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.

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Need more exercise. Her Instinct cajoled.

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.