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Chickmom runs around the hive, cleaning up the dishes from the guardian party last night. Acrylic and wood-craved plates clash chaotically as Chickmom thrashes about the cave for no reason. After all, she’s been here for a rather long time now. Her little troll has long since left without a word.
She finishes the last of her chores, done only out of service to herself, and lays on the couch. The sole window is opposite her, and she watches the entrance of the cave for….. well, nothing.
And with a fright, she jumps as two cool arms wrap around her waist. It’s been long since primal instincts took over, so in the moment, she took a deer-in-the-headlights path and froze as the hands wrapped tighter.
Death is coming. Deathiscoming.
Death did not come. A familiar, although slightly altered, scent fills her, and an equally comforting sound is heard.
"I’m back, Chickmom."