Meat is meat. Food is food. But members of the brood are not to be hunted down with no cause.

-From Vocationals: 1:10-12

The neonate recognized her from the dark markings along her muzzle and forehead as she left the underbrush. She was one of the ones who had gotten fast, rushing in and tearing out as much as she could before running back away.

Her scales shifted back to the brighter natural green of the Greenscale from the darker green that they had been, and it was then that the neonate could see how this particular hatchling had changed.

She was much larger now, not quite the same size as the brutes, but healthier, more nourished. Thin scars ran along her arms and one shoulder, and her tail was thick with fat reserves. In wide hands she carried several grasslike plants that her Instinct named whiptails under one arm, the large bulby root ball of each prominent.

Harvester. Her Instinct named her.

Eating well.

The river sloshed slightly against the shore, the current playing around a large stone so that it burbled and splashed with a constant rhythm.

The other hatchling seemed to sense that she was being watched and paused, looking back and forth for a moment, even glancing up into the trees. Something had her peer on edge, and it was more than what was justifiable by the regular competition of it.

My scent. The healing herb. Her Instinct hissed quietly, as if the thought might be heard and give her position away if it was too loud.

Idiot, should have waited longer to climb down. Her Instinct chided from her nostrils.

There was nothing for it now.

She stayed perfectly still, not moving a muscle. If she was spotted she would surely be chased out of the tree, possibly falling to her death. She held her breath, becoming the bark of the tree, listening as much as watching through eyes only opened to slits.

The moment came.

A cicada called loudly in the distance.

The moment went.

Harvester relaxed slightly and began stripping the stalks and leaves off of the whiptail bulbs. She picked up a stick, burnt at one end and sharpened into a point. The neonate noticed a rough stone coated in char that was probably where the other hatchling had sharpened it. Spearing the blackened masses she pulled them out of the fire, setting them aside still steaming slightly.

She placed more wood on the embers of the fire before adding the freshly denuded bulbs on top, then piled on still more wood. She left the new ones to roast, turning her attention to the already roasted ones. Taking the sharpened stick, she ripped each one open with the utensil.

The flesh inside was a pale purple like water hyacinths, and steamed softly, the earthy smell intensifying greatly. She felt her mouth water looking at it, but her Instinct piped up again.

Make sure they have eaten it before first.

She swallowed her drool and began looking around for evidence that they had been eaten before through mostly closed eyes. It took her a moment, but she spotted discarded outer casings, charred from cooking, off to one side.

She has been supplementing her diet with them for some time now.

She would have to also start gathering these whiptail bulbs.

Harvester tested a cooked one with her claw, seeing if it was cool enough to eat before tasting it. She nodded, licking her muzzle clean before taking that tuber away, leaving four others to cool. Sunshine yellow flashed from her facial scales for an instant as she did.

So they must be fully cooked then, it seems.

Harvester walked away from her campsite, climbing up into a tree and looking around from a higher vantage point.

Checking for others that might be watching.

As soon as the other Greenscale hatchling was out of sight, the neonate rushed forward and grabbed her own stick, spearing through the holes that already existed in the tubers, planning to steal them.

No. More. Compete! The compulsion from her instinct was so powerful it made her jerk to a stop.

It had a point…

She could sabotage the chances of this other hatchling, not just by stealing the tubers, but also… The neonate thought, fighting against her hunger. She could also put out the fire! Take away the tool needed to use this resource.

She looked at the flames.

Should I? She hesitated, trying to think of a way to take the fire as well.

It seemed like such a waste to not take both things.

If only I had a pipe like the Provider.

Idiot, stop wasting precious time!

Her Instinct was right, she couldn’t dally overthinking things, she had to put out the fire. There would be other chances to steal fire from the others, with her camouflage being as good as it was.

Grabbing the mostly intact husk of a previous tuber she scooped up water from the river and dumped it once, twice, three times onto the coals. They hissed and sputtered loudly, spitting out boiling water that burned her, making her yelp.

There was a snarl from up in the trees, and ignoring her wounds she snatched up the cooked tubers and bolted.

She could hear the other hatchling rushing back, and quickly made her way to the shore, trying to stick to hard rocky ground that wouldn’t leave much in the way of footprints, thinking of how easy it had been to track that snake in soft muddy ground.

The other hatchling was faster, longer legged, and the neonate could hear her gaining, somehow not getting thrown off.

How?

She didn’t cram the food into her mouth, that would just leave more of a trail to follow with the smell alone from the bits that didn’t make it down her gullet. That’s when it clicked. She had forgotten about the wind again. She could use that her against her pursuer, use the prevailing winds to blow away the smell.

Need to get higher, more wind.

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Quickly! Adapt! Thrive! Climb!

Holding the massive tubers all in one hand she leaped as hard as she could, also pushing off with her tail in her desperation, reaching for a branch. She fought through the pain and forced herself to yank her whole body up and into the dense canopy of the cypress tree.

Scrambling, she took a sharp turn down a different branch and sprung across to a different tree. Panting she climbed even higher before turning again and dropping down to a squatter one.

Ignoring the jarring impact, she slid to a stop on a branch, pulling some wizard’s beard moss on top of her. She flexed her skin hard to match the hue and tone of the bark and moss. She shut her eyes completely, not wanting to give anything away, listening intently to try and hear the other Greenscale. The wind blowing across her, not back towards Harvester.

Her lungs screamed for air, and she chanced several quiet gasps before she held it, not wanting the movement to give her away.

She heard the other one doppler past her hiding spot and go rushing off in the same direction, but she waited, giving it a few moments.

The other hatchling paused. She cracked open one eye, spotting the others back, the bright black and red of dominance and anger pulsing through her rival’s scales.

Harvester swore under her breath and continued on, snarling and hunting for the neonate, not knowing she had passed her by already. The neonate decided to wait, and took the chance to rest, letting herself breathe again. She couldn’t believe her luck.

Not too long though, prolonged examination is the enemy. Her Instinct admonished.

Just until I catch my breath.

After some time resting, and eating two of the delicious tubers, she decided to risk the fall and stayed up in the canopy, taking her time and only taking leaps that she was very sure of.

She did notice something strange, another dead hatchling, but with the hind leg and part of the tail missing. She wanted to inspect it, but it was on the ground, and she wasn’t sure she could get back up into the trees without adrenaline powering her body. It was odd though that there were pieces missing from the corpse though.

Could there be hidden dangers I don’t know about?

Plenty. Her Instinct answered unhelpfully.

She left the corpse where it lay, unconcerned. It was just the mark of another that was less worthy of life than her.

Eventually she realized that she wasn’t going to make it back to the Provider, it was getting far too dark, and she needed her rest. Her body ached from the exertion, especially her wound. Luckily it hadn’t started bleeding again, though that didn’t mean she wanted to chance it.

She didn’t want to go back to the ground where she might be the target of bullying, so she decided to spend the night up in the trees. Luckily for her the tubers were still warm, and eating them should help her make it through the cooler night. She finished one more, stuffing herself before curling up against the trunk of the mangrove tree. The neonate closed her eyes and drifted off soon after.

As she slept, she woke once in the night, hearing a screech of pain off in the distance, the fear combined with the lingering pain of her injury making it hard for her to get back to sleep.

The neonate stared into the night, so dark in the middle of the canopy that she could only see for about twenty yards.

There could be anything out there past that.

Something big slithered along the ground below her, the hiss not the same as one of the brood, and she quivered with terror.

As if to make it even worse, it started to rain several hours before dawn, forcing her to shift position again to get under cover. She had been out of her egg long enough to know from the nature of this rain that it was going to be a long soaking rain as well.

The others wouldn’t be overly bothered by it, but she would. The chill brought on by being up away from the ground, which absorbed so much heat from the sun was harsh to her injured body. Add that she was up in the wind, which lower down was blocked by the underbrush, and wet from the rain, and it was a recipe for sickness or death from exposure. Food or no food. Especially because of how small she was.

The silver lining was that she still had a few of the cooked whiptail tubers, so she had something to eat, and while it was cooling, the rain didn’t stick to her in quite the same way as it did with mammals. It was something she would have to deal with sooner rather than later though.

Warmth, now. Instinct interrupted her thoughts as she was digging into another one of the tubers, which were now the same temperature as the ambient air.

Her body wasn’t that of a true reptile, it did have some exothermic tendencies. Digestion adding warmth being one of them. But she shivered all the same in her treetop vantage.

Tossing the charred skin of the tuber aside, she licked the rest of the purple food off of her claws as she thought of ways to solve the current issue.

Find cover. Need to find cover.

Adapt, survive. Exposed in the elements. Change that.

She climbed lower, and the wind became less of a problem. As she did though she started to realize something else. The rain would make it difficult to track things, either by smell or by prints, because the water washed both physical traces and scent trails away.

Adapt! Solve the problem. Her Instinct was right, there had to be a way to hunt even in the rain, Tok managed it.

In fact, most of what he brought was out of the river itself, so water wasn’t an impediment. For now she would spend the day looking for a good place to keep out of the wet and get dry.

She made her way back towards where Tok spent most of his time, taking a different route to continue to familiarize herself with the island.

Establish a knowledge of your territory… Instinct hissed to the tempo of the unending rain. Her tongue flickered out.

A horrible reek!

With a crash like thunder her Instinct screeched Danger! Death! Murder! Oblivion! Find it!

Even in the rain she could smell it, tasting the fetid rot and unique pungent signature of death that she knew in her bones was the death of another hatchling. This was usually a good thing, something to celebrate as it meant that she had outlived another competitor, but this was… She could smell so much blood… and the blood smelled like fear.

And there was a musk that she knew in her bones was a blight on the earth.

It was a different carcass than the one she spotted earlier, and it was a much more grizzly one at that.

Instinct took full control forcing her forward, off the path that she had been traveling and towards the foul reek of death.

She didn’t want to, it scared her.

There was something killing them on the island, and Tok hadn’t yet found it, so it could easily kill her too if it was still nearby.

It endangers the trial, it must be found at all costs. Shared genes. Self sacrifice. Collective fitness.

She didn’t understand any of that, but the sentiment was so powerful that she couldn’t resist.

She climbed slowly over a log, and saw him, one of the broodmates. She recognized him as well.

Striker!

One of the more brutish individuals who was vying for the top spot amongst the Greenscales who dominated the food brought by Tok.

He had been one of the more impressive physical specimens, and was clearly in good health. Apart from being dead. His tail was thick with muscle and fat, and his limbs had rippled with whipcord quick muscle.

Now, his body was torn, nasty rents in his back and neck, which had a bloody gobbet ripped from it. She looked, compelled by Instinct, examining the wounds. For some reason they didn’t make sense…

Whatever did this came from behind… and… and had claws…

She held her own hand up to the rents in the male’s back, thinking of how it could have happened.

A strike from ambush… Why is his tail still intact? All that fat, wasted…

Then she realized, hands still held up to the wounds… five clawed hands!

One of the others had done this!

The ground shook, branches snapped, a deep rumbling hissing growl split the silence like an ax.

Run! Now! Her Instinct shrieked, and she scrambled away into the shadows, staggering over a root and stubbing a toe painfully against a half buried river stone.

She hid beneath a tree, panting and trying to catch her breath, skin flexed to match the dark brown and green of the floor below her. She thought she had gotten away from whatever it was.

With a horrible snap and wrenching sound, the tree was ripped out of the ground by its roots, showing Tok looming over her, bright red frill at his neck extended, a warning and a challenge.

She squeaked in pain as a massive hand shot forward, unavoidably fast. Wrapping tightly around her. The claws pressed into her scaled hide, not piercing the skin, but it wouldn’t take all that much more force to do so.

“N-no! Stop!” She begged, unsure if her plea would be acknowledged let alone heeded.