ORIGIN

V-Zoisite-One, the charge of Vargas, the first of the Zoisite in this clutch, was growing. Already, only cresting its second cycle, the grub was beginning to form a harder exoskeleton. Its length had increased exponentially, and now it was easily over six feet in length. Its mind, and personality, was also growing.

Though, outwardly, they had become much more reserved. The Zoisite shied away from the others as the rest of the clutch grew more wild, learning to keep their distance so they didn't inadvertently snap their pincers or prick anyone with their quills. They stood on sidelines and watched, expressionless.

Overseer Orthoclase-Alpha had recently brought fresh kills to the warren, though most of them were perfectly capable of hunting at this point. Zoisite did not protest, though they waited for everyone else to grab their fill before they scurried up-- some of the others could be a bit... demanding, and greedy, and they would rather wait.

Zoisite didn't like it when their food was still warm, anyway. When they could feel the heat of life draining away on their tongue. Better stiff, and cold, where the hot blood wouldn't dribble through their jaws.

They shuffled, pulling their lanky limbs under their long, serpentine body, and curled their talons about their legs. Glowing, neon lemon nostrils flared with each breath, tasting the smell of death-- decay-- food from a safe distance. They lowered their head, and from this angle even with their eyes wide open, they could only see the blurred shape of other moving about in the warren.

A small, ocherous ball of light formed on the flood beside them, and they idly moved it sweeping from one side of their face along the dirt floor, to the other. It pulsed with each, passing wordless tug on its heavy chest. The light dragged along the stones, alighting every shadow cast by each pebble beside it, and quietly, they light swelled with the hope that the dead were no longer in pain.