Respect the dead, for they pave your way forward so long as you live.

-From Vocationals: 1:13

It rained, and it rained, and it rained. And the neonate slept, and slept, and slept.

Like the dead for most of it. It was kind of adorable, if I am honest. Sorry, I am overstaying my welcome again, I’ll leave. I am just so bored, trapped here.

She was pleasantly full, had plenty of herbs and grubs, and frankly wanted to spend at least three days recovering and releasing stress.

So she did.

Her body took to it well, her injuries healing, her energy replenishing. The cut on her chest almost closed completely, though the skin was still thin and tender. Her shoulder was back to full strength in half that time.

While she was in the log and awake, and sober enough to have coherent thoughts, she was contemplating the best way to learn the secret of how to make fire.

Obviously Tok would know the most about this. She would have to figure out some way to get him to show her.

The Provider will not- help her, she knew, interrupting her Instinct’s interruption of her own planning. She felt smug at its wordless indignation.

Force him, somehow, to show me. Probably need to put out his fire to do so.

Dangerous… her Instinct muttered.

Yes, but what isn’t for me?

Her Instinct remained silent.

It did have a point though. The plan revolved around putting out the Provider’s fire, antagonizing the one tasked with overseeing their trial. Not to mention that he was many more times her size, an expert hunter, warrior, and tracker.

He might be the deadliest predator, ever.

There was one thing that made her consider it though. The other neonates would strike back at her. If she carried out her plan in the right way, Tok couldn’t. He was their protector, not a competitor.

And if I do it well enough, it might impress him. She couldn’t forget about that. She needed to impress him to counteract her size. And, well, she wanted to. Impress him.

Make him proud.

And without fire she wasn’t going to survive long enough to reach the end of the trial. Her log was already visibly smaller from her digging into it to find grubs, and the next food source would be whiptail tubers, which she had to cook.

If I fail with Tok, I am more likely to live through it to try with someone else.

Fine… just, live. Her Instinct grumbled resignedly.

She didn’t like the idea either, but there was nothing else she could do. She could set the snares, but she wasn’t sure what she was doing with them.

Trial and error is not something I can solely rely on.

She could gather more bark to make more of them, increase her chances, but she was running out of easy food.

I shouldn’t lock myself into a plan though. I should scout out Tok’s campsite again first. She didn’t know if there had been any changes recently. And she would need to know the area well if she was to succeed.

The neonate slid out of the log, bringing the hand ax and her cordage, the snares and the rope. She wrapped the snares around one wrist, slung the rope she had made around her body. She held her hand ax in one hand, planning to put it in her mouth when she needed to climb. Thus prepared, the neonate crouched and slunk through the undergrowth in that direction, shifting her colorations as she went.

She would have left the hand ax, but if one of her rivals stumbled across her den they would definitely take all they could. The stone the hand ax was made of was specific, whereas the pole was just a pillarwood sapling.

She could more easily replace that.

Besides, it was too lightly colored to blend in with the background as she traveled. Even after it had darkened as it dried in her log.

Thunder rumbled again.

Her skin shifted to match her surroundings without her even having to think about it, changing and adapting seamlessly as she traveled carefully through the underbrush. It had become her skill. Her niche.

She wondered what other skills she would see in the others. The pattern seemed to be that each of them was specializing in one thing or another as they developed. Was it their way of individualizing themselves? Or was it something more.

Why am I thinking so much?

She noticed that her head felt like it was stuffed full of bark fibers.

Too many leaves… She shook her head and regretted it, the world rocking slightly afterword. She had to get control of herself.

She climbed up into the canopy.

No tracks easily seen or followed. No new path made so long as she kept using a different path out. And it even helped her hide during her egress from the area. She was surprised that the paths were so distinctly defined, even with all the rain.

Her log was off of the main pathways that had been worn into the undergrowth by the passing of many hatchlings. She liked that it was somewhat secluded.

The neonate only came back down to set snares in likely places. She wanted to place her snares in places that game would be more likely to travel, but where that was wasn’t clear. The rain had washed away any obvious traces, tracks, scat, that sort of thing. She was left to guess at the best places.

She took her time and examined the environment, trying to think like prey. Searching for specific places. Places where the foliage would force small creatures to run through a bare space. Places where easy water could be gotten. Good hiding spots. That sort of thing.

There were little game trails along the ground, so that was where she started.

Under logs or tree limbs, or between two boulders. Can even be in plain sight if it is hidden well enough.

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Anywhere well-traveled. Her Instinct agreed.

She also found one spot that she felt was particularly good. A larger hole in the side of a small hill, about as big around as her head. Perhaps it was a bit too hopeful, but she would try it anyway and see if whatever had dug the hole was still living there.

She was finishing up tying the snare when she sensed something and looked up, tongue tasting the air. At first she didn’t see it, but then she spotted it. A mawfrog. It turned its warty head to look at her. Its wet eyes gleamed. It looked small to her at first.

No. I’ve grown!

She snarled and pounced, her claws spread wide. She saw her claws about to pierce into its hide, felt it start to give under them. It leaped away before she could catch it, bounding through the brush and out into the rain.

Kill! Hunt!

She started to move, ready to snarl.

Crash! Faint in the distance.

A squealing croak and a bass growl.

Obscured by the underbrush.

The sound of tearing flesh. Violent, the squeals of the animal continuing for a bit before cutting off.

One of the others.

Cursing to herself, she gave it up as lost. She had more important things to worry about. A plan to enact.

She had almost had it though! That was progress.

Still feeling confident even though she hadn’t been successful, even though someone had stolen her kill, she decided to at least check the nesting area from the underbrush. See if anything edible or useful remained.

It was also away from the larger hatchling eating her prey. The sounds of it growing fainter and fainter.

To her surprise, the neonate was there sooner than expected.

Wasn’t it a farther distance to travel before?

She looked around at the nest, picking up a piece of shattered shell. Holding it in her hand, tracing the ridges on the inside with a claw. She distinctly remembered hatching, having to fight out, the shell being too thick. Fitting inside her vessel. She cracked the shell easily.

It was all much larger, wasn’t it?

Everything seems so… Small…

Had the nest only been ten paces across?

She spotted her favorite sitting stone. The one she used while Tok gave his instruction. It looked like it was in the shade, but if you sat up straight you could catch some warming rays.

I could pull it out of the soil if I strained hard enough.

She remembered it all being so much bigger than that.

I have grown, the world has not. Her Instinct hissed softly.

She nodded. So the mawfrog wasn’t small.

It was something of a morale boost. She might be smaller than the others, but she was large enough to start challenging the denizens of the swamp, ones that were predators themselves. Ones that had hunted the brood.

Moving up the food chain. Her Instinct snarled, proud as blood.

Something caught her eye in the rain, next to the nest.

Heading over she paused, fear building up for just a moment as she recognized the shape of a skull.

A Greenscale skull! Her Instinct leaped into action, scanning, forcing her tongue out. Searching for the threat.

There were places where there were fine chips along it, as if from vicious wounds.

Had the monster been here? Was it now hiding its kills to keep ahead of Tok? She thought she might have smelled something musky, the scent of a large predator nearby. She tasted the air with her tongue, searching for it and not finding it again.

Is it nearby?

Be ready to kill it. Her Instinct hissed, somehow white and black at the same time in her mind. There was something there though. A confusion. No, something more…

She looked again, and her panic diminished slightly.

Bleached bone. Her Instinct hissed, pulling her hand forward to touch the skull, tracing the shape of one of the eye sockets. Been out here months at least.

She brushed some of the dirt away. No longer worried now that it wasn’t evidence of activity by the murderer amongst them.

Why is it here though?

She spotted a stone marked with one word.

“Gix.” She said, whispering, quiet. Claw. It was a strong name. No prefix though. Odd.

Her Instinct didn’t comment.

So this is a grave?

As her mind calmed, her Instinct moved into her eyes. Tracing the skull. Noting its size. Much larger than hers or the other hatchlings.

One of the mothers? Or a different brood?

Either way, it had clearly been in place for a long while. She took a moment, replacing the earth that had been washed away. Placing the grave marker on top to finish her work.

There being a grave at all meant that Gix had been a hero, she wasn’t sure how exactly. It could be something to do with the current brood, the bone hadn’t looked that old to her.

Unlikely I’ll ever have a grave, I’ll never be worthy of one.

It wasn’t a dejected brown-yellow thought. She had to tell herself that.

The neonate was just being practical. She just wasn’t someone that could achieve such a thing. Nor did she really want to be. She just wanted to make it through the trial.

Truth. Earn a name, then see if I can earn a grave. Her Instinct growled.

I just want my name. She thought of the quiet time spent on the river, looking out over it, just taking it in. Food, and the relative tranquility of the natural world. Sunrise yellow filled her.

That can be yours. Work is required. Her Instinct sounded like it wanted more though.

She focused on tidying up the hero’s shrine, more thoroughly covering the skull with dirt and placing the marked stone atop it. She picked up the hand axe before she continued her trek to Tok’s encampment, the rope still slung across her body.

There were some bones from the beasts the Provider brought the group.

Thicker ones.

Thighbones, mostly.

And most were also bleached like the skull. Picked clean.

There was nothing interesting enough to divert her current mission. She’d maybe pick through them at a later date, see what she could find, but right then she had to travel light.

It wasn’t long before she had to climb up into the trees, the ground becoming too sodden and muddy for her to easily traverse her way to her destination, especially while trying not to leave a trail.

Don’t need any mud on me either, mess up my blending.

She placed the hand axe into her mouth to free up both hands, and swiftly made her way up into the canopy. The neonate spotted signs that there were others climbing the trees as well, the bark bearing claw marks similar to her own, if more widely spaced. Not as high up as she could go though.

Do not be like Ropemaker. Suspect them to have your skills and abilities as well as their own. Instinct whispered.

She looked around, searching. Strange shapes, odd silhouettes, even patterns that were slightly off would all give them away to her. She felt smug as she stepped over a thick muddy green vine. No hatchling would be able to sneak up on her.

She reached down and pulled up some moss, tearing it out from under a vine as thick as her tail.

The musky predator-smell was suddenly all around her!

Flee!

The vine became a thick rope of muscle that suddenly wrapped around her.

No!

It squeezed the air and life out of her in a sudden explosive burst. Her eyes bulged in their sockets as she realized her error. Vision going slightly red as blood rushed into her skull.

A python had her!

And this time it was not a vine or a rope, she could feel its scales rubbing against her own. Thick undulating muscles tightening more and more and more until it felt like her eyes were about to burst from her head.

She could feel the bones inside her muscles grinding against each other in places.

Live!