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.

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.

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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.