The dead have no need for anything they had in life, only heroes deserve to keep their skull so that we may remember them and their example.

-From Vocationals: 1:14

The neonate made her way up the dry steps.

In the glow of the mushroom pigment on her body, she could see that there were stone reliefs here too. Knowing that, she could guess who was being depicted, smearing the wall periodically as best she could.

Hopefully it will still be lit on my way back down.

Her Instinct grunted in approval.

It was definitely Haan-Kezk al’Shezd. The God of war, of combat, of challenges, of blood and bloody deeds.

Compete! Her Instinct whispered.

Standing above the fray of a terrible battle between a single member of the brood, and something that was confusing to understand. Like the other side, the reliefs were broken and chipped, and the entirety of the strange beast was never complete. Sinuous like a snake sometimes, long clawed hands at others.

The broodmember could be a Greenscale. The claws were the wrong shape though. Much too long, even with Slash as an example. She couldn’t tell what color the eyes were meant to be either, but it hadn’t been yellow.

I don’t know this story.

She placed a hand on one of the carvings. The not-Greenscale lay bleeding on the ground, the entire section that would have depicted his foe crumbled and gone.

Move. Her Instinct snarled from her tongue, which only detected old smells, no new ones. Now.

It was good to know that nothing had come down the stairs recently. She continued up the steps, her claws scraping ever so softly. It was going to take some time heading back up.

She had to be getting close. Her tongue flickered out, and she sniffed the air as well.

Wet soil, lush ferns, and crisp rain. She heard a distant rumble of thunder.

Definitely leads outside.

Caution. Her Instinct hissed, filling her eyes and clawed hands. Looking at the luminescent pigment coating her.

She gripped the hilt of her knife.

I’ll dive into the mud first. It’d be the quickest thing to hide this bright color. She’d scrub it off once she could be sure she had the time to.

The breeze coming down was full in her face. The little predator tilted her head, sensing a change in the odor. The scent was getting more complex, and more familiar.

Pillarwood bark. Perhaps near Ropemaker’s territory?

Reddish brown, darker blue-green in wide leaves. Her Instinct remembered in the far reaches of her hindbrain.

Yellow flowers here and there. She shifted to the pattern, just a rough estimate, something to quickly adjust to best match that location. She shook her neck to crack it again, getting excited about returning to the outside.

She had wanted to steal some more rope as well, perhaps catch Ropemaker using the dried tendons, learn that skill.

When she reached the top, the neonate saw that the entrance was screened by thick foliage.

The neonate crouched low, trying to slide through the plants without making any noticeable disturbance. She reached down in front of her to get mud to smear over the bright marks of the mushrooms.

Her hand couldn’t find ground!

Her Instinct hissed smugly as it slid into her feet.

She shuffled forward, looking through a gap in the plants to see that the ground dropped away into the river. The flow was roaring past only fifteen feet below, pregnant with rain. Now that she could look out, she could see that the entryway was on a thin ledge.

She thought back to the view from the tree in her territory, trying to match it with what she was seeing. There was another smaller island to the south, and another behind it that she couldn’t see. After a moment of piecing it together she felt that sunshine hue fill her again.

It’s the other side of the flooded section!

If the other pathways lead out to other areas like this one, she could increase the range she traveled to gather food. She’d have to keep the entrances hidden, but they seemed to be doing that fine on their own.

And I won’t be seen going in. I’ll make sure of that. She hissed quietly to herself.

The rain had washed the majority of the mushroom off of the neonate, enough that she was comfortable shimmying along the ledge, keeping her back to the earthen wall above.

She remembered Fisher, and the neonate was certain that the far island was where she had made her territory.

Probably washed up over there. Had to get strong enough to swim over. That meant that she had been feeding herself without help from the Provider for the longest time out of all of them.

Her Instinct grunted, agreeing with her forebrain’s assessment.

Something crawled onto her shoulder, scratchy chitinous legs. The black blade was in her hand, and she pinned the thing to the cliff of soil behind her.

A poisonous centipede, garishly orange with teal spots arched back, mandibles reaching for the blade and her fingers.

Speckled death. Hissing with distaste and frustration, knowing she couldn’t eat the ten-inch-long thing, the neonate flicked it into the rushing waters below. The arthropod’s ichor splattered on her shoulder only to be washed away by the rain.

The malevolent thing stirred once more. It now had all it needed. But it would need some time. Not much, just enough. One last gambit. One last try. It needed to shift its focus regardless of the outcome. To Salkov.

I need to get off of this ledge.

Agreed. Her Instinct pulled on her eyes just long enough for her to see that there were many of the scavengers crawling up from their own burrows.

She hissed again.

Fortunately enough though, there were some roots to climb up just a little bit farther down. One of the bugs managed to bite her, venom stinging even as she retaliated by crushing it with a swing of her bitten tail.

As she climbed the mangrove roots, she blended into the bark of the tree as the rain hammered down, not chancing Fisher or anyone else seeing her climb up.

Once at the top, she poked her head over the roots very carefully, making her face the color of the river moments before she did. She was trying to spot landmarks.

She found them.

In the very mangrove tree she had climbed, the neonate saw bundles of thick cordage hanging in the branches. She stilled.

Not moving, not even to breathe.

Her bright yellow eyes were immediately shut. She knew where she was.

Ropemaker’s tree. She was at Ropemaker’s tree. In daylight.

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I expected to be close, but this? If he was there he would attack as soon as he detected her. She had to come up with a plan. I’ll wait, see what happens.

She couldn’t duck back down, that would give away the secret path, exposing her nest to the others.

Her bitten tail itched. She didn’t hear anything but the rain.

With her eyes closed the neonate could imagine the crawling things below getting closer and closer. But she had to make sure he wasn’t home if she was going to climb all the way up.

After an age of hearing nothing, she decided to chance using her next sense as well.

Her tongue flickered out, tasting the smells in the air for an instant.

She knew that smell.

Death… Hatchling death.

Carefully… Her Instinct filled her snout and tongue, resting there gently.

She cracked her eyes open, climbing up, one clawed hand over the other. Her fingers were trembling as she got closer.

I killed One-eye. It is dead.

The neonate focused on each action to try and cope with the memories and fear. She got away from the ledge and all the Speckled Death Centipedes. Their presence in such multitude now clear to her.

Scavengers.

Keeping her eyes mostly closed, the Greenscale peaked around the side of the trunk, pressed against the tree to best disguise her silhouette.

Frayed, sliced, and tattered lines hung limp in the rain. Ropemaker’s nest was wrecked.

As she opened her eyes wider, she spotted a dark stain on the trunk. Blood, long dried. Staining the wood so completely that no amount of rain could wash it away. Fragments of bone, stark white against the brown of the mud, were scattered there.

Ropemaker died here.

Four holes pierced the bark under the tied roof of leaves and branches at the epicenter of the blood splatter, more centipedes probing for any remaining carrion. She slunk forward slowly, looking around for any of the others.

The centipede snapped at her, bold with their bright poisonous coloring and she pulled back before fighting through the impulse. She wasn’t going to get close enough to get stung again.

The tree too had been harmed. She ran a hand along deep claw marks in the bark, touching another long-dried spatter of blood, smaller than the other. Her tongue flickered out. She fought down panic for a moment. Remembering the last time she had smelled that. The last time she had run from that smell.

The thing that haunted her nightmares.

One-eye… the monster…

Running. Fleeing. Terror in the night. She couldn’t help but remember it.

She started to pant, standing in the ruins of Ropemaker’s nest, gasping. Her heart racing.

Claws, sharp, serrated, painful. She looked at the slashes in the tree, remembering how they had slashed into her flesh. Her muzzle ached with phantom pain.

The toothy maw of the world started to shut around her.

He is dead! Dead! I killed him. I killed him!

Lightning lanced through the sky as thunder snapped loud enough to rattle her bones.

Her Instinct jumped to the fore. Was weak. You killed the killer. He died.

She swallowed. Some yellow returned to her mind at the complement, flowing out from her hindbrain. Still needing a distraction, she climbed up into the nest proper. Hoping to leave the signs of the violence behind.

She wasn’t lucky in that regard.

The organized piles had been scattered about, and a lot of it had been destroyed, but there was still more that was untouched. Ropemaker had been truly prolific in his production.

I can use all of this…

The dead don’t need possessions. Her Instinct quoted from her hands as she sheathed her blade and started uncoiling the cordage from the branches.

The neonate tied the bundle of rope to itself, leaving enough extra to tie it to the strap of her bag, which was when she noticed that it was soaking wet, and not glowing. She blinked, opening it and feeling the inside.

It was dry.

Mushrooms! Fed the bag! More sunshine yellow, bright as buttercups. Finally, some good luck! Finally, something that didn’t cost her something dear.

She looked up at the tendons that had been left to dry. Only a few were missing. She snatched them, shoving them into the well-fed bag.

I need to travel the other paths below. She was delighted that she now had a safe way to travel though the island, all centered around her tree.

Thrive!

Find the other nests, raid them for supplies in the night. No more scrounging for scraps. And no more passive survival.

Good.

Thin cordage for snares, heavier line for lashings and general use, and netting all were taken and tied or stuffed into the bag. She had to use her knife to get the netting, tied as it was to the tree.

The neonate still had space in her bag for something else, so she looked for more dried tendons. After checking everywhere else, she slowly lifted a section of tied roof. The leaves had wilted and browned and she winced as some fluttered to the ground.

Take care idiot! Visible!

She looked under the fallen roof. There was something new to the neonate there.

A device of stone, tendon and wood.

An ax! She looked at the shape of the stone head, how it was chipped down from a larger stone, shaped. It explained the stone flakes Ropemaker had used to butcher the Rous.

It too was covered in blood. Her tongue flickered out. One-eye’s blood from the smell. She stuck it out into the rain, and it washed free. It hadn’t sunk in like the blood on the trunk.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance.

The wood wasn’t Pillar wood, bright and almost the color of bone. It was dark, almost a reddish brown, with heavy rings in it. It had been smoothed somehow, and fit well in her hand. The other end was split, which she assumed to be for holding the ax head.

Looking again at the hue of the wood, the neonate thought might be bloodoak wood.

The fibers of the tendon were loose and dry, and had been pounded flat with something and were wrapped around the split of the handle.

Wet them! Her Instinct insisted, yanking at her hand and pulling it towards the ax. Tie them tight!

It was so vehement that she did what she was told before she realized she was doing it, moving away from the blood and centipedes, and out into the rain. The fibers took in the moisture readily.

Gripping them, she wound them tight around the bottom with the stone head in the notch. Her instinct guided her. She wound the fibers around and around, lashing the head tight to the handle, closing the split above as well with a tight knot, tucking the excess under one of the loops as she did.

The work done, she hefted it. It was heavy. She gave it a swing, and it felt good. A new tool.

A second weapon. Her Instinct insisted from her palm.

It was the answer to the question she had posed about how to improve the hand ax. How long had that been? She thought about it.

Two cycles?

Had it only been that long? It felt like it had been longer, especially with everything that had happened since then.

Distraction, idiot! Focus!

She turned to leave, and spotted some stone flakes on the ground, partially obscured by part of the bark pile. Picking them up she looked at the head of her new ax.

With a quiet high-pitched grinding sound, she found where each one of the flakes fit against the stone ax head. Studying how it had been made. They were so consistent and delicate. Not like the time she had knapped stone.

How?

Two. Her Instinct answered, annoyed in her eyes and already looking.

She found the other stone, a round one, and it also fit well in the hand. It didn’t seem any different than the hammerstone she had used.

No. More, keep looking.

She found the femur of a rous, knowing the shape from her trapping and eating of the strange creatures. From the shape of the joint, it looked like it too had been used to shape the tool.

Hits the edge with this, gentler, finer shaping… Her Instinct said, shifting into her hands.

One held the ax, the other had the femur. She held the bone hammer against the head, angling the head and seeing how each flake must have come off. Trying to improve her own skill through study.

She put the hammer stone and the rous bone into her now bulging bag. Some thin cordage worked as a loop for the ax to hang from her belt. Not wanting to overburden herself, she headed back out into the rain.

It still didn’t flash or flicker, and she marveled at it. Having that would make it so much more useful in the days to come.

Now though, laden with her new treasures, she quietly made her way back to the entrance back to the temple, walking behind the leaves and plants and heading down once again.

She glanced around, pulling her eyes away from looking down and admiring her new ax for just a moment when she was back in the temple.

The glowing marks she had smeared onto the wall of the stairs had only been faintly glowing. The little predator was surprised and pleased to see that her more substantial marks down below were just as bright as they had been earlier. She saw there were still mushrooms on the floor.

Might as well add to them on my way back.

She waited until after she had moved down the path, far enough away from the stairway. Wanting no doubts in her mind about any of the light filtering to the outside. Night was coming soon, and she needed all of the light to stay down in the temple.

Last thing I need is for Fisher to see the light and come looking.

Her Instinct bristled. I have two deadly weapons. Kill!

She hissed pensively, bending over to pick up another mushroom from her path.

Eyes!

The feeling of being watched had returned.

She crouched low, pulling out her knife and ax.

The neonate stared into the temple, her tongue flickering out as she leaned forward, scanning what she could see of her horizon in this blackness.

Danger!

She could feel it. Something physical, not just a nebulous feeling of trepidation and unease. Stalking her.

Danger! Her Instinct was louder this time.

It was more than bats.

Where is it?

Her tongue flickered out.

Idiots don’t look up! Her Instinct shrieked.

Her scales flashed into the dirty yellow and off white of pure dread. It cascaded into her. Just at the edge of her hearing, there was something.

Without thinking the neonate dove to the left.

She felt something she couldn’t see swing through the air where she had just been! It was almost entirely silent. And the space was brightly lit by the mushroom pigment.

She scrabbled along the ground on all fours, needing to make space, not believing that something invisible was after her. She bruised her knuckles as she did, holding tight to her pair of weapons.

She got to another pillar and planted her back firmly against it, too rattled to acknowledge the mesmerizing size of the construction. She stared into the black, eyes as wide as they could go.

She saw absolutely nothing.

Her tongue flickered out.

There it was, the sour stink of stagnant meat. So rotten that it was almost a smell of anaerobic mud, but still too sharp, not blunt like the smell of a bog.

Does it have camouflage? Where is it?

She pressed harder against the column and scanned more carefully in all directions. She was now close enough to the flooded sections. The echoes of the flowing water rendered her hearing just as useless as her sight. She tasted the air again, forcing the fork in her tongue to spread wide. One tip sensed something.

Right side!

She rolled left again. Something tore into the pillar. Sparks danced like stars in the darkness. The pillar was marred with deep grooves now. And still she saw nothing.

It’s between me and the way out! She hissed, not knowing what to do!

Run!

And she ran! Sprinting along the dried-out path towards the center octagon.

Bending low.

Tail stiff.

Toeclaws clacking as fear gave her speed.

More sparks sprayed behind her, her sudden shadow in the depths and horrible screech of claws on stone telling her as much.

The crossroads. Need to get to the crossroads!

It was brighter there with the mushroom painted statues of the gods. Room to maneuver. She needed to see.

It would at least give her a chance at life if she could only make it there.

Survive.