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.

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Bigger than the mawfrogs.

An apex. Guarding its brood.

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.