Never would Halcyon ever be familiar with a concept such as vacation. Being Hive, this should come as no surprise: to them work possessed the same meaning as life. One could not exist absent of the other, and neither time nor place could alter that fact. Eridanus, as a new cave touched by Mother's correcting influence, simply was another territory under their guardianship. Its inhabitants had become additional siblings to tend to, whether sapient or merely operating on Order-directed instinct. To stay here was a test of capability, to see if they could juggle the myriad tasks required to keep things peaceful and safe for their family.

Due to their proximity and the circumstances surrounding them, Aegis drew most of their current responsibility. A young, developing mind needed careful attention to guide them and ensure their every need was met. While they couldn't always linger in their presence, a figurative ear remained tilted in the calf's direction whenever the distance proved short enough to catch snippets of thought. Like a plant, a growing being required space as much as nurturing to maintain healthy development, so they came rushing to their side on urgent matters and took their time on others. Allowed them to explore and ponder without an eye constantly hovering over their activities.

Meanwhile, Halcyon spent most days drifting about the trees, inspecting the changes rendered upon the surroundings by their group and noting areas yet to be converted by the fungus. Whenever limbs protested to further action, they ascended branches and rested in the canopy where the leaves might provide cover from those who might wish harm upon their kind. If they hazarded to spend their time wandering in imagination, they allowed themselves to stare unblinking into the distance, for once ignoring the threads of the network that might be touched to perceive the world through another's perspective. Such fiction was dangerous; often the past seeped into it as much as fantasy, and they wove together to form an awful tapestry stinking of smoke and burning flesh.

In those moments, they jerked away from the turmoil rippling across their mind. Wild desperation sought for pieces of reality: the bark tearing beneath claws and the air rushing into gasping lungs. And a shame settled in, followed by resentment for how figment could affect them so. Too many times this came to pass, each ending the exact same, enough that the last instance became the prod which drove them down their current tree to fungus-riddled ground. Reassurances from Mother of their ability could only do so much to assuage the ache of imperfection. Solutions that could be firmly grasped and prevent repeat failures to defend their fellows would do better for their mental well-being in the long term.

If at least one could be discovered, tolerance of their existence could come easier. They knew the weak points combat had revealed, so those would be their starting point. Begin at one and build on from there.

Magic, unlike a normal fight, didn't harm primarily through claws or fangs. It could grab without use of any appendage and conjure blazes on a deadly whim. Methods of this kind weren't possible to defend at close range, and their natural weaponry lacked any options which might extend their reach well. Perhaps the woods, turned so hospitable, could provide an answer to the problem if searched with thorough patience. After all, many responses could be found in Order, organized and logical.

As they had believed, their power—the Hive's—provided in due time. Were it not for the diligent conversion of the plant life here, the find which their claws now lay upon and admired might never have existed. At the very least, a branch so straight and naked of twigs diverging from its length would have been a fluke in the untamed wilds of yester cycles; here, in the present, the odds had been heightened to a degree most pleasant and beneficial. They could not tell for certain yet whether it extended far enough to be comfortably held in their grasp at an upright position. To do so required separation from the dead log that it continued to remain anchored to.

Connecting to the forces of Order proved finicky as of late—they suspected the trouble was due to the current disturbance to mental bedrock recent memories plagued them with. Nevertheless chitin crawled over the side of their arm, a thin glassy line before rising to form a blade slim but strong. They rested it over the limb and sawed through, a clean cut that was then replicated on its other end to ensure that they matched.

It would do, they decided, once knees straightened to stand. While the absence of thumbs made maneuvering the branch with a single grip mildly difficult, the front claws their design had been given reduced the ordeal a decent amount. When both sets were used, most issues were eliminated. If they managed to determine a proper use for the stick beyond a walking aid, one for combat, the primary worry would be how easily an opponent might wrest it from them. Something they never intended to pass if they crafted a weapon which attacked others from a distance.

But what could it be? They pondered over this while peeling away the bark of their stick to reveal the perfectly parallel grain beneath.

Halcyon examined a tip of the branch and reconsidered maintaining symmetry in both directions. If this were sharpened to stab, perhaps it could be used to thrust into another's ribs or to inflict wounds when flung. They ran a delicate claw over the flat surface, contemplative, but ultimately shook their head; a thrown weapon would be wasted. Either they would be putting themselves at risk by attempting to recover it from a struck target or yet another would have to be made to take its place. Such a task would be simplistic enough but not ideal. Better to possess a weapon that was more than single-use.

Forepaws traveled over the length of the wood. Grips alternated as every possible manner of holding it began to be explored. They made experimental swings, left and then right, but the movements were better described as jerks side to side. The stick trembled violently within claws as they struggled to be fluid in their practice of its use. An unfortunate loosening of a set on an attempt at a downward swipe sent the object toppling to the forest floor, one end landing with a decisive thwack on their foot. They stumbled back, a low hiss escaping past clenched teeth.

"Ohhh, wastewater," the Drone half-whispered, half-moaned. Unlike some of their siblings whose emotions were well-matched by the strength of their vocalizations, only a pitiful effort could be mustered to sound a tiny bit furious: what should have been a growl of irritation emerged as a strangled whine in their throat.

They allowed the negative reaction to simmer down and dissipate. Once certain it had run its course, finally they bent to pick the stick off the ground. Fumbling resumed with a note jotted down in the margins of their thoughts: although not intended for melee, improve maneuverability. It wouldn't do to accomplish anything worse like poking their eye out on the field of battle.

Left, right, up, down. Repeat. Down, up, right, left. Switch claw positions.

On the fourth or fifth time through, the wisp of an idea started to form. By the sixth, it'd developed fully in connection with the way the stick tipped forward on a strike down. They wouldn't know if the concept worked until it was tested out, but the potential held a promising shine.

If they had no intentions of throwing this, maybe it could be the thrower instead.

Of course they would need something to launch if this was the direction they decided to pursue: preferably it would be readily available, such as sticks or stones, to make projectiles convenient. Those could be slotted into a groove carved at the top of their branch and flung forward. Or no—a cradle could be fashioned for the ammunition and tethered to the branch instead. That seemed ideal and allowed for objects of many shapes to be tested out, whether against makeshift targets or actual dangers. Experimentation then would guide them to the proper choice for every possible situation.

Thoughts, brimful of innovative fervor, multiplied by the second. As Halcyon gazed upon the staff in their hold, an intensity built within eyes and gripping paws became firm. To them, this had grown beyond mere wood stripped of its bark; here was control over their destiny and the protection they desperately wished to wield for the Hive. Whether Valkhound or the easily misled neutrally-aligned, both they might have a chance of fending off with a tool of this sort at their disposal. Claws could be a final option and not the first so long as enemies were kept at bay. And if they landed a hit before magic could surge to anyone's willpower and follow the path sight took, flames might never devour flesh or rob the air from lungs again.

Eridanus, fantastic new domain of Order, could provide most of the materials needed. As with their branch, conviction stated that the forest harbored what was required to create the lines that would attach to it. However, intellect and limited dexterity alone might not manage to produce a few items. These might bring them outside the cave's bounds and away from their charge.

Would it be a violation of their pledge of guardianship to wander? No, they decided with a shake of the head, not if the child was informed. Instructions to approach the resident Lessers for help would allow them to be contacted should a significant problem arise. Once travelling, always a portion of their mind would be dedicated to the region left behind and their feet poised to pivot back if called out to. In addition, they had no intentions of making for the farthest flung reaches of the cave, only a couple of tunnels off from their current dwellings.

To Aegis they would go once their present location was tracked down. Then afterward, their task.

Plan of action set, Halcyon strode forward, reaching out to the network for signs of the presence they sought. Steps were careful, more so than usual, as they adjusted their walk to accommodate the newfound stick which a single paw was forced to shakily handle. Though the journey would be slow-going, benefits would be made apparent as time wore on. More practice brought them closer to perfection and achieving distant goals.

-Temporary exit to Gather Carefully

A few hours had elapsed by the time they at last returned to the forests of Eridanus, walking stick in one paw tapping out their leaf-littered path and the old leather which had been carefully sought out amongst so many piles of rubbish clenched in the other. The cave's lights, advanced further in their cycle, were bright compared to the previous dimness the Drone preferred to zone out to; white threads of fungus nevertheless hung luminously from the canopies of every tree they passed, greeting the wanderer as they returned to more welcoming territory. This chased away any vestiges of disturbance remaining from the chaos of the tunnels and bolstered ardor for the further progress on their project to come. Just a little more work required and a weapon worthy of wielding would soon be theirs to possess on the Hive's behalf. Such anticipation could hardly be kept to oneself, the energy bleeding into the thoughts of those willing to listen to the exciting developments.

Using their staff to help brush aside any debris, Halcyon cleared out a workspace for themselves on the forest floor. Once finished, the useful branch was set down and the leather pieces placed beside them. Crouched above, a moment was taken to consider what step next they'd proceed to for their task. What should they start with when constructing this new weapon?

A claw touched upon the leather. Perhaps boring holes into one of these so the lines they must fashion can attach to it as well as the stick? It seemed a reasonable place to begin with and while ordinarily they would be inclined to use Order's power to create a tool to do so, their natural equipment could be trusted with the job well enough. Surely this could be no harder than peeling bark away from a tree's sturdy trunk.

They chose the first leather piece they'd found, tougher and in better condition than the second. Holding it in place with a paw, a claw tip was positioned over an edge and, with an inhale of breath and tensing of muscles, driven through the material. Removal revealed a hole large enough to accommodate the thrust claw, and they then repeated the action on the opposite end of the piece for similar results. While some effort had been necessary, the process proved quick.

Somehow they suspected the work to follow would not nearly be so. Crafting always was more time-consuming than the mere creation of holes, especially when they had yet to gather the materials to be used. They had some idea of what needed to be searched for: strands able to be twisted together to form the core of a line stronger than themselves alone. A good portion of the labor would have to be dedicated to locating these, whether on the ground, on the trees, or within those trees alongside the fungus they'd played a part in introducing them to.

No use in dawdling any longer on subject when it needed to be attended to. Halcyon strode for the nearest tree, pounced, and ascended its height upon securing a good foothold with their curved claws.

Like previous endeavors undergone for the sake of their little project, this cave continued to demonstrate how its bountiful resources truly were a positive gain for the Hive. After a period of scouring, nimbly navigating the branches overhead and on occasion lowering themselves closer to the soil to investigate possible sources of plant fiber rooted there, Halcyon reached the conclusion more than enough had been gathered to go back to where their supplies lay. They said their goodbyes to the canopy they traversed under and careful placement of claws in bark allowed a gradual descent from the proverbial heavens to the less death-defying earth. When feet finally thudded upon it, the Drone brought a small change of appearance along with them from the brief travelling accomplished: verdant vines, dusted with white fungus fuzz, were coiled around their narrow chest as a thick bandolier.

They unwound these in short order, cradling the precious cargo in arms before placing the entire bundle on the ground. Movements swift, knees bent to reassume the crouch they'd taken earlier so that holes could be driven into one of the leather pieces left here. Now a new task needed to be accomplished. A beginner to the concept of cordage, the vines at their disposal would be a first attempt, and hopefully not the last, at making a pouch for projectiles. Once finished, the end result might be lashed to their walking stick to transform it into a multi-purpose tool much like themselves, capable of flinging objects as well as providing support and additional arm reach.

All the materials required were present at last. What remained was tapping into qualities innate to their design—patience and attentiveness foremost—so despite any difficulties, the crafting process would be determined an ultimate success.

It came as no surprise when at first Halcyon failed at twisting a few lengths of vine. Inexperience caused their claws to be uncertain, shaking while they puzzled over the proper gripping technique in order to start binding them together. Multiple instances they held them in such a way it seemed almost guaranteed that dropping them would be impossible. Each time one or two slipped out of their grasp once trying to twist them around each other began. Lacking a thumb to ensure they stayed secured, a couple options were explored, both equally fruitless. Neither pinning the vines to the ground with claws or stamping a foot upon them did anything to help, and soon an weary exhale found itself exiting lungs.

Fists clenched and lifted to caress knuckles against either side of their skull. Perhaps if they rubbed hard enough, an epiphany might be massaged eventually into the brain. They'd let this prickle of annoyance have its effect, and the task would begin anew upon its fading away.

Heart calmed and mind relaxed, Halcyon was prepared for another attempt. For the sake of improving their chances of success, the problem would be approached now from a fresh angle. Repetition might be central to practice, but it'd be ineffectual when the previous techniques used clearly lacked a necessary element to prevent their work from easily unravelling at the slightest weakening of claws. To keep their paws busy and concerned solely with twisting vines, this time they'd have jaws take on the burden of keeping them in place; despite how their snout's length limited sight, sense of touch ought to be enough to ensure the process ran smoothly.

Perhaps an overconfident statement when the idea was actually executed. Definitely one after a few embarrassing seconds were wasted batting at the air, searching for the telltale texture of the greenery dangling out of their mouth. But the shame didn't linger once they finally rediscovered them. All feelings fled in the face of unwavering concentration.

Start with one strand. Wind it over the others. Repeat with the next and the next after that.

Ignoring the tedious start, a sense of familiarity resided in the steady rhythm achieved over the course of their labor. The precise movement, the dedication to consistency, sang directly to the Order composing every atom of their being. Just as each Hive member's role contributed to the whole's single purpose, these vines did the same, combining to form greater strength than any one alone had. They, of course, had already known this before beginning; nevertheless the concept gained tangibility upon feeling the cord develop between claws.

Splicing in new vines to lengthen what they had was a mild struggle, but somehow they managed, if more clumsily than they preferred to. Perfectionism meant they refused to continue until certain that the cord's thickness remained the same with those additions included, lest they introduce multiple weak spots to their effort.

Although slow-going, eventually a rope coiled serpent-like around their feet. It was a decent first try—the quality neither woefully subpar or incredibly superb. They would see if it held up soon.

But first the electrifying prospect of testing out their newly made rope would have to wait, the construction of the pouch for their staff yet to be completed. A couple more steps had to be taken, easier compared to the previous ordeal: dividing up the available cordage for attachment to the already prepared leather piece and finally securing the entire assembly to their sturdy walking stick.

Somewhere between the tunnel of discarded items and Eridanus, the chitin which had previously served as an arm blade for them had succumbed to its gradually weakening integrity and fallen off. The fact they'd been inattentive enough that the event had been entirely missed was quite unfortunate and, considering potential consequences, worthy of reprimand. Such debris provided evidence of their presence slinking through the caves; too many left scattered about might create a trail for an enemy to follow if one desired to bring harm to the Hive. They might be found and subjected to torment at the hands of Chaos or of those neutrals manipulated to act against them. Worse still, there existed the risk of their charge crossing paths with danger as a result of any continued negligence on their part.

Halcyon's breath hitched. Claws dug into palms at the possibility of such an outcome.

No, they wouldn't allow further imperfections in their actions. Travelling would be done more carefully in the future. For their sake as well as Aegis's. To not would be a betrayal of Mother's expectations of their design and of the oath they'd given to the child.

An exhale released the build up of nervous energy, and they returned to more immediate concerns: another blade. As it'd been grown on a single arm, the demand for balance meant they would use the other unused one for this. That way neither side would be more experienced at wielding chitin implements than the other.

They needed to remember why this weapon energized them so. It was the promise of protection it held, the knowledge that possessing it would keep them and others safe. Let that harden their resolve so that, even if best efforts were not enough to prevent harm coming the way of their siblings, they could stand firm against all who dared to attempt to.

The flutter of wings was unobtrusive--not an intention to interrupt, but merely a soft reminder that Halcyon was not forgotten. That their work was appreciated, their dedication seen.

The bird that landed did not belong here: a Ghostbird, broad in wingspan and empty in its white stare. It had, Halcyon would know, come a long way for this. In its claws were clutched a simple sack, one of woven silk like that of a spider--a gift from Mother herself. And within were simple foods. A little bit of fish, filleted and laid out. Berries of several colors, in a separate little silk sac. A few twists of dried meat; a fruit; a root vegetable or two; options for snacks, in case they wished a varied diet, today. With all of this came the gentle flood of warmth, of reassurance and gratitude for her beloved child. The bird departed, leaving this gift behind; but Mother's intrusion was a brief slide through Halcyon's consciousness, here and then gone.

"Do not forget to rest."

---

Mother has left Halcyon a simple gift. Any response or acknowledgment is optional.

Mild disappointment couldn't be denied at the lack of chitin forming on their forearm. The crash of Order's power against some unknown internal block, all-too-common an occurrence for the Drone, didn't evoke more than a clenched jaw and a soft, exasperated exhale through nostrils. Perhaps mere exhaustion was at fault for the failure this time, effort devoted to the task of rope building too much a drain on mental resources to muster the strength to forge another blade yet. Whatever reason, they'd try again and keep the motivations driving them well established in their mind's eye.

Timing ever ideal, this was when Mother's presence whisked through them on feathered wings and left tangible appreciation in her wake, allowing a much-needed break from ceaseless determination. Halcyon, on tiptoes so as not to disturb the current fruits of their labor, crawled over to the silken package. Claws pulled it open for a peek at the contents therein: a small assortment of snacks. The aroma emanating from these had the near instant effect of awakening their stomach with a low rumble. However, despite the warm glowing pulse their fins attained at the pleasing scents and sights, they pressed the sides of the sack closed and retreated.

Sustenance could wait until the weapon was constructed. The promised tastes would be better savored as rewards for its completion.

They drew on their magic, eager to resume work. This enthusiasm proved their downfall as, instead of weakly responding like usual, it surged out in an uncontrolled spike. A gleaming jagged mass shot out of Halcyon's wrist, shattering immediately after emergence. Pain lanced up to their shoulder and, gasping, they clutched at the spot with the opposite hand.

Fighting back whimpers, a decision was reconsidered and a lesson found in the sudden backlash: never operate on an empty stomach. While they still intended a full meal to be had after finishing, a nibble wouldn't do more harm than they'd already inflicted on themselves through foolishness. Then their task could be focused on without any further incident.