The tail of the beast was back in her territory under the tree, still smoking in the rafters of the shelter. She had extended it, using the path through the temple to easily bring in a lot of supplies, sticking to paths she knew.

    Instead of building more mud walls, the Greenscale had stretched the crocodile hide between two of the poles with the bat wings. Both together had made a quick and dirty wind break.

    I am getting pretty good at this! She felt proud as she made the last cut on the second rous, she buried the guts of both, using the skin as a little sack to carry the meat back. Going back through the Ropemaker entrance to the temple.

    The neonate had thought of just setting up her base inside the old temple, but that felt disrespectful, like setting up a shelter inside Tok¡¯s.

    Wanting to stay on good terms with the Gods, she had cleaned more of it, using the mushrooms to highlight more of the carvings each time she passed by, filling in where pigment had once been, always finding more to pick every day for the task.

    She would have thought that they would have died out in the light, but these continued to grow happily. If anything, they were growing even bigger than they had before ever since the runes lit up.

    What are they feeding on then? She knew that mushrooms fed on wood and other such things. But the glowing ones grew out of the stone itself. She also couldn¡¯t take the mushrooms out of the temple. She had tried.

    The rain made their glow dissipate, flaring and sparking. And when she put any in her bag they were devoured by it.

    She didn¡¯t trust eating them, it drove her Instinct berserk, so, the Greenscale used them to paint the murals and the idols a little more on every pass through she made. The repetitive task of it giving her a chance to think and plan.

    The bow she had claimed sat propped up against one of the mud walls, the wood it was made of still a mystery to her. Different from the others she had been using.

    Just one more thing to search for.

    She ate her fill from the oldest smoked meats, not wanting them to go bad, hanging the fresh rous in its place. She was almost bringing in as much as she ate. And while that was a good thing, she wasn¡¯t going hungry, she knew that the possibility of lean times was ever present. And, she was growing, if not as fast as she would like, but that meant she would just generally need more food.

    Tapping into my stores soon. And so would the rest of the brood.

    Cull rivals.

    She would have to, if she wanted to get enough food to keep surviving.

    She took the southernmost entrance, the one directly across from the one inside the thorns. It too was flooded. She didn¡¯t want to use the Harvester entrance, it was too close to Bowmaker, and so she avoided the eastern side of the island entirely.

    If I was him, I would be waiting for the person that ruined my outpost to return. Making another bow. She had thought about tracking him again, following him to the right tree, but for all she knew he had completed another bow already and was waiting for her.

    Deadly arrows with stone tips nocked and waiting. It was the obvious conclusion, the pine glue and sinew could attach stone tips, she was sure.

    Her Instinct grunted. Compete. Explore. Learn.

    The little predator had chosen to go down a new path, the one that headed due south. There was another fire she had spotted from her tree in that direction.

    The pathway was much like the northern one, leading up into a set of stairs. It differed in that when she got to the top it wasn¡¯t an open structure that she walked through, or a puzzle to solve.

    Rather it was a sort of hatch that she pulled down into a ramp and walked up. As she stepped off the runes of the ramp stopped glowing, and the whole thing lifted back up into place with a soft boom.

    Is it open for me then on this side? Or is there a trick to it.

    Her Instinct hissed pensively.

    She placed her foot on the ramp, and they blazed into light again starting to sink, lifting back and booming shut as she lifted her foot. She was glad she made sure. The area that she came out into was a cramped space. It was mostly hidden and blocked by foliage and a toppled obelisk on the outside.

    It might open for anyone. Gotta be careful leaving.

    Good. Learn. Thrive!

    The neonate slipped out, camouflaged, and climbed a mangrove tree, reaching one of the widest branches and finding moss to coat herself in. It was from there that she could smell the fire she had been aiming for. She looked for the smoke, but didn¡¯t see much of anything. But she could smell it through the rain, taste it on the breeze. It was close.

    South.

    She turned to face that direction, and hissed. Once again trees were sparse, and she wouldn¡¯t have an easy escape through the highest branches.

    <hr>

    Overcome. Maruc demanded.

    <hr>

    A true test of my new skill with the moss then. It wasn¡¯t a happy thought, but the little one knew she couldn¡¯t be idle.

    Climbing down, she thought she knew where she was, and headed in the general direction that the fire should be based on her observations back from her own tree. It wasn¡¯t too long before she found the camp, only a bit farther west than her guess. As she had expected, the fire was almost smokeless, the wood properly dried.

    Smarter than Bowmaker. There was another lean-to there, the roof thatched with layered leaves and branches.

    The fire also had a pile of stones on one side to better reflect the heat like her own, and from the single rafter there were several tendons hanging to dry. She also saw, hunched over and working on something, the owner of the camp.

    She was not tall, only slightly taller than the neonate, maybe four feet and a few inches in total. This new rival made up for it though in how wide she was. Shoulders broad, neck thick, hips sturdy.

    She sat next to the fire with a stone in each hand, striking the edge of one with the other with soft high pitched cracks.

    The neonate moved as close as she dared.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Don¡¯t fail me now, moss.

    The other female had a rope belt with five axes through loops in it. They looked much nicer than the one she had gotten from the abandoned Ropemaker nest. The most noticeable thing was the heads were not jagged, but smooth. Ground and almost polished.

    Axmaker. Her Instinct named the female.

    How had she done that?

    The sinew that bound them to the hafts was coated in the pine pitch she had yet to figure out how to make. The neonate could tell you added something to it from the smell of it on the arrows she had gotten the previous day, but what was still up in the air. There was something more worrying though.

    Knowledge is spreading. That wasn¡¯t good. It meant that many of her opponents would be better armed, on top of having the advantage of strength. She eyed the five axes at the big female¡¯s belt, the smooth ground heads.

    Less likely to chip. She needed that knowledge.

    The little predator looked around, trying to see if there was a clue to how it was done, but all she could see was wood shavings, stone chips, and firewood.

    Axmaker shifted, placing the hammerstone down and picked up a rous femur, doing more delicate work along the edge. The ones at her belt clattered softly, and the neonate spotted that the finished axes all had fire hardened points at the end of their hafts. Like the arrows Bowmaker had.

    Why do that?

    Second attack? Her Instinct mused.

    That can¡¯t be it, it wouldn¡¯t have any reach. The point would be just past the palm. Maybe if the prey tackled her, but then she¡¯d have other concerns.

    I already have my knife.

    She doesn¡¯t.

    Why not make a stone one? And even then, there was still the question of why Axmaker had five. It would weigh her down. And the construction was good enough that the neonate was sure that they didn¡¯t break.

    At least not often. She eyed Axmaker''s wide shoulders.

    Axmaker finished shaping the new ax head with a few more decisive strikes with the rous bone hammer. There was the soft tinkling chime of good stone flakes clattering into her lap, loudly punctuating the moment in the constant rain between lightning strikes. Axmaker plucked the nicest pieces out, brushing the others away and set them aside.

    That same part of the neonate that had felt kinship with Bowmaker felt the same for Axmaker in that moment. Using as much as she could. Those flakes would be good blades, or arrowheads.

    She still needed to figure out how to use the sap though.

    Look then, idiot.

    She shifted closer, sliding through the shadows and underbrush, ready to flee at any second. Managing to get a better vantage point.

    Axmaker placed the ax head down and pulled what was clearly a haft out of the fire, grinding the smoldering end against a stone black with soot before placing it back into the fire to continue the process. She picked the ax head up again and leaned over to take a flat stone out of the rain.

    The neonate watched as she set the blade of the ax against the flat wet stone and began to slide it back and forth. Grinding them together, the sound loud in the rain.

    Ah¡­ So those represent days of effort? She felt greed build inside. She wanted them.

    The grinding sound helped cover her approach, giving the neonate a chance to circle further around the camp. Getting closer for an even better view. The neonate checked the direction of the wind, planning how best to proceed.

    That way. Her Instinct hissed.

    The little predator stalked through cover, keeping an eye on her target, making sure that there was no sign of her being detected. She got closer, trusting the moss.

    Her Instinct hissed thoughtfully. Take.

    She wasn¡¯t sure how she could manage that. She did want the ax heads though, but it was not just that. Really, she wanted anything she could take away from the others. They tried to take everything from me after all.

    The rhythmic sound of it made it easy for her to make her way all the way over to the other female. She settled into shadows of one of the bushes next to the lean-to, observing. She let her tongue flicker out, and her Instinct seized her eyes and yanked them about! Searching for the source of that smell.

    Where! Need!

    Quiet!

    She saw it then. Axmaker had some healing herb poultice on a wound at her thigh. She almost snapped her jaw in frustration but managed to stop herself. The cravings never went away it seemed. But it was worse.

    I can¡¯t try my plan with the herb on her. She could tell that the other female wasn¡¯t under the influence of the leaves. She was too methodical, too controlled.

    Not weak.

    Axmaker froze, looking up, tongue flickering out as her yellow eyes scanned around her.

    Fuck!

    The neonate held her breath, narrowing her eyes to slits just as the other female¡¯s passed over her. Axmaker¡¯s eyes stopped roving. The neonate could see the pupils contract then dilate, she was that close. Axmaker¡¯s tongue flickered out again. She recognized the look in Axmaker¡¯s expression.

    Run! Her Instinct screamed from her legs, and it took all she had to stay still. Hunter staring at prey! Run!

    Instead, the little warrior¡¯s hand moved slowly to the handle of her knife. Gripping the handle of the matte black blade. Her other hand moved to her own ax.

    Her heart pounded in her chest.

    She should charge.

    Attack.

    Strike now!

    Kill!

    Get in her attack before the other stronger female could. But Axmaker wasn¡¯t an opponent she wanted to face, not yet. Not directly. Not without some kind of advantage besides surprise. Her grip on the knife tightened.

    She noted Axmaker¡¯s gaze. Something was off.

    Wait¡­ She looked harder. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s looking at me.

    It was close, but she thought that Axmaker might actually be looking behind her at something. Her rival drew an ax from her belt and lifted it high, and that conviction became very difficult to cling too.

    She forced down the need to swallow, to flee, to breathe.

    No movement.

    Stillness only.

    Axmaker had her weapon in a strange grip, thumb resting along the haft, pointing towards the head.

    The neonate knew why there were so many axes now. Why they had pointed tips at the end of their handles.

    She didn¡¯t even change where she was looking, relying on her peripheral vision to keep track of what was going on.

    Run!

    Not yet! She hoped she was right.

    Axmaker slowly stood.

    Strike! Kill!

    No, not yet! She had to be right!

    Something needed to happen, her heart was going to burst from her chest otherwise.

    The other female¡¯s tongue was flickering rapidly now. Her whole body was slowly turning towards the neonate, ax lifting higher. Fear swelled inside the neonate, and she grit her teeth. Her hands clenched her weapons.

    Fear will not control me now. She was certain that Axmaker wasn¡¯t looking at her, but if she was, she would lash out. It would be a close thing though.

    There was a flash of lightning and Axmaker flicked her weapon forward. The neonate flinched, watching as it sailed right at her.

    Spinning fast enough to hum!

    She couldn¡¯t look away!

    Thunk!  Something behind her squealed once. It had passed about ten inches to the left of her head.

    The neonate was so startled by how close she had come to death that she almost didn¡¯t shift out of the way fast enough as Axmaker looked down, grabbing a flake and growling in pleasure.

    She¡¯ll barge right through! She quickly slipped to the right, moving to a neighboring bush, actively shifting her patterns and coloring as she did.

    Axmaker didn¡¯t even glance at her. As she walked back to her shelter, she had a squirrel in her hand, its skull smashed flat, already opening up its belly for the guts. The ax was already in its belt loop once more, sharpened tip bloody instead of the head.

    Thunder snarled in the heavens.

    Ah, so if it doesn¡¯t hit square, there is another chance of it sticking.

    Or blunt kill.

    Another ranged weapon. She was still behind it seemed.

    She eyed the squirrel, the second time the prey was too small for the predator.

    Resources again? She wondered, calming down.

    She wasn¡¯t sure that she would want to rely solely on throwing a weapon though. If you missed, well¡­ It seemed like an easy way to give it to your opponent. She also felt that the Bowmaker¡¯s weapon was much more efficient for hunting.

    That weapon is both though. Close and ranged.

    The neonate noted the small stature of the other female, layered with thick muscle. Having extra reach would help.

    Axmaker stripped the small beast of its skin, hanging it inside out to dry, then tore the guts free. Pinching one end of the intestines, she emptied the contents of them onto a flat stone, rinsing her hands in the rain after. Skewering the squirrel to roast over the flames when she was done and returned to grinding.

    Dung? Why?

    Axmaker reached over and plucked a single variegated leaf and slid it into her mouth as she worked, chewing slowly. The neonate felt her Instinct snarling in the back of her mind. Axmaker spat the juice out, some dribbling down her chin, and kept chewing. Just for the sake of it, it seemed.

    How? No! No, she didn¡¯t care. She could smell it though, and knew she was lying.

    The neonate waited, trying to distract herself by watching stones get ground together.

    Agony!

    She ignored her Instinct.

    The grinding stone was also rinsed with the rain repeatedly, dark flakes coming off that had to be washed away in the downpour occasionally while Axmaker abraded the ax head with the other stone.

    Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t long before Axmaker split the haft, set the head in, and wrapped it with some pre-pounded sinew fibers. Then it got to the part the neonate had been waiting for.

    Taking the flat stone with the squirrel droppings on it, Axmaker added some unlit charcoal, and some pieces of pine resin on top, using a piece of firewood to crush everything into dust, heating the mix after. She did that by placing the stone close but not in the fire.

    She stirred and stirred. It bubbled stickily. Using the stirring stick, Axmaker smeared the concoction over the sinew generously in an even layer.

    Dung? And charcoal? Who had thought to try that first?

    <hr>

    ... I like to tinker, okay?

    <hr>

    Irrelevant. Learn! Her Instinct snarled.

    As the mix cooled, it took on that satin sheen. Axmaker, looking satisfied, made a fresh loop in her belt for the new tool and slid it in. She leaned over and picked up a fresh, unshaped stone, starting again. Clearly content to stay there all day.

    Damn¡­ fine. It wasn¡¯t a totally fruitless mission, she had learned quite a lot.

    The neonate slowly backed away, timing her steps to the strikes of the stone, moving behind the lean-to so she didn¡¯t have to worry about her movement giving her away. Thunder rumbled in the distance, joined by several of its fellows.

    I¡¯ll sabotage on another day. She had too much information to process, and she needed to reapply the moss soon anyway. Axmaker kept knocking flakes off the next ax head, none the wiser. The neonate got to the trees and slipped up one, moving out of the range of Axmaker¡¯s senses.

    She had so many questions. Would any rodent droppings do? Could she gather up rous droppings for this? This would warrant some exploration, if she had the time to.

    Once she was comfortably far away, the neonate set up snares in hidden places on that end of the island, still ruminating on her discoveries.

    Like continuously decorating the temple, placing the snares and thinking was a practice she was starting to do on every exploration. She basically had all the materials she wanted in that regard. The hoard of cordage that was Ropemaker¡¯s nest was seemingly endless.

    And most of the others are more direct hunters than I am. Part of her wished that for herself, but the island was a bit too crowded for her to feel comfortable trying.

    Coward. Fight!

    She ignored her Instinct, though deep down she wanted to. I just have to fight differently.

    On her way back she made sure to pluck every herb bush she saw bare of both leaves and berries, cutting them down after. Denying them from Axmaker and any others in the area. Force them into each other¡¯s territory.

    It was with shaking hands that she forced herself to put it all in her bag.

    Leaves!

    It had almost become background noise in her mind.

    Just as she was entering the temple again, the bag began to flicker and flare with light. She sighed.

    I wonder if the knife will start demanding things next.

    She let the ramp swing upwards behind her.

    The neonate stuffed the flickering complaining bag full of the glowing mushrooms as she traveled, staining her hands and claws. So many that her custom of painting more around the temple was carried out by the stain of her claws and fingers alone.

    The bag stopped flickering by the third handful, and none of the herbs inside seemed effected in the slightest. Not a single drop of the luminous substance on them at all. She stared at them. Her mouth was dry as sun-baked sand.

    When she got to the far end she hung the herbs in the rack she had made, taking the dry ones and grinding some more paste with the stones she now used. Her hands shook again at the sight of the paste. It was worse as she applied the poultice to her wounds, mostly healed but not completely gone just yet. She forced herself to wash her hands in the flowing rainwater before walking away.

    She kept the seeds in her bag. She wanted them on her person if she spotted the perfect candidate for her plan.

    She gorged herself on her meager supplies, gulping rainwater as well. Trying to shut up her nagging hindbrain so she could sleep.

    Thunder rumbled as she did.

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 39: Hue

    Competition is hottest between individuals trying to fill the same niche.

    -From Aphorisms: 1:4

    The neonate replaced the newly smoothed head of her bloodoak ax back into the haft, pulling the rous sinew snug and tying a tight knot.

    What once had looked like a half-gnawed hunk of meat, chunks here and there bitten out of the surface, was now smooth. Its edge was sharp enough to gouge into wood, but rounded enough that it wouldn¡¯t break easily. It was a thing of simple beauty now, like her knife.

    She had ground in furrows along each side of it so that the split haft would sit more snugly around it as well.

    Good! Learned. Her Instinct purred, looking at the hole she had dug to give her a space to use the rounded corners of the path stones for the cheeks of the ax head. The path had turned out to be the perfect surface to do all the work on the ax.

    None of the stones had budged, and there were no signs of wear at all on any of them either. The runes carved in them were each a little pool of water in the stone, and some were now full of fine sand from the ax head. The rain was doing a good job washing it all away.

    Before working on the ax, the Greenscale had experimented with small amounts of pine sap, charcoal, and rous dung, having pulled one from a snare over by the Ropemaker exit. She wasn¡¯t sure what she was looking for, but she knew what she was smelling for, and she had found a ratio that seemed close enough.

    Two, one, one. Two parts sap, to one part each of dung and charcoal.

    The best part in her mind, apart from the functionality itself, was the pine tar was black, and would blend well. The sinew had always been a bit too bright, not blending well with the shadows and underbrush.

    She gave a generous coating to the ax, strengthening it, but by the time she was done there was quite a bit left.

    Misjudged how much I¡¯d need. She examined how much remained.

    Waste. Her Instinct hissed.

    The neonate didn¡¯t want that. It could be useful somewhere else. She contemplated what to do with the stuff.

    Could try and¡­ She looked at the stick she had used to apply to the ax. It had cooled pine tar on it in little drips. Hang on. Would the pine tar melt again?

    She held the application stick over the coals, and was delighted to see that it did indeed get glossy, starting to flow once more. The little predator took the stick away from her fire and let the tar cool while she moved the stone she had made the whole batch on near the fire to heat once more.

    Scoop by scoop, she gathered what remained onto the stick, letting each layer cool in between. As she went it got faster to do, and when she was done, she rubbed it between her scaly palms.

    She had realized early on in her experiments that she could make the coating matte and also smooth to the touch by touching it. The neonate then took a thin cord and knotted it around the stick, hanging the whole thing from the end of a branch that was part of the rafters.

    Good, can keep it on hand and out of the way now.

    Her Instinct hummed, pleased she found a way to not waste it.

    Looking at the small stick of pine tar, the neonate blinked thoughtfully.

    Lightning flashed.

    I should get more.

    Thunder clapped.

    Dangerous. Her Instinct thought of Bowmaker.

    Yes, so I¡¯ll have to look for other pines. She walked through to the back of the shelter, scooping a handful of water out of the rivulet as she went, drinking it before climbing up her tree in the back.

    Up in the branches she looked across the island, protecting her eyes from the rain. She thought she could see pine trees off in the distance to the northeast of her. Could explore that path in the temple then.

    She wanted to try one more thing though, the darkness of the pine tar giving her an idea to help her ax blend even more. She slid down the side of the tree and hopped back under her shelter.

    She fed the hungry little fire, placing larger pieces of wood that it would take some time to gnaw through before searching through her possessions. She grunted when she found the little container of the black liquid, pulling out the stopper.

    Smell. Her Instinct noted as she poured a little of the liquid on and coated the wood.

    I¡¯ll coat it with moss after.

    The little container bounced against her hip, inside the bag. She hadn¡¯t been sure if she¡¯d need to use it again in the rain. The pigmentation remained for now, she had let it dry a bit, but she didn¡¯t want to be out there and need the liquid and not have it.

    In a perfect world, the stoppered container would be tied directly to her belt, but the clear material it was made of was too shiny, especially in the rain. Her tongue flickered out and she winced.

    Haft still smells.

    Warned.

    She wasn¡¯t concerned. The Greenscale had transplanted some scentmoss from outside her territory and placed it on several branches of her tree, hoping for it to grow. Like planting the herb berries, she wanted to have a supply within the safety of the warren.

    Because of that plan, she had taken only the tiniest amount of the moss from each spot, not wanting to disturb the growth of the rest, just to see if it would work. She was pleased to find that it had lessened the smell.

    Just need more moss. It would be the first thing she did after leaving the temple anyway. With that in mind, the little predator walked down the path towards the temple stairs.

    The herbs had sprouted. She tried not to notice for now. Her Instinct tried to force her to look.

    Lightning flashed and thunder gnashed.

    She¡¯d use more moss once she was out of the temple. On the haft of the ax. She jerkily made her way past the dried herbs and down the stairs.

    She couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge that she was fleeing from plants.

    I am fighting for my survival though. It didn¡¯t feel true.

    At the dais, she did her usual prayer and quick touch up of some of the luminescent markings before heading northeast. She also filled the bag with the mushrooms too, and it ate them greedily. Just to make sure it wouldn¡¯t flicker and flash in the new space.

    <hr>

    Good. A challenge for you, last daughter of the hero. Last hatched of the bloodline.

    This Guy, I swear. Good luck Kiddo.

    <hr>

    The path in this direction led to several huge rooms, hundreds of niches carved into them, about two feet high, four feet deep, and six feet long. And every single one was empty.

    The feeling of being observed shifted as soon as she stepped into one. The room was dry. Cold. And the unseen gaze on the back of her head shifted owners. She wasn¡¯t sure how she knew, but the little predator could sense it.

    It was a calming presence, an enticing presence, and that alone made her not trust it. It made her think of pitcher plants, luring flies with sweet nectar only to snap shut over them once they fell in. The neonate growled, glaring, daring some beast to spring its trap.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    <hr>

    Yeah, sorry about that Kiddo. It¡¯s cause She is lonely.

    Silence.

    <hr>

    The sound of pouring water continued to echo.

    Nothing leaped out to get her.

    She gripped her knife and backed out of the room. There was nothing in there for her, so she continued towards where there would inevitably be a door.

    When she got to the end she found that the door had a particular carving in it. A half circle, a line for the pupil.

    Ravo¡¯s eye. She looked back at the rooms. Carved slots just big enough for people to rest in. A barrow?

    Ignore. Door.

    Turning back to the exit, the neonate looked at the eye, searching for a mechanism. But try as she might, she couldn¡¯t discover any.

    Then she remembered how Tok had drawn it in the mud.

    Half circle first. She traced the shape with her claw, the same way she remembered Tok drawing it when he had talked about the spiders.

    She waited, feeling a little silly.

    Click.

    She blinked.

    Click-Clack! Scrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnn¡­

    The door slowly opened, and she could smell the rain outside, hear it assaulting the leaves and stones. The opposite side was smooth, covered in moss and lichen, and there, on one side, tiny, was the same carved symbol. A huge rotting trunk of a tree blocked the way in from sight, and the door came out of what looked like a huge bolder, not a ruin.

    With yellow thoughts she let the door shut, the leaf of a vine from the trunk covering it.

    She placed her hand over the symbol and heard a much muffled click-clack as the latch came undone again. She lifted her hand and let the door shut once more.

    Easy. Good.

    The little predator shifted her pattern and made her way up into the canopy, climbing the tree.

    Bloodoak. Her Instinct hissed as soon as she touched the rough bark.

    So was this where Ropemaker had gotten the haft for her ax? She knew from both use of the tool and her Instinct that Bloodoak was incredibly good for tools, but this one was old enough to be punky.

    Grubs. Her Instinct confirmed, picking one out that was about five inches long and popping it into her mouth. It burst in a delightful way when she bit down.

    Perhaps there is more than one tree of interest up here. The Greenscale swallowed before her tongue flickered out. Her eyes bulged.

    That smell!

    Dread filled her.

    She knew that scent. Biter¡¯s rival. A contender for the apex of apex competitors on the Island.

    Slash!

    Claws tore up bark as she scrambled.

    Higher! Safety!

    She leapt from the rotting log and grabbed the end of a bough, pulling herself up and into it and going even higher. She needed the safety of the thinner branches, not sure even that was enough.

    Hurry, need to see. She didn¡¯t know if he was ten yards away or a hundred, but he was a deadly problem for her.

    She ran to the end of the limb and sprung from it, grabbing a vine and using it to swing up onto the branch of an even taller tree.

    When she finally felt safe she slowed down, blending, taking some sharp turns and finally coming to a halt to look and see if anything was approaching.

    She spotted a python several trees over, some rous fifty yards away, and maybe the trail of a tikabo, slimy and sinuous. But that was all. She was alone. For now.

    I¡¯ll have to be careful.

    Agreed.

    It wasn¡¯t quite strong enough to be deep in his territory, but he had just passed by. Ran up the log from the smell and traveled west.

    Why west? That was towards the original nest and Tok. Past that was her first shelter, the grubby log. She tried to think of what else.

    Focus. Moss. Sap.

    She shifted on the branch, pulling some of the moss up and scrubbing herself and the pigmented ax. It rubbed some of the coloring away, but it no longer smelled. Looking around she got her bearings, and could see the tall pines she had noticed from her territory. She headed off in that direction.

    When she finally got to the grove of pines she found herself in awe. Not of their size, though they were large, but rather the colors and smells all around.

    Bowmaker¡¯s camp was pungent with the smell of pine, but this¡­

    It had a sense of being something established, immovable, everlasting.

    A place where Szez¡¯tek Vooznal itself placed its claws. It wasn¡¯t verdant, or particularly lush, but there was something primal about the area. So vibrant, so different. Mushrooms, needles, and bright red squirrels.

    She eyed a particularly fat one hungrily, but she stopped herself. The last thing she needed was the smell of blood, especially with the wind blowing in the direction that she suspected Slash had headed.

    So ignoring that for now, she slipped through the canopy of the pines, drawing her knife in preparation to gather the resin she had come for.

    Her Instinct growled, full of granite gray suspicion.

    She turned and looked behind her, not sure why but needing to check. It was much the same as everywhere else though. Slowly she moved into the pines.

    This is incredible. It was so easy to move from tree to tree, the branches just like the pines over by Bowmaker. Leveled. Making it easy to traverse and climb vertically. But it wasn¡¯t perfect.

    More than once she found herself looking for a vine that just wasn¡¯t there, or was too small for her, or was so long dead that she worried that it would snap in her grip.

    I am not used to this territory.

    It was worth it though, as there was an incredible amount of resin to collect. It was everywhere.

    It was where limbs had been broken off, old scrapes from the fauna, even a place that looked to be a healed over lightning strike. She dug at them with her knife, piling them into the bag, working to get as much as she could.

    She found a particularly large chunk and broke it off, opening the bag and putting it-

    WHACK!

    Her vision shuttered as something cracked her on the side of the head and the neonate nearly tumbled out of the tree.

    The neonate barely managed to grab the branch as she fell, swinging to the layer below instead, snarling and trying to blink away stars. She could hear the soft sounds of pursuit behind her.

    How?

    Smell.

    Not the ax. She couldn¡¯t smell the pigment.

    Smell! Her Instinct repeated unhelpfully.

    Ignoring her confusion she landed and spun, slashing with the matte black blade.

    Design hissed behind her, leaning back and away as the very tip of her blade knicked his throat, a tiny cut that didn¡¯t even go through his scales.

    His skin matched the bark of the pine tree. Moving like he was comfortable in the pines, he leaped back onto a different branch, out of her reach for the moment. The little warrior noted his hues and patterns were a lot closer than the last time they had met.

    He¡¯s been practicing.

    ¡°I am glad you came.¡± He hissed in a whisper, ¡°Accept this gift.¡±

    His arm shot forward, something jagged glittering there.

    No!

    Move!

    She leaned back and slipped, an obsidian blade, shining in the male¡¯s hand. She gripped with her toeclaws so that she didn¡¯t fall out of the tree and hissed as he stamped on them, forcing her to let go.

    Lightning not even fifty yards away lanced into the river with a deafening bang, ruining her vision for a moment.

    Still seeing spots she tried to grab at the next level of branches as it rushed towards her, hands spread wide. One slapped into her palm and she swung out, letting go and still struggling to see. With a thump, she hit the trunk of the next tree and frantically held on to it.

    Down! Her Instinct barked, pushing the pain aside.

    She had to move, regroup, lose him. And the bolt that had ruined her sight had to have ruined his.

    It was to his back!

    Shit!

    Suddenly he was swinging in on a hidden rope, stone blade humming.

    ¡°Consume you!¡± One-eye¡¯s voice invaded her mind.

    No! Not again!

    The neonate leaped away, and a thin painful line opened up along the ridge of her snout. She had barely gotten away.

    Aiming for my throat! She growled, her black and red flickering across her body for an instant. Fine! He already knew her secret skill. Time to see if you can keep up!

    She flexed her skin scanning the area, shifting color and pattern as she moved more intricately than ever before. Eyes wide, roving, the neonate set about memorizing all the hues and patterns and levels of saturation even as she landed on a fallen pine propped up by three others.

    C-crack!

    The whole thing shifted as her weight was added. She ran down the propped tree and glanced behind her, seeing Design swing back and let go of the rope as he leaped after her. A thin branch smacked her in the face, the scent of pine pungent in her nose for a moment.

    Needles!

    The moss was what had given her away, it was the wrong smell. Like at Bowmaker¡¯s outpost.

    Jump now! Her Instinct snarled.

    She sprung out into open air, seeing a branch lower down to land on.

    CRACK!

    The propped tree broke through the branches!

    Design yelped as it fell out from under him, the needles of all the surrounding trees hissing like a thousand reptiles. They drowned out the squeaking cries of the birds nesting there as they fled, startled.

    The neonate landed on the branch of a far tree, startled by just how much it bent but staying on and running towards thicker sections.

    She glanced back, eyes slits, seeing where her opponent was.

    THUMP!

    The tree was caught by lower branches and Design staggered.

    Damn. It would have solved her problem if he fell the whole way, but it wasn¡¯t a total loss.

    He growled, glaring up at her, too far down to get to the same tree she was in. Even as she watched his own camouflage locked in, and he became hard to discern as he leapt into a neighboring tree.

    Perfect.

    She rushed forward, thinking rapidly.

    Break line of sight. Find a hiding spot. Ambush or flee after. She did have all she had come for already. If she could get away that in and of itself would be a victory.

    She tore free needles left and right, scrubbing her body and the ax with them as she found a thick branch to hang under. Her bag she had resting on her stomach to hide it. She hung there, listening, trying to hear him through the rain and the branches and the roar of the monsoon. She kept her eyes mostly closed, trying to move her head as little as possible.

    She adjusted her hues the tiniest amount as lightning flashed bright. The flare of it giving her a better look at what colors she should be using.

    She had to pay attention to those for offensive reasons too, as Design still wasn¡¯t perfect at it like her. It was hard because she couldn¡¯t really look down without feeling like she would give herself away.

    Need to move. Better view.

    So carefully, painstakingly, she let herself slide down the trunk, shifting her pattern as she went.

    There were some ferns down at the bottom, and she deftly sunk into them, the greens much easier for her to match than the cloud grays of the trees around her.

    Where? She sniffed the air, but of course she couldn¡¯t-

    There!

    It surprised her, she could smell him?

    No, that male is too tall to be Design. Then she realized.

    Shit! She slowly backed deeper into the ferns.

    Fear filled her.

    Slash was stalking through the undergrowth.

    Eloquent as ever, her Instinct hissed.

    Fuck¡­

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 40: Interrupted

    A sudden introduction of an unexpected challenger, hardship, or strain is one of the best ways to force innovation and growth. Search these out and learn how to overcome anything.

    -From Vocationals: 1:17-18

    The neonate cursed her luck, but was glad she had taken the time to coat herself with the needles as the long clawed apex¡¯s tongue flickered out.

    Lightning flashed, washing out all his hues for a moment and he covered his eyes, hissing in frustration.

    Now!

    She darted, glad of the thunder and her camouflage as she circled away, three-toed feet pumping.

    Can¡¯t stay, need to run.

    She couldn¡¯t handle Slash alone, and with Design there it was practically a death sentence.

    She zipped away, relying on her speed, vaulting over a dead log.

    Something sliced along her tail and she fought down a yelp, spinning and kicking without looking first.

    Design grunted softly as her toeclaws stabbed into his gut, managing to puncture his scales but not much else.

    The little warrior bared her teeth, flashing black and red around her eyes.

    Now? Gods damn it now?! She fought back a roar. Both knew that they had to fight in complete silence because of Slash¡¯s proximity.

    She drew her ax and stabbed with her knife.

    Design ducked under the blade, but he had to roll away from her swinging ax. He rolled towards her.

    What?

    Trying to get behind!

    Thinking fast, the neonate swept with her injured tail, ignoring the dirt and needles that got into the wood, knocking her rivals feet out from under him.

    Yes!

    Strike!

    She continued to spin, knife ready, stepping out of it and towards him as soon as he came in sight. Matte black death shot forward fast as a kingbill¡¯s beak.

    Design twisted, but her blade sliced a thin line along his chest, right along his semi-permanent markings there.

    He staggered back scraping up mud with a free hand and covering the wound to stop the smell of blood. Trying to recover.

    Lightning shattered the sky, bright as noonday.

    Kill! Do it now!

    She followed Design, not letting up, sensing victory! Reversing her knife so it was point down the little warrior gripped the haft with both hands and gave a tremendous swing!

    Crack!

    It snapped through a pine sapling!

    Needles showered everywhere.

    Her hands jarred painfully, the black blade hummed in sympathy.

    And the swing slowed enough that Design got away again.

    Thunder crashed behind them, but it couldn¡¯t possibly be as frustrated as the neonate.

    So close!

    Slash roared.

    They both froze, and they heard the apex shredding through the underbrush. Both glared at each other for half an instant before dashing away in opposite directions and into hiding.

    Design jumped up against the trunk of a tree, shuffling to keep opposite Slash as the bigger male charged forward. His almost closed eyes still conveying perfect frustration to the neonate. She had ducked behind a ruin, a toppled pile of worked stones, and glared back just as hard.

    Slash lived up to his name, hacking through the undergrowth, snapping his jaws.

    ¡°Give up, whelp.¡± He glanced at a berry bush, his claws flashed, and in an instant it was in tatters. ¡°I am here to collect what is due.¡± He growled, wiggling his claws so that they clattered together ominously.

    What? Does he know I¡¯m here?

    No! Design! Focus!

    She crawled along the ground, backing away, as quick as she dared, trying to get around the back of a tree so she could escape upwards. Slash tore through some ferns next, opening up a clear space about a yard wide around himself. Searching.

    She was almost there.

    Idiot, like anyone would stay that close to yo-

    Thump-bump.

    Slash¡¯s eyes snapped in her direction as a tossed pinecone landed next to her.

    Shit! Design had to have thrown it.

    Run!

    Slash charged towards the neonate¡¯s location and she was forced to scramble away, fear giving her speed that she knew wasn¡¯t enough.

    He¡¯s been dealing with Design, he knows how to hunt for camouflage! She needed to try something new, but what?

    She spotted the snagged tree from earlier, the top of it rocking in the wind and rain.

    Danger!

    She gripped the bloodoak ax tightly. No choice!

    Blinking rain out of her eyes, the neonate ran up the tree, not having to look back to know how close Slash was. Yelping as she felt something sharp whistle within inches of the tip of her tail.

    Claws! Faster!

    She heard him bellow behind her as she spun and scooped at the ground with the ax like she had with the abomination.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Needles and dirt sprayed into the apex¡¯s face as he slashed at her once more, throwing off his aim so that it only sliced into her bicep instead of her throat.

    She hissed in pain, the wound bleeding profusely.

    Later keep going.

    Slash stumbled and fell, rubbing his eyes and snarling, and she sprinted up the angled trunk of the tree. She squashed mud from the ax head into the wound to stop the bleeding for the moment just like Design had, getting to the top of the tree and turning to face him.

    Taunt him. Make him stupid with rage.

    Panting, the little predator snapped her black and red into place.

    Not too much! Doesn¡¯t know!

    At the last second, she managed to pull it back slightly, make it simpler, hiding her full skill.

    Slash almost recoiled with confusion when he realized who she was. ¡°The runt? Why haven¡¯t you been culled?¡±

    His eyes rested on the ax and the knife and his own black and red snapped into place, emphasizing his claws. The pattern outlined with smug orange.

    ¡°Thanks for getting those for me¡­¡± Menace dripped from his words. ¡°Give them to me and I¡¯ll give you a head start.¡±

    Rage filled her and her hands tightened. What?

    Mine! Her Instinct roared.

    That would only set a dangerous precedent. And they were hers!

    She snapped her jaws. ¡°Want them? Try and take them.¡± She snarled, managing to hide most of her fear. She shook her head, vertebrae crackling back into place.

    He snapped back, clacking his claws, prowling slowly forward. Growl rumbling like rolling stones.

    She could feel the tree bounce with each step.

    ¡°Then be culled.¡± He hissed.

    Twenty yards away.

    Need to pick the right one.

    His toeclaws dug deep into the bark.

    She glanced to the left and right, looking at the branches.

    Right. Her Instinct hissed, doing the analysis for her. The knuckles of her ax hand popped and she reversed the black blade in her other hand.

    Slash took another couple of steps. Each hand spreading open, flowers of blades.

    Fifteen yards.

    She jumped to the right and started hacking at the partially broken branch with the ax. Fast two-handed blows as hard as she could. The knife reversed as she did so once more.

    Slash roared, eyes going wide as dirty white and yellow fear splashed across his face, the smug orange washing away.

    ¡°No!¡± He bellowed.

    He rushed in.

    Ten yards.

    She kept hacking, wood chips flying.

    Five.

    The tree shifted slightly. Almost!

    One.

    He loomed over her, blocking the raindrops, both hands lifted, ten-inch-long claws splayed. She swung one last time!

    Crack!

    The snagged tree came free and Slash tumbled down as she leaped away from his snatching claws. One grazing her knee as he fell, starting to drip blood. She slammed ax and knife into the supporting tree as she bit back another yelp of pain.

    Just pain, no major damage.

    Well that¡¯s an improvement. The neonate didn¡¯t need another debilitating wound.

    She dug in her toeclaws and pulled out the knife and ax to grab with her two foreclaws instead. Quick as a grass snake she was up the tree and running to its neighbor, still trying to get out.

    She found a rope she thought she remembered Design using and grabbed hold, swinging through a wide gap before landing on a tree farther away. She didn¡¯t have any more mud, she needed to stop the bleeding.

    Sap!

    She sliced the trunk viciously with her knife, getting enough sap to cover the rest of her wounds for the moment. She hated how sticky it felt.

    She dashed away, running along branches, hearing Slash get free in the distance, bellowing at the sky as lightning flashed again.

    She still wanted to get out. Needed to-

    There! A shape. Distinct.

    She saw him, Design.

    She slowed, and crouched low, inspecting.

    It had to be him, hiding not to far away. That was the shape of a Greenscale, the three toed feet, the tail pretending to be a root. He was pressed up against the trunk of the tree, deep in the shadows.

    Learning fast, he¡¯s hiding his imperfect hues with the dark. That said, his hues were much closer to correct. She was begrudgingly impressed.

    He didn¡¯t move.

    Hasn¡¯t seen me¡­

    Revenge. Her Instinct snarled as thunder cracked like the tube weapon.

    And distraction.

    She could hear Slash cursing down below, getting closer and searching for her in the trees. She slowly looked back at design. The fool left his snout sticking out! Even with the deep shadows, she could tell it was him.

    If I cut that idiot badly enough, the smell of blood will be too strong to hide. And I should be able to get away before he can recover.

    He¡¯ll be found. Her Instinct hissed happily.

    And won¡¯t be a thorn in my side ever again once Slash is done with him.

    Straining her skin, determined to not be seen, the little predator slunk forward. Hand over hand, belly flat against the branch. She took her time, hearing Slash searching violently, sensing the apex¡¯s anger as she got right over Design.

    Slash rushed right past him below, snarling and growling, using his claws to hack through everything in his way as he went. She ignored him once he was far enough for her to get away.

    Have to make it hurt, have him make a sound.

    Or mimic his growl.

    She could probably manage that.

    She waited for Slash to get farther away. And still, Design didn¡¯t move, probably not wanting to make a sound that the other male would hear.

    Learning so quick. His hue was perfect now.

    See how you like being the target.

    She dropped, still camouflaged as she went, and slashed across Design¡¯s chest.

    Bark, peeled from a log, split under the fine edge of her matte black blade. The twine holding it there splitting.

    Decoy!

    Behind!

    She dropped low. Pain shot along her shoulder as the obsidian blade sliced along it instead of piercing it. She reached back and hooked her rival¡¯s leg with the beard of her ax, pulling. Design was ready for that though and lifted his foot, moving in and slashing with his knife in complete silence.

    No! He had had the same idea! Hurt her and leave her as a decoy.

    She twisted away and the blade missed, awkwardly rolling under the following slash of the weapon before scrambling to her feet on the branch.

    Slash was still snarling, looking above them now, close enough to hear, but looking in the wrong direction.

    Lightning flashed.

    Design kicked her in the chest and she staggered, seeing the glittering obsidian in his hand as it rushed forward.

    Live!

    Block it!

    She lifted the matte black blade.

    Thunder boomed as earthbone met stone, the obsidian blade shattered into sparkling shards, zipping away and leaving fine slices along Design¡¯s wrist and knuckles.

    Hissing he leaped back as she swung her ax, starting to run, already blending.

    No! She had to compete. She needed to-

    <hr>

    Learn! I timed my intervention perfectly, and fortunately it was when Maruc was distracted. Reaching out from my cell.

    <hr>

    Her eyes widened as she looked at the darkened haft of her weapon. She dropped the ax, letting it clatter to the ground in the rumbling thunder, stuffing her hand in her bag.

    The little container of dark liquid shattered like the obsidian blade against the back of Design¡¯s head. The liquid washing over him, coating his scales to his waist in black. The rain was quickly washing them off, but remaining in the recesses of his scales. Outlining him perfectly.

    He turned to glare, but so did Slash.

    The neonate wanted to flash smug orange, but she blended completely instead, closing her eyes to slits.

    Design turned and jerked back seeing Slash charging him, forced to flee. He ran right to her hiding place, searching, but by then she was already on the ground, collecting her bloodoak ax. Snarling he leapt to one side, barely dodging a swipe from Slash as he grabbed another hidden rope and swung off. The apex in hot pursuit.

    The neonate wasted no time leaving, completely exhausted, and it wasn¡¯t long before she walked back through what she was now calling the Design Entrance. She double and triple checked that she wasn¡¯t leaving a blood trail, tearing up a great wad of the scentmoss and scrubbing all over the immediate area of the hidden entrance as best she could.

    I am glad I got a whole bag of this. She patted the bag, stuffed with pine resin. She never wanted to go over there again. Not without finding a way to totally distract Slash.

    Her Instinct grunted in agreement.

    Checking one last time that she had done everything to disguise the secret entrance, she placed her hand over the little symbol and slipped inside.

    She moved quickly passed the too-welcoming barrows, once again feeling that enticing pull towards them before getting back out into the main area of the temple.

    She thoroughly washed herself cleaning out her wounds, scrubbing her weapons, doing a full ritual.

    I survived a fight with Slash!

    Compete! Her Instinct chanted happily.

    She paused again at the statues of the gods. Looking up at Haan-Kezk¡¯s.

    After a moment of thought she made a thin cut along her palm. Nothing too deep, getting some blood to well up before kneeling and pressing her bloody hand to the statues feet.

    Thank you for the trial.

    One set of eyes that she could sense changed slightly. It became¡­.

    Bright orange? Amused?

    She stood and headed back to her territory, needing to clean and bandage herself and make all of the resin into pine tar glue. She would have to check her snares afterwards.

    <hr>

    I am starting to think she is worthy.

    ¡°Starting?¡± I asked Maruc, staring at Him as He put on his ragged general¡¯s coat, tarnished stars as buttons glinting dully in two double lines down His chest. ¡°What do you mean starting?¡±

    I have a few plans. I needs must talk to Sallinnia about one such though. She must be shaped into something¡­ Spectacular. And I swear He wiped some drool from His chin.

    Gulp.

    Kiddo, it¡¯s great He¡¯s leaving but, don¡¯t do anything too stupid. If I had to pick one, it would have been Her not Him, but with both. Things are going to get¡­ complicated.

    <hr>

 Trial of Vivex: Chapter 41: Passive

    Stagnation is something to avoid. It is the one thing that destroys most.

    -From Canticles: 23:53-54

    The next day she traveled farther south past Axmaker¡¯s territory. The neonate took care, not rushing, searching for potential resources to take from the others. The food delivery from Tok wasn¡¯t for a few hours yet, so she had time.

    Her patterns rippled with the background easily, her steps meticulous.

    I learned so much. Fighting Design and Slash really had helped her better understand her own abilities. The Greenscale found a berry bush, plucking it clean and devouring the little fruits hungrily before cutting it off at the base.

    She returned to scanning, then paused.

    What is that?

    A large flat stone sat at an angle, one end in the air. It was big enough that it would be difficult to pick it up. Smaller stones were piled on top of the lifted side, and they were all held up by three flimsy looking pieces of wood. It looked like it could fall at any moment.

    Unnatural. Investigate. Her Instinct decreed from her eyes.

    Checking one last time for any of the others she moved in closer.

    Each of the three sticks were shaped, notched so that they fit together. They formed a triangle, the bottom point facing out away from the hinging point of the rock while the top point supported the rock off of the ground. She looked at the big stone placed on top, weighed down with more.

    A trap?

    It only took a moment to understand. The thin piece of wood was the trigger, and would cause the other two to collapse, and the far end was under the stone.

    Should be bait on the tip, make the pray touch it.

    The little hunter bent down lower to inspect. Something was really mashed into the fibers of the wood on the end of that stick. Making sure she wouldn¡¯t accidentally spring the trap, she let her tongue slide out, the forks not spreading too much. The smell tasted fragrant, sweet. Berries. She glanced at the bush she just cut down, feeling smug.

    True. Baited. Her Instinct confirmed, also signaling orange.

    Cutting a fern with her knife, she used the stem to brush the bottom stick. With a blunt thump the pile of stones hit the ground as the supporting wood all fell away.

    Not a bad design.

    Easily stolen. Easily spotted. Take the pieces. Her Instinct disagreed.

    True. With some effort she lifted the stone and grabbed the pieces, looking at them. Notched to fit together, but clearly it had taken a few attempts to get it to work correctly.

    Are they unique to each stone? That is far too much effort if you don¡¯t have an earthbone blade. Clearly it could be done, but to the neonate it felt like a sounder plan to use snares. They were harder to spot, quicker to place, and far easier to make.

    Now that she knew to look for such things, it was very easy to spot others, and she found quite a few. She triggered each, then collected all of the parts, which she would study, if only to better understand them.

    The little predator even found a rat, crushed by one of the traps, and she tore into it hungrily, lazily tearing out the guts with her claw, spitting out the fur as she went.

    She crunched down on the skull, savoring it.

    A good snack¡­

    A snack¡­ She began to ponder. The stones seemed to be good at getting smaller game.

    Maybe set them up within the wall of thorns? She was sure that small creatures came through there, and with the bait under the stones, it would be protected from the rain. And there weren¡¯t many good places to set up snares within her territory.

    If someone is able to take the parts if they are there, I¡¯ll have bigger issues anyway.

    Her Instinct grunted as she licked her claws clean. Snares.

    I should check for those too.

    Sure enough, the neonate found some, and she made quick work of collecting them and putting them into her bag. One even had a young rous in it, easily distinguishable from a rat by how wide its jaw was, with pointed teeth.

    She ate that too, tearing out the guts and leaving them to make the spot stink like death.

    Scare away the prey and attract the predators.

    Her Instinct grumbled, unsatisfied with the lackluster sabotage.

    Fine, but I need to hurry.

    The day was getting on, she wanted to be there to steal some of the provided food from Tok. The Greenscale made a point to scrub herself thoroughly with the moss after eating before continuing deeper into the territory, hide the scent of blood.

    It was a good thing that she was moving as slowly as she was.

    Crack!

    Her foot fell through the ground as it gave way under her step!

    Hissing in fearful frustration she had her black knife in her hand. Something, anything! She couldn¡¯t see the bottom.

    Root!

    She rammed it down!

    Ka-thunk!

    Jerking to a halt as it sunk into the wood, she glanced down into the pit, reaching up with her other hand and digging in her claws. The hidden pit was almost fifteen feet deep, sharpened steaks at the bottom of it. Fire hardened points only visible when a lance of lightning split the sky above.

    Trapmaker. Her Instinct named the hatchling, thunder rumbling.

    It was the first time that had happened without even yet seeing the individual.

    The neonate used the knife as a lever to pull herself back out of the hole. Once she was out she pulled the thin covering of leaves and sticks aside.

    Could catch rous and maybe even some crocodilians.

    And idiot hatchlings. Her Instinct hissed.

    From that point on she took a lot more care, a process she already did well shifting in her mind. She was so used to spotting creatures against the background, but now the background had to match as well.

    She started to learn the signs, an odd change in the leaf type here, an overly flat piece of ground there. Hues and patterns, her specialty. Still, the level of detail that this Trapmaker could manage, making it so close to perfect, impressed the little predator.

    Inefficient. Her Instinct growled, snapping its jaws.

    It was a lot of resources. It did seem like a good way to protect your nest though.

    Cowardly.

    How did they feed themselves with all this work? Her Instinct didn¡¯t reply, just as unsure in her hindbrain as she was in the fore.

    Her tongue flickered out.

    Campfire. More to the left.

    The neonate shifted direction and kept moving, and it wasn¡¯t long before she spotted him, spying out from behind a bolder. She poked her head around the side near the bottom, making it look like a smaller stone with her color and pattern. Spotting the male, but then taking in the surrounding area.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    She almost let her eyes go wide as the shock washed over her.

    That¡¯s how he fed himself¡­

    Bones of some sort of huge beast had cascaded across the ground. Several broken open. Others being drilled into by strange worms. The massive skull, large enough to swallow both her and Trapmaker whole, rested at an angle, slightly sunk into the mud.

    A nightmare of fangs and huge staring sockets in a long triangular head, almost like a crocodile¡¯s, but much larger and flatter. And the teeth intermeshed and stuck outward from the mouth.

    There was also a huge hole on top of the head that didn¡¯t look like damage, it was the size of her head at least, but she didn¡¯t dare get closer to get a more accurate guess. Not yet.

    For breathing? Her Instinct hissed, knowing creatures had that sort of bodyplan, but all were aquatic.

    <hr>

    Look Kiddo, just hope you never run into one of those. Okay? Ever!

    <hr>

    She glanced at the male, who had picked up a stick, one of the pale worms speared and wrapped up on it steaming. He stripped the worm from the skewer languidly before tossing the stick into his fire and picking up something else he was eating. It was a wasteful fire to, out in the elements, forcing it to be large enough to fight off the rain.

    She looked back at the skeleton. Found the carcass. Ate the scavengers and the bones. That¡¯s how he lived while digging those pits and making those traps.

    But now he clearly had better vittles.

    Trapmaker was large. More than twice as big as Axmaker, and at least a foot taller. And not just large. Fat. Not obese, but unlike the others, the Trapmaker didn¡¯t have well defined muscles. They were all padded with fat stores, and his tail was thick with it. And it was no wonder why.

    Trapmaker lounged on his back, his head moving in the characteristic pull-jerk of tearing a piece of tough meat. He chewed loudly. Occasionally, his other hand dipped into the cooked center of a whiptail bulb, scooping out still steaming flesh and licking it off his claws.

    She felt her jaw tighten. He was relaxed? Black-and-red engulfed her thoughts.

    Prey. Cull!

    I should! Just to shatter that confidence!

    Bad dreams, deep scars, broken and dislocated bones. She had seen it all. But his method clearly was a good one. Could she fault him for figuring out the best strategy? For being born bigger?

    No, but I still hate him! It wasn¡¯t fair!

    Fight! Attack! Kill!

    If she did this place could be hers.

    Mine. Greed rose again inside.

    She drew the matte black blade.

    No. Wait.

    He shifted position, and she was reminded of his size. He wasn¡¯t tired. He wasn¡¯t hurt.

    And I can¡¯t kill him. Any of them, directly. Tok had made that clear.

    Endless traps to provide passive meat. Whiptails clearly nearby.

    He could outlast all the others. He was probably the most well-fed of all of them outside the Provider.

    Then the neonate noticed his shelter.

    Her eyes widened as she looked closer.

    A ruin! He lives inside a ruin? Her Instinct hissed from her suddenly clenched fists. He didn¡¯t know, couldn¡¯t know, but he was treating the house of the pantheon as his camp!

    She watched him eat, gluttonous, leaning back and opening his mouth to gulp down water from a trickling rivulet next to him, picking up another worm-skewer.

    This is the one¡­ Her Instinct sent, full of callus rage, filling her belly with acid and her brain with fire, this is the one we tempt with the herb.

    She checked from behind her bolder. There were no signs of him using it. No wounds on his body, no scent of the poultice. Not even denuded branches from the bushes themselves.

    She shifted from her hiding place, sliding behind the bolder before trekking carefully around the immediate area. Just to make sure.

    She found several of the bushes behind his ruin, and they were untouched. What was more, there was another pit trap that she saw, and some of the cover concealing it was leaves of the herb.

    She ached to take some. Of all the others, Trapmaker surely didn¡¯t need her full attention. She licked her muzzle with a suddenly dry tongue.

    Absolutely not!

    Her Instinct snarled.

    That¡¯s when she figured it out.

    He was the perfect target.

    It was because Trapmaker was just spending a lot of time waiting.

    Waiting for prey.

    Waiting for the trial to end.

    While he ate, walked the same paths to check the traps, dug massive holes with meticulous care.

    All in the hopes that something or someone would come along and fall in. Not very active in his survival at all.

    Her Instinct growled, but she ignored it. She took it as a good sign that her plan might work.

    He has to be bored. Boredom hadn¡¯t been the cause of her addiction, but it had exacerbated it while she recovered.

    Her Instinct grunted, though she could feel that it still wanted to strike now.

    How do I get him to try it.

    She wasn¡¯t exactly sure at first, but she knew she didn¡¯t have to be physically present when she planted the seed of an addiction in him. Moving back around to the opposite side, holding her camouflage, she paused at the archway that led in. It looked regular enough.

    No. Trapped for certain. Her Instinct hissed as it narrowed her eyes.

    She couldn¡¯t shake that feeling, and the longer it didn¡¯t go away, the more suspicious she became.

    If I was him, I would be sure to put traps all around my nest as well. She thought of the dropping stone traps.

    I know that someone sneaky would think that the most resources were in the shelter. The tools, the stores of food, maybe even a backup fire. She would prepare for this exact scenario, a hostile combatant entering her base.

    Lightning flashed, and she saw it. Or she thought she did.

    Ingenious!

    There were tiny puddles on the ground, and they formed little runnels that ran along the curve of the ground, little tributaries. She waited for another bolt to be sure, impatiently listening to the thunder.

    He made the ones away from his base bad on purpose!

    It had almost worked on her too. He had done what she had with her scales, hide his full potential. Luring the invader into a false sense of expertise to snare them yet again.

    Does he want to lure others in?

    Lightning shattered the sky and she confirmed her initial suspicion. There were places where those runnels just simply vanished. Water didn¡¯t just disappear, and it always flowed to the lowest point. She could connect the dots of vanishing water to estimate the rough outline of the pits below.

    Her Instinct grunted smugly from her eyes, shifting back into the dark spaces of her mind.

    She looked at the archway, shifting back into some bushes as she kept watching. The wind was blowing from Trapmaker to her, so she pulled some moss out of her bag and reapplied it to herself in the cover of the underbrush. Just a tiny amount. To make sure her scent was masked.

    There has to be one in that entryway. She couldn¡¯t see it though.

    It would be a bad trap otherwise.

    Such a helpful Instinct. Then it offered a different plan. She didn¡¯t like it. But she couldn¡¯t think of anything else.

    Frustrated with herself, the neonate avoided the entrance all together. She slunk around to the side of the building, cutting some branches of the herb bushes free with her knife.

    Her hands trembled. She didn¡¯t want to, and yet¡­

    With less hesitation than she would have liked, with an eager desperation almost, she put some of the leaves into her mouth.

    She chewed.

    Yes¡­ Her Instinct purred.

    The warmth flowed back into her, and she quivered in ecstasy with her Instinct. It stroked her neck to make her swallow before she could stop it, spit the wad onto the ground.

    Glorious dizziness filled her. Bliss. A quiet mind at last.

    The neonate had forgotten how much she needed this. She just focused on the gentle fall of the rain for a moment, the chill it brought becoming something to observe.

    No! Focus! I have to finish this before it gets worse.

    She shook her shoulders and spat the wad onto the ground, picking up a small stone to replace it. She looked at the pile, dissatisfied, struggling to think of why.

    Place whole ones. Her Instinct suggested languorously.

    She struggled to do that, but once she did it looked better.

    Her own little ploy done, she purposely made a noisy exit.

    Each snapped twig, each deliberately shaken bush, each purposely deep footprint pained her. She was exposing herself in a moment of weakness. She had given in to her cravings, only now realizing she could have ground up the leaves with two stones if she was quiet enough. But worst of all, she had given the secret of medicine away.

    To trap him in addiction!

    It still felt wrong though. As she ran, she dropped a leaf here and there, adding to the multitude of paths she was leaving for the male to find. She maintained her camouflage though. She would be heard, not seen. Not yet.

    After she felt she had gone far enough she stopped being deliberately easy to track. She hopped from a rock to a log, wobbling, and finally leaped onto the trunk of a tree and scrambled up. She laid along a bough and became a bumpy patch of bark. Her eyes open for now so she could watch.

    She needed the Trapmaker to be paranoid, but not so much so that he didn¡¯t try the leaves.

    Let him suspect the runt, hunting for some release from her worries.

    That rankled her Instinct, but it kept itself in check for now.

    She expected him to be cautious, to wait and take it slow. She had no doubts that if it were Biter or Slash, either one would have mangled his flabby form with ease in spite of his larger size. He didn¡¯t fight. He avoided it, after all.

    He burst out around the corner like he was one of the brutes. He moved oddly, zigzagging his way along, his plump tail dragging behind, obscuring his footprints as he went. She memorized the pattern.

    Left side, cross the middle, enter the ruin from the right. Speaking of patterns¡­ gods that is horrible. She couldn¡¯t help but be amused.

    Trapmaker¡¯s black and red was comically simplistic. Big blocky shapes. No intricate patterns anywhere. And the red was closer to orange than it should have been.

    He found her trail easily enough and tore after it.

    She closed her eyes, laying flat along a branch big enough to hide her whole body. She spat the stone into her hand.

    Just like Tok.

    If it worked on the Provider, it had to work on this fool. The neonate threw the stone as hard as she could down the trail. It rustled and clattered splendidly. She cracked one yellow eye open. Partly to check her work, but also to stop feeling ill. The herb was starting to really set in.

    As she looked around the side of the branch, she could see he had stopped just a few feet from her tree. So close she could see his expression in the coloration of his facial scales. She knew the instant that the male decided to not continue the chase.

    He turned, heading back, when he paused, looking down. He crouched. She held her breath.

    Come on.

    He reached down, and plucked a variegated leaf out of the mud, looking at either side of it. Satisfaction washed through her, which built as he followed the trail to the back of his shelter, spotting the wad of leaves. His tongue flickering near it.

    Smells the saliva. Knows it was another Greenscale. One that got right up behind him.

    Come on!

    He looked at the leaf, tracing the variegation with a claw.

    ¡®Maybe this will make me stealthy too?¡¯ He¡¯ll think.

    Do it!

    Then placed it in his mouth, his expression becoming distant as he chewed.

    ¡®Oh this feels good, I should get more of this!¡¯

    He turned and started tearing up whole bushes of the herb, stuffing more into his jaw and chewing eagerly.

    Got him.

    Her Instinct purred inside her.

    She slunk away through the trees, wobbling slightly herself.