The complexities within their structures alone are fascinating, though it was quite some time before just how complex they were became apparent. In my defense, I was quite distracted at the time.

-From Canticles: 10:2-3

The neonate finished up a quick prayer in the central octagon, kneeling for a moment before the statues of the gods. The mushroom paint was still there, glowing, though it was difficult to see in the light of the runes that now filled the temple.

If anything, it made the scale and scope of the place even more impressive, revealing the full extent of the massive claw marks that ripped into the stone.

They had torn into the pillars, smashed statues, even dug massive furrows up in the ceilings. And not just above water either, she could see them through the ripples far below. Some in the path were almost two feet deep into thick stone, positively enormous.

What could have made them? She didn’t remember any stories from the Provider about such a thing. I wish I could ask Tok about this, find out what he knows. But the little predator knew she couldn’t. Even the smallest possibility of being overheard, of having the existence of the temple be known was not something she could risk.

Too big anyway. Her Instinct hissed in its ever patient and eloquent manner.

He wasn’t always big.

He didn’t hatch here, he is a Blackscale, idiot.

She hissed, looking into the water. She thought she could almost see what it was. Some sort of statue… but it didn’t-

Enough. Action! Besides, dangerous.

She supposed that was a good point. No telling what might lurk in those depths. If there was anything, she could handle it. I’ll have to.

The left-hand path, the one that went east, was also dry like the southwestern one, the water just barely lower than the surface of the walkway. The neonate noticed that there was a separate room up ahead though, closed off unlike the expansive space all around her. A small set of stairs led up into it. She looked up at the archway that led into that separate space, eyes narrowing.

Survive…

She listened, waiting, only hearing the distant echoes of the rainwater pouring down the stairs. She let her tongue flicker out once before heading up slowly, hands on her weapons.

Something thin and small clung to her face, stretching. The neonate jerked back, sputtering as she was snared by the cobwebs of ages past. They snapped easily, but each thread was an irritating little jerk that she had to deal with.

Enough of this.

She took out her knife and ax and waved them about to get rid of most of them. The Greenscale kept an eye out for the deadliest arachnids she could face down here, remembering that this was one of the things that Tok warned the whole brood about when they were freshly hatched.

Lockjaw Spiders, black and yellow like hornets. Big as her hand, with tight fur like a mammal on their slender limbs. And also there was Ravo’s Dancers, shiny black with slender legs, smaller, maybe an inch and a half long.

Any spider bite would be painful, but those two meant death.

And of the two, if she had to run into either, the little predator would prefer the Dancers.

“Bounce back and forth on their web. To ward off threats. Flash Ravo’s eye at you.” Tok had said, drawing the shape in the mud, a half circle with a line for the pupil.

Don’t see any though.

Good.

The room felt much more abandoned than the rest of the temple, rather than forgotten. Dust coated the floor in a thick blanket, undisturbed for Gods knew how long. No tracks of any kind, either on the floor or along the walls or ceilings from the looks of the cobwebs.

There were actually remnants of whatever had been in the space still there as well. Hanging cloths, faded to near grayness, tattered to rags adorned the walls still.

They shifted tiredly in the air stirred by her passing like so many ghosts.

It didn’t help that she could still feel that presence watching her.

Hopefully it’s just the Gods…

Her Instinct grunted.

She tried to see if they depicted anything of note, but everything was too degraded, their secrets lost to time.

Shards of wood were strewn sparsely through the space. Barkless, stripped and carved by the look of the remains. None of it held attention though, all too contextless to be even mildly distracting, and too dry rotted to collect on the way out. At least not in this moment of action.

Good! Move on!

There was a smell though, one she remembered, but she couldn’t place it. The little predator hissed, contemplating the smells with her tongue.

I have smelled something like this before. It wasn’t a creature. She remembered that much. Something… thin?

Move. On. Compete! Her Instinct knew that her knife and ax changed everything.

The neonate left it for later. It looked like she had something else to deal with. Her way forward was blocked by stones, worked and placed inside the far archway in an intricate pattern. She snapped her jaw quietly as she got closer.

Why even build an archway if you are just going to stack stones in front of it? She wondered if she could knock out the worked stones, but she was far too small. And it’d make noise, could alert anyone or anything on the other side. Not to mention that nothing she could do had managed to budge any of the stones.

It made her ponder those claw marks again.

Fine, go back. Her Instinct growled.

She paused. Noticing something. What is that?

Go. Back. Now.

No, there might be a way through. She felt her Instinct slide in behind her eyes at that thought.

There was a mechanism on one side. Earthbone, tarnished, with a sphere attached to it. She took hold of the thing and pulled. It didn’t budge, but the handle seemed to be able to move. She twisted, and it rattled slightly, but it was held in place.

Her Instinct hummed inside her mind, thoughtful. Both her forebrain and hindbrain enjoyed the puzzle of it, it seemed.

The Greenscale stepped closer, tongue flickering. She tested the stones with the tip of the black blade, looking for defects, a change in materials, some sort of difference. It felt too much like a passageway to her, there had to be a method to get in.

There…

Three of the stones had the tiniest gaps separating them from the others, just enough to get the edge of her knife into them. The gaps were uniform all the way around, so they weren’t resting on top of the stones below.

A mechanism? They must move. If they are flush… then they probably slide in. She tested her theory, and as she pushed each one slid and locked into place.

Click, click, click.

There was a short pause.

Clank!

Something had changed! Eagerly she twisted the earthbone handle.

Clunk! Thu-dunk!

Nothing happened. Growling the neonate yanked on the handle. The whole thing slid silently open, startling her with how easy it was. She almost fell backwards.

A way out!

Move!

She walked through.

Lightning flashed over head as she looked around. The little predator was inside one of the surface level ruins that dotted the island. Overgrown but still with a roof. Her tongue slid out, twin tips spread wide. She couldn’t detect any sign of the others.

Thunder grumbled as her scales finished shifting to match the surroundings, slipping out into the undergrowth.

A tree, that’s what I need.

The neonate slipped out of the structure, sliding through and around the ferns and shrubs that surrounded it.

Click.

She spun, weapons in hand, but found it had just been the door shutting.

She couldn’t see a handle on this side, and she rushed over, panicked that it was only a way out. But before she could really curse, she saw three stones slide slowly into slightly different positions.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Clunk.

She put her weapons away and moved the stones back. The door opened!

She hissed softly in relief.

Letting the door shut again, the neonate slunk through the underbrush to a tall tree to orient herself, climbing up and searching for smoke. Scrubbing her body with scentmoss as she did.

Should be just south of Harvester now. Maybe I find her camp and move from there?

That way.

She stayed low as she traveled through the canopy, staying on high alert, inspecting every sound, checking every smell. Prowling through the canopy.

There was a rous below, scurrying in the opposite direction and squeaking to itself.

Kill!

No. I need to focus.

She quieted both her Instinct and her belly by drinking more rainwater. She would have time to hunt after. It paused below her, unaware, licking its paws and wiping its face.

Meat, waiting to be butchered.

So tempting. The idea of hot blood on her scales, in her mouth, the taste of it. Rich and nourishing, made all the sweeter with the knowledge that she’d killed it. She felt herself starting to salivate.

After this. There was always more rous. I need to find a rival first.

Her Instinct hissed with excitement.

Harvester’s farm was completely abandoned. Not only had it been flooded, but what little infrastructure Harvester had put in was still there, rotting. It confirmed that the neonate had been right though, and helped her know where she was.

Another one I have outlasted. Remembering how thin Harvester had looked last time she saw her, she wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t seen Harvester’s corpse, but a part of her knew. And that part was proud that she had been a part of it.

Unworthy, just like Ropemaker.

Should have learned to hunt better. Her Instinct snarled with contempt.

Or to make her own fire.

The neonate could tell there was nothing of value from where she was, she didn’t need to dig through waist high water. She moved on, heading south. That side of the island was new to her.

I’ll learn all I can about the island. Then I’ll know what to do.

Yes! Learn! Adapt! Compete!

So she headed south, along the coast, searching for targets.

The trees gave way more and more to open marshgrass, eventually becoming so sparse that she had to travel to the ground, unable to reach the next through the canopy after a certain point. She was heading towards a thin line of smoke on the horizon.

The rain had made it so that scents didn’t linger, and combined with the scentmoss she shouldn’t have to worry about that.

The mud however…

The neonate hissed as she nearly sank up to her knee in the mud, and she had to spend more time than she would have liked hiding the print it left.

Impossible to leave no trace. Unless… She looked over to a fallen log, and leaped to it, trotting along it and looking into the grass for where she should step next. It was hard going, but she found that there was a way to move forward.

Stepping in places where the prints were either hidden, or she would be out of the mud. Natural divots, puddles, stones, or deep in the brush so that they weren’t readily visible.

Exposed… Her Instinct whispered.

She shoved the uncomfortable feeling down. Crouching a little lower to be more in the grass as she moved. Still following the smoke.

There is enough ground cover, and I have the best camouflage out of all of the hatchlings. She was confident in that. Prided herself in it. The little predator was convinced she could just disappear and sneak off if she needed to. And I have stone and earthbone claws to contend with. She patted her weapons.

Sunshine yellow filled her thoughts at that, tinted softly by the red and black.

Dangerous.

As she traveled, she spotted something strange stuck into the ground. It was hard to miss. Pale against the dark green of the waving grasses. Something fluttering in the wind at one end. Feathers, attached to a pale stick of pillarwood.

It was in the middle of a small clearing at an angle.

Why is it there? What is it?

Duck low! Lower! Her Instinct yanked her almost into the mud, under the tall grass to the point she couldn’t see. It let her pad closer, close enough to reach out and pull the object out of the soil.

The wood was incredibly smooth, and the other end that was stuck in the ground was burnt, scraped down to a point. The neonate let her tongue flicker close to the feather.

How is it stuck there?

Woody. She sniffed as well. Cooked. Almost but not quite burnt. A sharp smell. And deep down there was something distinctive. Something she recognized.

Pine. The sap. Cooked? Her Instinct surmised.

She felt the tip with a scaled hand, eyeing the char of it.

Why would it be burnt then scraped?

She pressed her claw against the charred end, and the wood didn’t give. When she tried the uncharred wood it dented. Not much, but slightly.

Fire hardened the wood.

That alone was worth the trip in and of itself!

She thought back to the whiptail bulbs, how difficult they were to dig up. She had managed to dig them up, but it was hard going.

Char some pillarwood like this… Should dig through the soil much better.

Yes! Learn!

How easy it would be to use a pole with a strengthened tip to get leverage under them.

This sap, this is interesting too. She wondered how well it worked, and for how long. Could I use it to trap prey? It at least could bind things together.

She touched where it held the feather to the length of stick and found it not even tacky. She hissed softly in displeasure. Perhaps that would help reinforce the stone head of her ax? She would find more devious uses for it as well

It was shortly after that that she spotted another one of the object just a bit farther south of the first. This one was snapped, looking like it had hit a stone. It didn’t have a pointed tip, instead having a small rounded stone stuck to one end with the same sappy glue.

But what is this thing’s purpose? She turned it over, looking around from her crouch.

Too kill.

How?

The little predator got a jumble of impressions from her Instinct. Something about distance. Like the tube, but different.

That makes these some sort of weapon? She looked at the broken one. Did you throw them?

Inefficient. Her Instinct growled. Distraction.

She slid both into her bag, next to the torches. She was taking too much time with them, and she had spotted something much more interesting next to the broken one.

Right next to it, in the mud, was a water filled three-toed footprint. She sniffed it, processing.

This was made close to sunrise. It was pointed away from her destination, heading roughly north.

She took a few moments to move to either side of the track, taking even more care to keep her own hidden.

None coming back. Whoever it was could be back at any time. Gotta be quick.

Find the origin. Survive.

Now that the little predator was alerted, she could see the slight bend in the grasses, the minimal change in hue of damaged stems. A path, not overly traveled, but a path nonetheless. She could use that to find the nest of this rival. She was glad to see that up ahead there were more trees, close enough to each other that she might be able to return to the canopy.

She swung wide, moving off of the meandering path covering her own tracks as before, stepping on rocks and fallen branches, moving as fast as she dared. After some progress she moved towards a cypress tree, clambering up it to check for movement, especially to the north.

Nothing! Go!

She dashed along the branch, gripping with her toeclaws as she ran. She let her scales shift to something simplistic. A good color to blend in but not a perfect match to her surroundings. She was moving too fast for that.

I should practice. She thought it was possible if she did.

Faster!

She leaned into it, legs pumping, and sprung to the next branch. The wind and rain pressing against her face. Her wounds ached as she leaped, and it wasn’t the most graceful landing, but she didn’t slip, which was the most important part.

As she moved quickly through the trees, the grass below her became water, and just before she could think about how that was better if she fell a massive form floated to the surface.

As she leaped to the next tree, she could see the shadows of many large crocodiles under the surface. Her foot landed on some slimy algae, sliding out from under her.

She nearly yelped, snatching at the branch and digging in her claws. She pulled herself up.

One of the beasts below snapped at something and the whole lot turned to inspect. Shallow water sloshing. A couple of the closer ones snapping onto something pink that bled red.

They took turns spinning in deathrolls, ripping the thing to gory tatters.

A crimson flower of blood floated lazily across the island.

She slowed slightly, partly to plan the next jump, but also to inspect more closely.

Are they passing through? She hoped so.

No. Her Instinct whispered from her eyes, pulling them to the bank, focusing in on the silk-smooth sections of mud that indicated slides. She looked up the bank, and sure enough she could see prints still visible where they were sheltered from the rain.

I suppose that they make a good deterrent against intruders.

Dangerous. Not ideal.

She saw it then. The mounds. Nests. She hissed and one of the beasts below rumbled loudly, a big bull claiming territory. Water danced over his vibrating back.

Why live so close to danger? At least purposely anyway.

Could everywhere else be taken? Or did the crocs not show up until after the monsoon? They were apparently not enough of a threat for Tok to get rid of them. At least not anymore. She worried about that. Just how dangerous are the others?

Lightning flashed.

Her Instinct grunted. Onward. It thought of the abomination she had fought.

True. She could probably, if she had to, fight off one croc. She didn’t like her chances though. Especially in the water. She did think about those eggs though. Soft, but full of thick yolks. She shook her head, moving on. Too dangerous.

Thunder boomed.

The little predator could smell the smoke now, not just see it. Not a lot, but she caught a whiff of it on the wind as the breeze shifted. She crouched low, slowing down, tearing free some of the scentmoss and scrubbing it against herself to make sure that her scent was hidden.

Best to be safe. She could be wrong about the owner being home.

Yes! Good!

The outpost was in the center of several large boulders. The space in the center had been filled in with smaller rocks and earth, forming something of a platform. Several pines sheltered the inside from the rain, and the smoke drifted up out from the center of them.

Good placement. It was sheltered And had a good view of the surrounding area. If this one has a tube weapon, they can just keep watch and use it against any trespassers. This was the first time something felt like territory to the neonate.

She jumped into the nearest pine, grabbing the branch easily and moving in close to the trunk. She let her tongue flicker out as her coloration shifted to something more complicated to fully match her surroundings now that she was moving slowly. Smoke. Old blood, the smell of butchery perhaps?

And pine sap. Lots of it, but fresh, not cooked.

She looked at the trunk of the tree, touching it, and giving it a sniff. Her hand came away sticky.

Well, I was right.

Her Instinct wriggled in the back of her mind. Settling into its mental nest next to the warm radiance of her accomplishments. She felt sunshine yellow in her forebrain as well. It was good to be out competing again, learning.

She checked for movement again to the north, and again, she saw nothing. So far so good.

The little predator continued downwards, finding that the pines were much easier to climb through. The branches grew in layers, making natural platforms as she went, and the wood was soft, easy for her claws to dig into and grip.

She slid onto the ground, pulling out her knife and ax, looking around.

Nobody.

She sniffed the air. Tasted it with her tongue. The smell of another hatchling was heavy in the place, but it was the kind of smell that settled in. Male. Not fresh, not a living body here.

Loot! Nobody! Her Instinct gnashed savagely.

She stood taller. She could see that this hatchling had also gathered up tendons from rous, pounding them with stones just as Ropemaker had.

Sinew. Her Instinct named it, giving the impression of pulling something out of a bog. She could almost smell the name of the weapon back there, but it wasn’t yet free of the mental quagmire.

Could he have also spied on Ropemaker?

Her Instinct shrugged. Impatient. Nervous. The feelings started to sink into her forebrain and she had to control them.

Distracting herself from that a little bit, she saw organized piles of feathers. Piles and piles of them.

How did he get so many.

Lightning flashed and cracked like the tube weapon just overhead and she jerked hissing. Then off to the south she heard it.

Quackquackquackquackquack! Quack!

She turned, nostrils flaring, eyes going wide, tongue flickering out.

Ducks! Her Instinct knew that smell. That sound.

She moved to the other side of the outpost. They were only just audible over the sound of the constant precipitation. She slowly pushed aside the branches.

There they are… Her eyes widened as greed surged.

Thousands of them. Or hundreds at least, off to the south of the camp. Waddling in pairs. Bending down to pick at the grass. To tend to something there.

Eggs… Her Instinct growled from her abdomen, and her eyes glowed with gluttonous intent.

But ducks could fly, how had they-

The snap of a twig jerked her back out of her own thoughts.

Shit!

The neonate heard a hiss. A Greenscale hiss.

Shit!

She needed to hide!