[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Endurance]

I shed my old skin.

Test my new body.

Whisper to the ripe leaves around me and slurp.

The fluid travels smoothly through my mouth.

Tasty.

At least better than nondescript mush.

It feels lighter as it settles in my stomach.

I can drink.

And drink.

And keep drinking.

There doesn’t seem to be an end to it.

I am not bloated or sick. I excrete more often but it feels hardly different than it was before.

And the energy is…

I had worried that the same problem would haunt me. That so many changes would tip the scale of my energy consumption, or that my brain would grow too much and I would be back where I started.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

I feel stronger. Alert.

As if I could crawl up and down the tree four times without rest.

I must have so much energy that I can afford to ‘waste’ it.

Finally, I can do more than just eat.

I use my brain. I can listen to the whisper clearer with it. Whispering to the leaves is its own challenge but I know that it hides far more secrets than that. Sometimes, I simply dream. Connect with the parts of my self that are always asleep and let my mind wander. I don’t need a brain to slurp down food, anyway.

I use my body. So far I got by with my instincts but I could learn to control it better and understand my limits. I’m not very strong. But I move relatively fast in short bursts. With my increasing mass, I could try to bash other insects with my head. Apart from that, I don’t have many means to protect myself. I don’t have claws or a sharp stinger, can’t spit acid or even crush with my sacrificed mandibles. The best I could manage is to run away.

I use my innards. The whisper advises me to eat some of the infested leaves. It seems that they’re relatively harmless to me now, and I can strengthen my antibodies with the exercise. I gladly partake in the feast. I get healthier, the plant loses its parasites and my siblings will be in less danger when they get here eventually. Everybody wins. Except the parasites.

In my dreams, I scale a mountain.

The frigid winds bite into my exposed skin like microscopic glass. Inside my thick jacket, I’m uncomfortably warm and sweaty. My muscles burn from the extended stress. But I lift myself from the wall. A few steps. A few more handholds and I reach solid ground again. I sprawl on the hard snow and take ragged breath after ragged breath. I’m tired, but I made it. As I move my neck towards the top of the mountain, I see an infinite stretch of white rising towards a blinding mist. With a sigh, I get up and keep walking.

The whisper boils with an urgency that I’d never heard before.

I pause. Try to look inconspicuous between the sea of leaves.

And I listen to the foreboding warning of danger.

Time slows to a crawl, seemingly worried.

I feel it straining to give me precious moments to react.

Suddenly, the whisper changes its composition.

It chitters sharply and almost painfully in my mind.

I can hear whatever is coming getting closer.

Quickly.

I try to follow the whisper’s directions. Bat with my head and body at the thing trying to attack me. Wriggle to evade its lunges and retaliation strikes.

But it is fast. And it flies.

At one point it manages to slip by my guard and touch me for but a second.

Immediately, I get a hit in with my head and send it far away from me.

I must stun it, because it doesn’t come back instantly.

I take the chance to flee.

Back to the tender leaves and the thin branches.

Back to the place where my siblings reside.

The side that the flying insect got in contact with burns.

I fear poison. Or something equally bad.

But at least I lose it. Or it decided I’m not prey worth the effort.

I arrive at a leaf occupied by a few of my siblings and rest.

The whisper sounds concerningly active.

Liquify, I say to the leaf and it concedes with surprising ease.

I lose myself in drinking and listen closer to the whisper.

What it implies doesn’t reassure me.

It’s not poison or acid that the enemy injected me with.

They’re eggs.

I feel my self shuddering in discomfort.

The dreams shift between soothing and horrifying.

Desperately, I try to rub the spot against a branch.

But it is no use. They are in too deep.

Then I try to listen to the whisper emanating from them.

But I don’t hear anything. They’re too small, even for me.

Despair.

It has been a while since I felt this emotion.

I remember.

The world on fire and slivers of hope remaining. Blood and violence on the streets, hate and too much apathy to make a change.

I remember.

Power kept zealously guarded. Greed tearing the earth and the sky apart. Ignorance and helpless knowledge; misinformation and bullets keeping the masses at bay.

In my dreams, I hesitate.

I keep my head down. Escape to a remote place. Leave humanity to deal with its own foolishness and live freely from my hands and the land.

I tire. Of the bullshit and the plain idiocy. I make a stand and I do it hard. I shout long, I shout loud. I fake smiles and kill with words people that wouldn’t die against a million guns. I court death. Feed from threats. And I watch it all tumble down to the ground.

I wonder what kind of person I was. I wonder what choices I made.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Because I’m here now.

I go back to the spot. Where leaves too tough for my siblings grow.

I look for the most dangerous ones. The ones that are a coin flip between life and death.

And I eat them all.

My body is wrecked from the pain. I vomit, then swallow it, and keep eating.

My dreams offer me no respite.

The whisper screams. But I ignore it. Use it to consume the poison I’m killing myself with.

My immune system fights with teeth and claws against the numerous invaders trying to take me down.

And I wait.