The two in my grasp couldn’t have more different reactions.

Nixie screams as she dangles from my fangs. Her five free tentacles not pulled taught by her own weight flick around in a desperate attempt to grapple something solid. She scrapes against the cliff-wall, but can’t seem to gain a grip. She is delirious; uncomprehending of her safety.

Asmis, comparatively, is inexplicably calm. While stiff within my coils, his eyes remain wide. His limbs curl around my spine, but he doesn’t fight. No screams come from him. Not even a squeak. I find myself thankful to the young; the silent stillness is so much easier to deal with than the other that continues to sway and tug at my fangs.

I loosen the hold my tail-tip has in the rock, and we slowly scrape down the vertical wall. Asmis remains unsquirming in my coil, but Nixie redoubles her desperate struggles and screams. It would be so much more convenient to enlarge myself so that I can have the weight advantage over her and stop her from making this harder than it needs to be… but doing so would rip her tentacle to ribbons as my fangs expand.

Saving them was a momentary decision, but I do not regret it. A while ago, I would have simply watched on as they fell to their deaths. What was the life of a lesser creature, after all? But now, I can sympathise with these less… No, not lesser; simply weaker. After having experienced the horror of being at the whim of Titans, I empathise with these weaker species.

This fall is tiny from my perspective. Hardly anything worth worrying about. Yet to the young of their species, survival is unlikely. It took hardly an effort on my part to save them from the worst fate.

Their sapience certainly adds to the parallels between us, but I would have done the same even had they lacked that intelligence. I cannot look at these creatures in the same way I once did. I have experienced too much to return to such apathy. The feeling of powerlessness against the true rulers of the world; I empathise.

The cliff angles into the stream. I wanted to let them go before falling into the water, but with how Nixie continues to struggle against me, they cannot find their grip on the steep surface. I rappel down until the three of us crash into the stream.

Finally in a position to free them both, I unclench my jaw and loosen my coil. My teeth slide from the soft flesh and blood flows freely from the puncture wounds. As soon as my fangs no longer hold her tentacle still, Nixie snatches it away. She slaps the water, scrambling to escape. Asmis does much the same, but he appears far more in control of his limbs and doesn’t flail as much.

Before Nixie moves far enough, one of her tentacles whacks my head in her distress.

I flinch. It doesn’t hurt at all, but the strike takes me by surprise. I just saved this young, and she returns the favour with an assault? How ungrateful. It would have been so easy to let her fall to her death if I knew she would show this kind of appreciation.

I hiss at the girl, and the sound only makes her scrambling all the more desperate. Asmis flows through the water to her side, his limbs pressing on her to calm her down. As they both swim, I find it strange that despite having a form closely resembling an octopus or squid, neither shares those species’ familiarity with the water. They move their tentacles to scoop the water, rather than allowing their bodies to pulse.

I hiss again, but this time more out of resignation than anger. It is obvious that the strike wasn’t malicious; not like the attackers I’d encountered upon reaching the surface. The young is incapable of controlling her emotions and is striking out without understanding why. I experienced something similar, after all.

“Are you two okay?” a voice carries down into the gorge.

My gaze returns to the ledge we just fell from. At the top, peeking out ever so slightly, is the head of the wary sapient, Kael. The young overcame his fear to check on the others’ safety, but still crouches as low as he can and clings to the earth. It’s surprising, consider how terrified he’d been of getting anywhere near the ledge, and having just watched it collapse, that he would even tread near it.

“Stay there. I'm going to get help.” And in an instant, he’s gone again. A light patter tentacles slapping against stone echo down into the gorge.

I return my gaze to the two I've just saved. They float together, unaware of their companion and staring at me. Nixie has calmed somewhat now that she’s out of my jaws, but her eyes don’t stray from my form for a moment. She doesn’t try to attack, but she keeps her distance.

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Now that I think about it, this is the proper reaction, right? It is far more realistic for creatures to experience terrible fear in the face of a predator, even if their actions saved you. Remaining vigilant and leary could save them from a creature looking for an easy meal.

But… it’s odd that my first reaction now is to expect respect after saving a creature rather than the fear that has been constant all my life. Scia was the strange one for doing so. The little bat’s choice may have been smart, but I can’t expect the same reaction from any others. Not even sapients.

These young see a predator — not helped by my drawing of Nixie’s blood — and react as any creature does when their lives are on the line; fear.

The wound I inflicted catches my eye. A lot of blood flows into the stagnant water; far more than I would have expected from a couple of pierce wounds. I slither closer, gliding along the water’s surface. Nixie cradles the limb, while using the other four to tread. The tentacle looks to be in a far worse state than I expected; not only are there very obvious holes where my fangs sunk, but the entire opposite side is shredded. The row of teeth on my lower jaw rarely break skin, but apparently I gripped her too tight and tore up the outer muscle horribly.

I slither closer, considering how I might fix, or at least ease the wound, but Asmis, the one who’s stayed passive until now, strikes out. A bend appears and I dodge the tentacle with ease. I slide through the air, taking some distance from the obviously unsettled young. As I fall into a loop of distortions and watch them from above, both their eyes widen further. They paddle backwards without peeling their gazes from mine.

I wanted to make sure the wound I inflicted wouldn’t cause her death after I put so much effort into assuring her safety, but with both young as tense as they are, I’ll have to leave them alone. My help is not welcome, and I shouldn’t push them. If I were in the same situation, with a Titan looming above me, the last thing I would want is the being to approach.

Once there is enough space between us, the two begin looking around. Their wary eyes continually flick back to me, where I spin in the air. What are they searching for? As I join them in craning my head through the fissure, I discover the most likely reason; there is no path out.

Without the benefit of my spatial distortions or wings, neither can fly. With the cliff-side walls as steep and muddy as they are, climbing isn’t an option either. No path up to the hive above is apparent. How can they get back up?

As I consider growing myself and carrying the two back up — I should have no issue carving a path through the basic rock of these walls — a clatter attracts my attention back up to the recently collapsed cliff ledge. Already, a pair of mature sapients fall into the gorge, having leapt without so much as a moment of hesitation. These must be some more of the stronger specimens of their respective species.

One is the same as the two young floating in the water below me, and the other is of that ape-like race that is far less populous than the other three. Above them, a pair of fake flying squirrels circle above like vultures.

The two mature sapients crash into the lower slope of the cliff, hitting hard enough to dislodge a shelf of stone, and speed down to the waters. Their gazes land on the young treading water before they snap to me, where I casually twist through the air. Immediately, fake-claws appear in their hands and their eyes turn hostile. Their muscles tense and the trajectory of their slide shifts toward me.

Realising that if I stick around, I’ll have to kill two more idiots without the instinct to detect a predator’s strength. I whip myself upward and out of striking range. I don’t look back. A few bends and I rise over the edge the pair of young had fallen from… only to come face to face with a gathering crowd.

Dozens of sapients stand around between the remnants of their nests, and more seem to arrive with each moment. All these mature creatures… are they not listening to the permanent warning communication either? I can understand the young being foolish — and put themselves in a deadly position — but I thought those with more experience would understand the written warning and give the unstable area its proper consideration.

Well, unless each of them can handle the fall longer than my full size. Then I guess it would be fine.

Only a few dare approach the ledge itself, and those do are the ones that I almost barrel into upon breaching the clifftop. Their reactions are quick; a lump of metal covering the tip of a tentacle swings at me, but not quick enough; I curl around the blow, creating a bend before the creature’s face and sliding out from its back.

I whip my tail to punish the sapient, and watch as it tumbles down into the gorge. With as quick as it struck those heavy metal balls, I’m sure it will survive the fall, but like the others of its species, it cannot fly, so it cannot retaliate.

The crowd, which had been a buzz of chatter, now falls silent. They watch me, shocked. For a few long moments, nobody moves, and I half believe that they must have all felt the pressure of a powerful presence. Instead of waiting to be attacked by whichever tries next, I turn back out over the fissure. Crossing to the other side — where there is no gathering crowd to halt me — is easy, and as I slither between the broken nests, the chatter starts up again at an elevated volume that carries over the gorge.

Out of curiosity, I craft a bend to gaze behind me. They should be thankful I saved one of their young, but all I see is hostility now that they’ve broken their shock. It’s not like I even killed the one who attacked me; simply nudged him over the edge.

I hiss, continuing away from the swarm. As with any hive, you poke it — even accidentally — and they all grow agitated as one. Well, if they attack me, that is their own deaths.

But maybe I better stay hidden for a while. I’d rather not fight any unnecessary battles, after all.

I glance back, and find the pair of flying sapients following me. They don’t attack, nor do they speak. They simply watch as I slither away from the deepest parts of the restricted area and head toward the populated region of the nest.

They… might be hard to lose.