He'd hardly had time to even react. The thunderous rumble of snow and rubble had washed over him in an instant. Crunching he was sure was his own carapace. Limbs getting crushed like twigs under all that snow. His feeble, panicked cry towards mother, and the warmth she'd given him as response. Warmth almost enough to muffle the sensation of amber growing, growing, growing, consuming him.

Silence.

This had been a cycle before the 'assault' on mother, and it wouldn't been until a cycle after until he emerged. Maybe that was for the best- safely stowed away until it had all blown over. The problem was getting back out.

Maybe Mother had sent a savior- a sibling to help dig him out, to guide him home once he emerged. Maybe she did not, and he would have to dig out by himself, find home by himself. The idea of being alone was terrifying, something he never thought he'd have to endure again.

The amber shell was thick. Protective. Warm. Warmth was something that had become almost foreign. A constant fight against the topor, against that freezing, stagnating chill, no matter how many furs he wore. Still, he would go out and hunt, for mother, for his family. Most he'd crush until it went still, became nothing but fuel. But Mother was especially fond of birds. So he'd be careful, oh so careful, as he shoved the white fungus down their throat.

Mother, where are you? He'd think, calling out, as the amber shell began to crack and break. He'd brace himself for the chill, for the snow to crash down and crush him once again. Mother, I am free. I am back. What happened?