The children need help, Twice Removed said, and it did not occur to her that she had never heard him speak before.I'm right behind you.
She flexed wings, took off, effortless, the steady thrum of gossamer a continuous bzzzzzt behind her; he darted through the hive and she followed, left, right, sharp turns, at a flick. The hive was endless, tunnel after tunnel, cell after cell; the hive was dark and hot like fire; the hive was red like fire – the hive was home. Cell after cell.
The children were crying. They made no sound, but she knew they were crying; she could feel them. They lay, wrapped around themselves, snug in their eggs, thin, filmy shells, beating, beating. (Grey, green, red, glow; there was Evolve, and Candid, and...) Some still slept, snug in their eggs. Some – some were not – some were not in their eggs. The children were crying and it felt like she was crying with them, but they made no sound. There was no time for crying.
She was angry. The children. She was not the first, not the last, they were all there – already all there, before her, coming up behind her. And before them all, the darkness, the freezing touch, the cold darkness and then before them was – death. Curled up, wrapped around themselves, wings withered; some would fly no more. Some of the children were not in their eggs. Some would never fly. She was angry. They were all.
(No time to cry.)
She flexed wings, flicked left, right, sharp turns, angled just right – dived. Stab – pierce, latch, the pump of venom. Again. Again, angled just right. It did not matter if she fell, wings withered, to fly no more - another would take her place. There would always be another, they were all there – already all there, before her, coming up behind her, until the children were safe. Again, again, driving back the darkness – again, again, and then –
Suddenly it was bright – so bright; she opened her eyes:
There was Twice Removed, just as he was, gleaming black, save where he gleamed white. His wings were gossamer, beating, but slowly. He was not flying – he perched, wings beating, slowly, in the morning sun.
The children, they are safe? she said, not quite yet registering that the words hadn't come out the way it usually did.
Slowly, he turned, on fine tap of a limb after another. She had never seen him this way before, everywhere and all at once. Slowly, he turned, wings beating, slowly, till he could look her in the eye.
Of course the children were safe: it all came to her in a rush. They were hardly children, anymore, young does and bucks now – does and bucks, not tender, half-formed tissue still wrapped around themselves, in their thin, filmy shells. Does and bucks, of flesh and blood, and warmth and fur. They did not see everywhere and all at once. They did not tap, limb after limb. They did not gleam the hard gleam of the chitinous skin. They did not beat wings – did not feel, hear, the steady thrum of gossamer a continuous bzzzzzt behind her, as she now did, rising, effortless, into the air upon the immensity of the realisation.
Yes, he said.
Good, she fiercely said.
END