Zil Gronan

Zil Gronan of brood mother Gronan Ter of the elder mother Ter Selphin reclined comfortably on the ledge set into the curved cusp of the window recess. Cool blue light cascaded down through purple skies and the dense over cover of the colossal peripalms.
He looked out at the fields of undulating roots and the scattered outcropping of shelters built around the farms. A slarn pittered overhead, it’s wings taught with wind.
Pulling him from his relaxation, a resonance pierced his drifting mind.
“Zil,” brood mother Gronan began, her teletalk soothing, “I need you to go to the city and make sure our harvest is collected properly. Last cycle it was misplaced and our rations were cut back as a result.”
“Brood mother,” Zil responded within her mind, “I don’t recall that. Why did you not tell me?”
“Oh, Zil. You were still barely a Nymph at that point and now you are all grown up. I try not to burden you with such things. As a nymph you are to play and experience the worlds without stress of adulthood. I had to work at Gerla Tamal’s mine while you were at academy to earn enough rations.”
“Mother, that is not right. Our harvest last year was bountiful!”
“As it is, young Zil. That is why you must help me this cycle. I would go myself but the little one requires secretions still.” She teletalked as she looked back at the adorable little blue larva slithering around in the secretion vat, “and your brother Wern Gronan is out helping the neighbors with their harvest. Broodlings are in demand nowadays,” she sighed.
“Yes, brood mother. I will go to the city and make sure our harvest is collected.”
He propped himself up on his legs and began for the front curtains of the house.
“Young Zil,” Brood mother Gronan asserted, “once you have made sure the harvest is collected, I would have you meet Druggan Tal. He knew your fathers and since you are an adult now, it is customary for you to find them.”
“Yes, mother,” Zil responded as he slipped through the curtains out into the large orange fields of sprouting bulbs.

Walking along the stone path, the ancient basalt rocks smooth with age and use, Zil looked back towards his home, a small stone structure set into a hill, the ancient boulders and cement his grand elder mother had set down cycles ago, the slithering mess of roots and fruiting bulbs left over from the harvest.
A few other Yormen were collecting the bulbs, their rusted scythes severing the milky bulbs from the slick stalks. Mother Gronan always left two twelfths of her field for those less fortunate, as was custom.
His head turned to the road ahead, to the train station sticking up over the field of orange, its black silhouette cut into the swirling purple sky.

Zil stepped up to the platform and asked a Yorman dressed in flowing yellow garments, his plins adorned with shiny rings, “Sir, when is the train to Relnad arriving, sir?” His head declined in deference to the rich Yorman.
“In a Fiveths,” the Yorman responded staring off down the tracks.
“Sir, I thank you, sir,” Zil eagerly stated then walked to stand near the edge of the platform.

Aboard the train were a mix of Yormen from along the countryside: many of the rich broods who live in luxurious caverns in the mountains dressed in flowing multicolored textiles, their faces painted and plins adorned with metals; simple farmers such as himself wearing at most satchels, their weatherworn faces tight; a few pink-bodied Yormen from the twin world, their deep ruby eyes flicking about as they teletalked in strange regional impressions.
Zil turned to pink Yorman standing in the center of the car.
“Blessings of the harvest, sir,” he teletalked.
“And to you, young one,” the Yorman responded quickly.
“What brings you to Relnad?”
“I am returning to Plenarna. I was simply here for prospecting.”
“Prospecting?” Zil asked.
“Yes. I represent Dret Filluns Industrial. There’s quite rich resources out in those old hills.”
He flicked his head about, dangling metal rings jostling on his plins.
“That’s for sure, sir. The best farms in the twin worlds,” Zil asserted.
“No, not farms. Beneath that. Metals and stones. But please, young one, let me be. I am tired and anxious to return home.”
Zil nodded and stepped softly away. The train continued to sail along the tracks, its engine rumbling. He sat along the edge off a smooth hyphal bench, it’s intricate network suspended in resin. Another Yorman sat next to him, her plins unadorned and a veil covering her eyes.
“Blessings of the harvest,” he teletalked to her, glimpses of her beautiful red dots peaking below the simple grey fabric.
“Blessings to you,” she responded, turning a bit to face him, her legs crossed beneath her.
“What are you called? I am Zil of Gronan.”
“Ahh Gronan is a dear. My mother Jem tells of her help in our harvest when I was but a larva.”
“You are of Jem? Mother Gronan speaks so fondly of her. Old friends at the academy.”
“I am Temera Jem,” she teletalked, her plins swaying softly as her head shook excitedly.
“What brings you to the Relnad?” he asked.
“My brood mother wishes me to find a pair. The networks beneath our land have been generous but with my brothers on the twin world, we won’t be able to harvest it all before the bulbs turn to dust.”
“Not the worst difficulty,” Zil asserted.
“Far from it, but her sacs have withered and if we cannot harvest it all, she fears she may have to sell the farm to one of those mining companies.”
“So you go to find a pair to bare her elder brood?”
“That is the plan; why I wear her hand-me-down veil,” Temera responded with a lingering solemness in her impression.
“Do you not wish to?” Zil asked, scooting closer and decreasing the intensity of his impression.
“Oh? You are a stranger, Zil Gronan; yet I feel you are known to me. Perhaps we knew each other in larval form, or perhaps we consumed from the same hyphae when we molted.”
“Forgive me, Temera, I didn’t mean to over step,” he backtracked.
“No, it is alright. I hadn’t a friend on this trip and since our mothers know each other, why not be friends.”
“I agree,” Zil stated, his teletalk pitched.
He adjusted his posture and looked out the window towards the empty fields of roots, peripalms darting up around, their fronds surrounded by clouds of tiny spores.
“Why are you going to Relnad?” she asked back, as she adjusted the plain veil over her face, a glimpse of lustrous emerald eye.
“My mother sent me to make sure our harvest is collected properly. Last cycle it was lost or miscounted and our rations were decreased. She is secreting for a larva now so as a molted adult I will help the farm.”
“What joy! A larva! You must be happy at the increase of her brood!” Temera exclaimed, a chitter from beneath her plins betraying her excitement.
“Indeed! It is a cute one; I’ve never seen one with eyes so big and green.”
“Did she say if it is to be a boy or a girl?”
“Mother Gronan has no daughters and two sons, so to carry on elder mother Ter’s legacy I would assume she will make it a girl.”
“Ah what joy! Blessings of the harvest for that,” Temera teletalked confidently, “I am naturally partial to girls,” she stated, gesturing to her shortened plins and rounder body.
“Yes, I would be honored to have a sister broodling.”
“How old is the larva?” Temera asked, rotating herself to face Zil.
“It is a few semi-cycles old by now. Still in a secretion vat, but it is starting to form a carapace now. Still thin and transparent, but it should be a nymph soon enough.”
“That’s wonderful news. I will be sure to have mother Jem visit when she crystalizes.”
Zil laughed a little, chittering from his mouth, plins rocking slightly as he rotated to face her, pulling a leg up onto the bench.
“‘she’ already chosen for her, huh?” Zil retorted.
“Well, yes. Your sister will be a welcome addition to your brood.”
They chuckled as the train car slipped into a tunnel, casting the car into a dimness permeated only by the reflecting glow of the engine a few cars ahead.
“That’s not my only business in Relnad,” Zil began again, “Mother Gronan wants me to find my father pair. She remembers an old friend who is in the city I am to find.”
“Quite the busy trip.”
“Indeed. Have you ever met your fathers?”
“No. Mother Jem doesn’t see the value of reconnecting with your drones,” she added, her plins twitching a smirk.
“Drones? Well I guess I’m a lowly drone, too,” his jovial impression resonating as he crossed his arms.
“I kid. But she’s a matriarch through and through.”
The train shuttered out of the tunnel back into the cool purple skies and skitted quickly along the track. Off in the distance, set against a brilliant purple sky and blinding blue sun, the city of Relnad stretched up, it’s pyramid and spires dully lustering in the light, the central stalk of world fungus stretched up above the buildings, it’s smooth pale skin leading up to the bulbous telecrown.
“I’ll never tire of seeing the city so framed,” Temera said softly, taking in the sight.
“It’s a beauty,” Zil stated reverently.
The train curved around towards the city, changing the view to the jagged crags of the old mountain, metallic commtowers sticking up at the snow dusted peaks.


Sliding smoothly to a halt, the train came to rest in the bustling station. Merchants selling wares and food shouting in regional impressions over the ambient psychic droning.
Zil walked off the car, his feet tapping on the hard stone ground of the platform. Mechanical fronds set into the ceiling jerked back and forth as belts ran about, stirring the air into a pleasant coolness.
Temera followed behind, her veil fluttering under the breeze.
“Should we get something to eat before we set about our tasks?” Zil asked, stepping out of the way of a cloaked Yorman huffing quickly to the exit of the platform.
“That sounds lovely,” Temera responded as they began towards the exit.

The cold algal soup slipped into Zil’s throat as he pitched the bowl up, slurping the delicious food down.
“What a wonderful meal,” he exclaimed, his impression louder than anticipated.
“Where is this from?” Temera asked the vendor sitting behind his cart, several buckets of gloppy blue and green set into the surface.
“This blend is straight from the thermal pools below the city. The world fungus has been feasting on this for millennia. I specialize in collecting only the best soups from the twin worlds,” the vendor said excitedly, his pink skin shadowed under a large brimmed hat.
“I can see why it likes it so much,” Zil added, as he drained the last of his bowl and returned it to the vendor.
“If you’d like to compare, I have some algal soup from the twin world. Quite common over there, but a delicacy on this world,” the vendor asserted.
“I don’t have much token left, unfortunately,” Zil said.
“Ah, the way it is,” the vendor said, “but Ill give you a sip for indulgence.”
He pulled out a small terracotta flask from inside the cart and presented it to them.
Temera grabbed it and pitched her head back as she drank it, her plins swelling with delight.
Zil looked on as her veil pulled back a bit, catching a glimpse of her wonderous green eyes and the faintest look at an almost diamond shaped red spot in the center of her face.
“Oh, Zil, you must try it!” she exclaimed, handing the flask to him.
“It always brings me back to home,” the vendor said, “back to my nympalhood on Plenarna.”
He looked up at the large pink orb floating above them, it’s tidal locked surface staring back up at them.
Zil drank the reddish soup, it’s taste familiar and new lingering in his sinus cavities.
“This is everywhere over there?” Zil asked excited.
“The whole ocean is full of delicious soup over there. Can’t farm it over here because the aquifers don’t see the sun,” the vendor responded.
“Thank you, sir,” Zil stated, nodding, as he handed the flask back.
The two of them then walked down the wide avenue towards the center stalk, wide stepped pyramids flanked the street, cultivated orange plants dangling down from shaded balconies; Yormen moving in and out of residences, relaxing and talking in the late afternoon.
A shudder rocked the ground as a cloud formed around the launching spire in the center of the city; a transport shell careened up the firing track and sailed off into the sky, concentric clouds puffing out behind it as it travelled to the twin world.
“Have you ever been to Plenarna?” Zil asked, turning to look at her.
“No,” she responded, looking back at him, her eyes almost visible through the barely translucent veil in the waning blue light.
“My brothers are manufacturers over there in the city of Denna. We received a letter a couple months ago about what they’re up to. They’ve always been like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like up and leaving to the twin world. They were a double larva and consumed the same neurohyphae when they molted so it’s no surprise they’d leave together like that.”
“That must have been hard for mother Jem,” Zil offered.
“I had just molted when they left, so a lot of stress was put on me to make up for two drones—urh-boys on the farm.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No it’s alright. I’m sure after I find a pair and make my own broodlings, things will get easier on the farm.”
She looked back down towards the spire at the end of the road, It’s dull basalt stones resting tightly together as the building stretched up.
“Do you have a plan to find a pair?” Zil asked, adding after a period of silence, “Sorry that’s probably too probing.”
“How does anyone find a fathers pair? Mother Jem said she would just walk through Relnad in her veil until she was approached by some pairs and selected the best ones. She would always talk bad about city folk, but there’s not many boys out in the country anymore.”
“that’s true, let alone a pair,” Zil added, “and with all the manufacturing and industry on Plenarna, everyone of age just leaves their farms and brood mothers.”
“Yeah, that’s what Yor Jem and Renne Jem did,” Temera said softly, her impression barely a resonance.
She looked up at the twin world hanging above them, the shadow of the planet cutting across its surface as the sun swept behind the horizon of their world.
“I like Lyrethus,” Temera said, “but things are changing on Plenarna, things are becoming different and new. Anytime I think of the future, I don’t see myself on Lyrethus, I don’t see myself raising my broodlings on mother Jem’s farm, I don’t even see myself raising a brood at all.”
She caught herself before teletalking anymore, her thoughts pulled back into the recesses reactively as she looked at Zil, her plins tense.
“I kinda feel the same,” Zil began, almost telling the truth; almost to placate her, “I care for mother Gronan and couldn’t abandon my sister, but I hear stories of the ancient Yormen, how they’d travel from world to world until settling these rocks, before seeding these worlds with the world fungus, before committing to some pastoral life. What would my life look like if I were one of those adventurers? I haven’t even been to Plenarna and it’s right there!”
He gestured to the sky with both hands, his plins tightening and pulsing, his hemolymph pressurizing.
“Don’t you have to check on your harvest, Zil?” Temera redirected.
“Yes. You’re right. I think the depot is this way. Blessings of the harvest, Temera Jem, and blessings on your task.”
He twitched his plins in a friendly manner and began walking off down a side street between pyramids. Shaking his plins, he breathed the dense city air, spores and aromas thick, swishing the sweet tasting air through his gills and over his sinuses.
A light tapping sounded from behind him as he walked on. He turned to find Temera walking besides.
“You’re coming with me?” he asked.
“Any place is as good as any other, I reckon; might as well be with a friend.”
His lingering impression flowed from tense to happy as he chittered slightly and continued walking.
Temera looked up at the pyramids, at the ancient structures full of life. A fathers pair sat together on a bench set under the shade of an awning a few stories up on the side of the stepped building. Turning her gaze to the other side, a taller pyramid almost covered by creeping orange flowers and dots of purple spore blossoms.
A thundering echoed through the streets as another shell sailed off towards the pink world above them.

Zil walked up to Yorman sitting in a booth, a large brimmed hat pulled down over his face.
“Sir,” Zil began, “sir, is this the harvest depot?”
The Yorman stirred and adjusted his hat up above his eyes.
“Indeed. What do you need? You with the auctioneers?”
“Auctioneers, sir?”
“To bid on the containers.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” Zil expressed, his impression unconfident and wavy.
“Oh, you’re a farmer. Don’t come to the city often?” the Yorman asked.
“This is my third time.”
“Well that makes sense. I guess I can help you out.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The Yorman got up and stepped out of the booth. He wore a simple orange garment around his torso.
“Sir,” Zil began, “last cycle my farm’s harvest wasn’t counted correctly and we suffered reduced rations.”
“How do you mean? We count everything exact - how else do you run a fair auction,” the Yorman stated.
“We didn’t get the expected rations, though, so something must have gone wrong.”
“I don’t think I understand. We count everything fair. What’s your mother’s name?”
“Gronan.”
The Yorman walked down through rows of large containers full of milky bulbs. Each one labeled by the farm they came from.
“See, youngling, I’m from the farm department and I pride myself on making sure everything’s properly counted.”
“You count them all yourself?”
“No,” he stated, pointing at his hat, “I’m a manager.”
Zil stayed silent and looked to Temera who shrugged.
“Now here we are,” the Yorman said, “Gronan.”
Zil looked and saw their harvest bountiful in the container.
“It says right here, 24X bulbs. That’s the right count,” the Yorman asserted.
“I see, sir,” Zil responded, “but if it’s counted right, what of our rations?”
“Rations? Oh, well, that’s supply and demand, youngling.”
“What?” Zil asked incredulously.
“Well, you farmers are producing so much crop that bidders and auctioneers don’t need to bid so high.”
“Sir, I don’t understand.”
The Yorman inhaled sharply and rested against the container.
“The way we’ve been doing it for a few cycles now is y’all bring in your harvest, ship it to the city, where we count it—exact, now, mind you—and auctioneers bid on it. Whatever the bid for your harvest is, we distribute the rations and token back to you. Fair and simple, mind you,” the Yorman explained.
“But we produced two-gross four-dozen dec bulbs. That’s how much rations and token we should get,” Zil attempted to interject.
“Not how it works anymore, youngling. You see, bulb isn’t used for food much anymore, so rations don’t make sense as a one-to-one. Most bulb ends up fueling the mining engines and manufactories over on Plenarna. Industrials ain’t tryna give equivalent rations when it’s not even food no more.”
He adjusted his leg up against the container and tilted his hat down to block the rays of sun slipping up over the pristine mountains in the distance, clouds of vapor squeaking up from the fissures and spreading down the chilly slopes.
“So what does that mean for our rations this year?” Zil asked.
“For this quality and amount of bulb, I’d say,” he thought for a bit, “around a gross of rations.”
“A gross? That’s less than half of what it’s worth.”
“It ain’t what it worth anymore, youngling; that’s what I’d just explained,” The Yorman pushed himself off the wall and began walking back to booth.
“This was one of the largest harvest?” Zil pleaded.
“Youngling,” the Yorman retorted, “don’t matter much no more. And it’s been a big harvest for everyone; I was being generous saying a gross. More bulb means less rations for each, mind you.”
“That’s not fair,” Zil asserted.
“It is fair, youngling—I count them all, and what’s bid is delivered direct to you farmers. Fair as that. You get what’s it worth in rations and token and we get commission from the city so no one is taking anything undue, mind you.”
He clamored back into his booth and reclined in the seat.
“Bidding happens in one threeth of a semi-cycle; you’re welcome to run your own auction—this is a fair place, mind you—but you wouldn’t get more’n’a gross anyway.”
The Yorman tipped his hat back over his face. Zil looked out over the rows and rows of bountiful harvest sitting under the twinkling twilight sky of deep purples and blues. He walked off towards the city center.
“Do you understand what he was talking about?” Zil asked Temera, “How can a harvest of two-gross get us barely a gross of rations and token?”
“I don’t get it either. You grew two-gross, you should get two-gross,” Temera agreed.
“It’s not right. And if he’s any indication, I would agree with mother Jem that all these city folk are drones.”
“Certainly,” Temera stated, “but if you’re only getting a gross for your harvest, I’m concerned for us. Even if we tried for days, we won’t be able to harvest the rest of the field. We’d get a half gross at best.”
“I’m really sorry. I can help harvest your bulb when we get back.”
“I don’t think you could; I’ll be incubating if all goes to plan. Mother Jem is a traditional matriarch so no one would be allowed by until it’s a larva.”
Zil nodded and continued walking down into an alley, warm orange glow from the bulb milk lamps illuminated the streets.
“We should go to the farms department building and speak with their director,” Temera stated, “find out what’s going on.”
“That’s a good idea,” Zil responded.
He stopped walking.
“Where is that?” he asked.
Her plins tightened slightly.
“I don’t know. We only came to the city for harvest festivals,” Temera said.
Zil walked up to a Yorman standing under a lamp. Her face cast in a warm glow from the light burning above, her blue skin a paler color in the lighting.
“Blessing of the harvest,” he teletalked to her.
“Blessing of the harvest to you, youngling,” she responded, her impression wavering and betraying her age.
“Would you know where the farms department is?”
“You’re not from here, are you? The civic buildings are in the center ring of the city. You’ll find it there. It’s marked—you can read, right?”
“Yes, thank you. Blessings.”
“Blessings,” she nodded.
Temera began walking off having heard her impressions, too. Zil marched to follow.

The city center was baked in warm light from the rows of milk lamps lining the avenues. A bustle of Yormen moved around the streets, vendors still sold their wares late into the night, psychic cacophonies echoed from restaurants, a few Yormen stumbled out having drank too much fermented peripalm.
Zil moved his gaze from the commercial side of the avenue to the large stoic civic buildings, ancient pyramids and spires built aeons ago when the world fungus was first seeded on this ground.
Passing by several imposing structures, he found the pyramid labeled “agricultural and pastoral department.”
They walked in through the large parted curtain across the entrance. The inside was lit with burning milk and slant glimpses of starlight peaked in through windows in the ceilings. A metal superstructure rose within the shell of the stone pyramid, stairs and rooms and trusses clung to the walls and created a many-leveled interior.
A Yorman sat behind a desk in the center of the building. Zil approached her.
“Blessings of the harvest.”
“Blessings,” she responded.
“I have a question about my harvest,” he began.
She reactively tensed her plins, droopy and soft, adorned with metals. Her eyes were a dull green in the orange light.
“Are you another farmer concerned about the amount of rations and token from your harvest?” she teletalked directly. Her lingering impression curt and a tinge annoyed.
“Yes,” Zil answered.
“We’ve gotten a lot of you recently. Is your harvest in the depot?”
“Yes, but—“
“Then you’ll get your rations and token when the auctions are conducted.”
“That happened last cycle and we barely got by,” Zil asserted.
“That’s not something we can control. We make sure it’s fair and you get what was bid.”
“Why are you always talking about bidding; we grew two-gross.”
“We provide direct auctioning of the harvest. That’s the most honest way to make farmers and auctioneers happy.”
“But why are you bidding it? What happened to the way it used to be that you gave us rations and token for what we harvested?”
“That’s too much liability for the city. If we give one-to-one rations to every farmer and then bid the whole lot ourselves, we’d take the hit.”
“That’s not fair,” Zil teletalked firmly.
“It is fair, youngling; you get what’s bid. We even only take tax from the bidders to make sure you get a dozen-for-dozen of what it’s worth.”
Zil walked away from the desk, plins tense and eyes tracing the floor.
Temera tapped him on the back.
“It’ll be alright,” she reassured.
Zil looked back at her hand touching his back.
“Oh,” she said and quickly returned her arm to her side.
They walked back into the dismal gloominess of the city, mist from the mountain fissures churning through the streets, a sulfurous sweetness tingeing the air.
“We’ll need a place to stay—urh—places to stay,” Zil said.
“Yes, it is late. But maybe we could drink some peripalm,” she looked at him, her face obscured by fog and veil, “to pick up our spirits.”

An ambient droning filled the resonance of the bar, chatter of impressions too noisy to make out, a Yorman pours peripalm directly from a fermentation flasks into a bowl and hands it to Zil.
“To the harvest,” he held his bowl to Temera who clinked her hardened hyphal bowls to his and poured some peripalm into his. Zil returns a trickle into hers and they slurp it from the bowl.
“I’ve never had fresh peripalm before,” Zil teletalked, frothy bubbles popping in his throat and aromatics lingering in his sinuses.
“Me either; us country folk are missing out,” Temera joins.
They sit looking at each other; Temera’s veil obstructing her eyes. She looks at him, his tensing almost imperceptibly undulating plins, their red backs visible from her angle, the intricate patterns of dark blue streaking down their lengths.
His eyes move across her veil and down to her plump plins resting unadorned below her head.
She reached across and placed her hand on his knee, fingers almost sliding into the gap between his leg plates. Reactively he grabbed her, but instead of moving her hand, let his rest on hers, feeling the hemolymph pulse beneath her skin.
He took another slurp of peripalm and leaned closer to her.
“What if someone sees,” he teletalked quietly inches from her face.
“Don’t worry,” she responded, chittering from her mouth.
She took a slurp and placed the empty bowl on the bar in front of them next to enough token for two more bowls.

Focusing on actuating his legs appropriately, Zil walked besides Temera who strolled forward.
“We should find a place to sleep,” he suggested.
“I agree.”
“But we should probably get two rooms; it wouldn’t look good for an unpaired boy and a girl to get a room together.
“You’re probably right, but even if we get two rooms, that doesn’t mean anything about where we sleep,” Temera corrected, looking at Zil, her veil hanging over her face, glimpses peaking around the flowing fabric.
Before he could control his response, he chittered as his plins began engorging, hemolymph flowing wildly. A fluttering feeling—propelled by the peripalm—ran the course of his body.
Temera chittered back accidentally, feeling her internal resonance latching into his lingering impression.
Looking at each other for a moment too long, they both turned and began shuffling quickly towards the residences.

Zil walked to the desk and produced token for a room.
“Blessings. I need—“
“Blessing,” the clerk responded.
“Blessings. I need a room,” Zil stated.
The clerk rotated around and grabbed a key off the wall and handed it to Zil, sliding back the token as he nodded.
“Enjoy your stay,” the clerk said.
“You, too,” Zil teletalked back, turning to look at Temera standing in the doorway; her veil tantalizing covering her face, peaks of her emerald eyes visible as the breeze flowed past the pyramid, the shape of her silhouette, the curve of her round body and the angles of her knees. He quickly passed into the stone archway and walked to the room on the key.
Temera walked up to the desk.
“Blessings of the harvest, sir,” she teletalked.
“Blessings,” he responded.
“I need a room tonight,” she stated.
“Here you go,” the clerk said rotating as he handed her a key.
“Thank you.”
“I see you are veiled. I understand that means you are looking for a brood?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, I am seeking a brood to help out on the farm,” she answered, twitching her plins politely.
“Me and my partner run this hotel. We are looking for a brood mother, if you are interested.”
“That’s very kind but it’s a bit late. Perhaps tomorrow I can meet you both properly.”
She began walking to the archway into the hotel.
“Good night,” the clerk called, his impression dissipating as Temera walked down the hall towards her room.
Zil stood against the room curtain, staring down the hall at Temera who quickened her pace. She reached out and touched his chest; a chitter escaping from Zil as he pushed the curtain away behind him and almost fell backwards through the doorway.
She shut the curtain quietly behind her and walked slowly towards Zil.
He stood almost still, his hemolymph violently pulsing within him, his sinuses catching wafts of Temeras sweet pheromones lingering in the air.
She stepped closer, her motions slow and deliberate.
“I-I haven’t done this before,” she stated, her impression wavering.
“Me either,” Zil responded.
“Is it wrong? Just us? You should have a partner; it-it won’t make a broodling without another father.”
Zil reached out and stroked the bumpy skin of her neck, his wrist brushing past her engorged plin, knocking softly, almost accidentally into it.
“Mother Gronan always said just two was wrong,” Zil stated, “but I-this feels right.”
She chittered at his touch and began running her hands on the underside of his carapace, her fingers lingering near the gaps. Feeling his skin engorge beneath in anticipation.
“You’ll have a semi-cycle to find another father, though, right? That’s what they said at the academy biology class at least” Zil said, moving his head closer to her, his plins mere inches from hers.
“They also said that it was wrong to only have one boy,” she sighed, air escaping from her mouth onto his chest as she teletalked.
Pushing him back towards the fabric nest in the center of the room, Zil stumbled and fell back.
“Oh fungus, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed.
“No, It’s alright,” he stated back as he grabbed her and pulled her down onto him on the floor.
Their bodies touched, their hemolymph pulsing against each other.
She leaned back on her knees, running her hands up his body, brushing through his plins, and reached up to her veil. Pulling it up over her head, she tossed it to the side and stared down at Zil, finally able to see his entire body unobstructed.
He stared up, her emerald eyes even more lustrous, their lenses glinting in the flicking light of the bulb milk burning behind them. A brilliant ruby diamond was in the center of her face. His eyes traced the red dots from her plins up to the top of her head.
Feeling something on his leg, he looked down to see her carapace large and a slimy goo dripping slowly down from the crease in her stomach.
“Oh dear,” she exclaimed.
“No, it’s alright,” he said, pulling her beautiful head to his.
Feeling his plins against hers caused a shiver through her body. She sighed and began forcing hemolymph through her plins rhythmically against his.
He stared into her eyes, taking her in. He could feel his internal resonance matching hers. Something in their neurohypae joining psychically.
She reached down to his stomach and felt for the gap between his plates and ran her finger through them, feeing his plins pulsate madly.
She could feel her stomach plates opening up, her ducts stretching.
Seeing it, Zil reached up to her chest and ran his hand along her sides.
“Wait, my brother told me to do this,” he teletalked excitedly as he dragged her awkwardly up towards his head.
She gasped and almost tipped over before straddling his thorax, her knees pressing into the hard stone floor.
Fumbling with his plins, Zil tried to slide one into her duct, the tingling of its flesh distracting him.
“Oh, i’m sure you’re used to touching your own plins,” she teased at him, reaching to hold onto the nest.
He put one plin inside of her and began pulsating it quickly. She gasped and shuttered, a hand reaching down for stability. Knocking his head too hard, she stumbled, chittering. He shook a little getting hit and tensed up reactively.
“Ow”
“Sorry, it’s just—“ she gasped again, his plin undulating inside her.
Reaching down she stroked his other plin lying on his chest, he chittered and began pulsating faster.
She felt something soft and wet against her back and turned to see a telescoping protrusion extending from the opened plates of his carapace.
“It’s not wrong if we only do this, right?” he said.
“Probably, but…”
She looked back to him and caressed his head, running her fingers along his plins.
She tugged his plin out of her slowly, still undulating in her grasp, and slid back.
Feeling his hemolymph pulsing quicker, he stared up at her beautiful emerald eyes as she twisted forward and took his bulbous spermaatoduct into her.
He chittered madly, air gasping out of his mouth.
She gasped, feeling it undulate inside of her, the thickness of his spermatophore pressing him into her.
“Oh,” he exclaimed as he shuttered, depositing the spermatophore inside of her spermatheca.
His spermatoduct deflated and fell out of her as she breathed heavily.
She collapsed on top of him, feeling their plins tangled together as they both gasped, mouths chittering.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly,” Zil teletalked quickly, his impression wild and reactive.
Temera laughed softly, her plins twitching.
“It’s okay, Zil; it’s okay,” she said back staring down at his wide green eyes.
“Okay. Sorry.”
She chittered and wrapped her arms around him, pulling them together.

A warm beam of blue fell in from the window, falling across the pair lying haphazardly on the cool stone floor a few feet from the nest.
Zil turned and saw Temera’s unveiled face close to his. Her plin rested across his chest.
Attempting to move, his arm was wrapped around her body, hand resting on the side of her round body.
He closed his eyes, the sun still glaring on his face.
“Zil?” she teletalked softly, barely an impression.
“I’m awake, Temera,” he said back.
“oh good. I’ve been awake for a while but just liked feeling your warmth, feeling the soft thump of your hemolymph shuffling through you.”
He flung his other arm around her and pivoted to face her, his plins intermixed with hers.
She twitched her plins happily and pulled him closer.
“I’m happy I found you,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“I just…” her thought trailed off.
“what?”
“I just wish you had a pair, to give me a brood. Mother Jem won’t like it if come back broodless.”
“I thought you didn’t want a brood?”
“I… well, I guess I really don’t want to be a brood mother or a farmer or anything. I don’t know what I want, but I know it’s not the life mother Jem wants for me.”
“I know what you mean. My brother and his pair are happy with the farmer life—or that’s what he tells me anyway. They’re already looking for a brood mother.”
“oh?”
She twitched a smirk.
“Moving past that,” he continued, “maybe we should just run away to Plenarna.”
“Run away? We can’t just abandon our lives though.”
“You’re right.”
He hugged her closer.

The market was a ruckus of Yormen shuffling about.