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, to 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. To 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 leaver. 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.

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She turned the rough split stone in her hand.

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.