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Anonymous
Many of her kind would return to their place of birth four years earlier, to the concrete structures in the southern cove. There they could hide in the deepest recessions, near the incubation tanks and nursery, where they had learned to use their already fully developed bodies. But the dead claimed domain over the built-up compounds, hideous faceless parodies of her sisters which ate the flesh of the still living, ignoring screams as they feasted. More would likely try the subterranean caverns which ran under the island like empty arteries, all converging of the dead heart of the volcano in the center. But the ocean was relentless in its rage during a monsoon, and if the caverns flooded there was no escaping the agony of drowning, your bloated corpse nothing more than food for rock crabs and seagulls who still wheeled through the thermals above. The woman shuddered at the thought of such a death, having seen ragged remains of a sister like that before, blank stare forever a haunt of her mind. There was only one last choice: brave the deeper forests. The thought of the roaming carnivores and plants which were always on the lookout for an easy meal was no consolation, not to mention hunting parties of Scalies which would be hunting for her and her sisters during the monsoons, stone spears and nets at the ready. But she could not face the compounds again in her life, nor could she bear to live in the lightless, dank underground and rely on hope not to drown, clawing at the walls as she died.
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