The cavern floor was moving. It was a writhing, thrashing rainbow of young trolls. A brood of hundreds of thousands of eggs had just hatched, and the grubs were exploring their new (though limited) world. Their squeals, clicks, and shrieks reverberated off the walls and turned five hundred thousand grubs into five hundred million.

Porrim did not mind the activity. The caverns were typically enveloped in a hushed silence. The other handmaids rarely spoke. Most of them were old, and performed their duties deftly and quietly. According to them, noise upset the Mother Grub. That was why, shortly after a brood was laid, all the eggs were moved into hatching caverns. Every other part of the caverns was shrouded in silence. Attempting to start conversation earned you little more than a dirty look. After a sweep underground, she had learned that it was better to find other ways to occupy herself. She had taken to sewing her own clothes, though material was often hard to come by. Some nights she had to simply sit and endure the silence when all she wanted to do was scream. Scream and scream and scream, so that everyone in Alternia could hear her.

The hatching caverns were thus a welcome change. The chaos, the ear-splitting noise...it was heaven to her. Though it was a brief relief from the monotony. Her errand – to deliver the list of needed supplies – was a short one. Soon she would be back at her station, performing her duties in deft silence...scrubbing down the Mother Grub's engorged stomach, feeding her, supplying her with genetic material, all the things she had been doing every night for the past sweep.

A grub scuttled across her foot, squealing loudly. They were all in a mad dash to find food. Anything and everything could be a meal for a grub. Egg shells, mites, small creatures that roamed the cavern floor, and unhatched eggs would all be suitable for a newly hatched wriggler. But competition was fierce. Those who didn't eat, didn't survive.

Porrim smiled slightly, lightly stepping around the grubs. None of them seemed to notice her. They all were wrapped up in their own simplistic worlds. The only things that concerned them were how to move their legs, how to find food, how to survive in this new world. What a thrill it would be to only be focused on such simple things. They had no responsibilities, no duties. The only thing they had to concern themselves with was surviving until pupation. Which, for a grub, is quite the feat. But to her it seemed blissfully simple.

A loud squeal interrupted her thoughts. She looked down and found that, in her inattention, she had almost stepped on a grub. Porrim glanced down to step around it, only to almost fall over from shock.

The grub curled up at her feet was the brightest red she had ever seen. Not burgundy, not maroon, but red. He stared up at her indignantly, apparently irritated his nap had been disturbed. His face was dusted with freckles, and his horns were short and rounded. But all Porrim could focus on was his color. Was it possible for a grub to be that color? Were her eyes playing tricks on her?

Without realizing what she was doing, Porrim reached down and picked up the grub. He let out an angry squeal and attempted to bite her hand. But all she was concerned with was his coloring.

Bright red. Candy red.

"You're a mutant, aren't you?" Porrim whispered. During her time underground, she had seen only a handful of mutants. They were exceedingly rare, and most of them didn't last long. Sometimes you found them curled up in the corner, withered and still, already gone. Other times they could be seen in the crowd, trying desperately to survive. The other handmaidens often recommended that the ones found alive should be killed.

It's more merciful that way, Porrim thought, carrying the grub over to the wall. It would be quick. She would dash his head against the wall, and it would be over. No suffering. No fear. If this mutant somehow managed to survive, he would die in the caverns after emerging from pupation. There would be no lusus to take him. No comforting abomination to choose him, shelter him...he'd starve in the caverns, long after all the other surviving wrigglers had ascended with their custodians.

She reached the cavern wall. There were already a few dead grubs there. How did they all automatically know to crawl off to the sides, rather than die in the horde? Why did they all choose to die alone against the stone wall? Porrim couldn't guess. Water dripped down on to her head, and on to the grub's. He squealed shrilly and tucked his face against her breast, seeking shelter.

"It's just water," she said softly. "It won't bother you in a moment."

It had to be done now. Nice and quick. A simple act of mercy. Porrim detached him from her bosom, holding him easily in one hand. She couldn't hold back. If she did, she'd merely hurt the grub. His pained screams would echo through the cavern, and she would be haunted by them each time she slept. She found a spot on the wall and focused on it.

Quick and easy.

The grub whined as another droplet of water landed on his head.

One...

Tw-

The grub let out a squeal, and sank his small sharp teeth into her finger.

Porrim frowned, wrenching her finger free from his mouth. A hint of dark green blood could be seen where his teeth had broken her skin. Impressive, for a grub. So he had a little bit of fight in him.

Perhaps just enough.

"See what you did?" Porrim said, showing him her finger. "You drew blood."

He stared at her finger, then licked it. She laughed. The little one looked back at her, cocking his head to one side. For a moment he looked confused. Then he cooed at her and mimicked her smile. It made her chuckle again. In the back of her mind, it occurred to her that she had just witnessed his first smile. Perhaps, she thought, she could bring about his first laugh as well. Porrim cradled him close and tickled his belly. The grub squealed, wiggling his legs and smiling.

"You're much cuter when you smile, you know," Porrim said, looking into his candy red eyes. The color didn't seem quite so shocking now. It was something she could get used to. "You should do that more often."

The grub cooed in response.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, crooning over him. Slowly he began to fall asleep in her arms. His eyes drifted shut, and his head rested comfortably against her breast. It hit her suddenly that she couldn't just kill this grub. She couldn't let him die.

But what was she supposed to do? No lusus would take him. It wasn't as if she could raise him herself-

...or could she?

The idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. It was completely unheard of. Unnatural. And yet...and yet, she knew it was his only chance. She was his only chance of survival. And he was her reason to leave the caverns. Deep in her heart, she hated it here. As a young troll, Porrim had a hive out in the desert. It had been beautiful. Every day she would throw open the windows to let the sun shine on her skin and stare at the bright blue sky. Then, when she came of age, she was forced to live and work in the dark, damp underground caverns of Alternia.

Well, no more. She was escaping. And she was escaping with her candy red grub.

The exit she found deposited them in the middle of a desert. Rolling dunes surrounded them on all sides. An impossibly bright star hung directly overhead. The air was crisp and fresh. A soft breeze was blowing. Porrim closed her eyes to take it in. For the first time in a sweep, she was on the surface. She could feel the wind, see the sky, do as she pleased. It was exhilarating.

"We're free now, little one," Porrim murmured, cradling the grub with both arms. She began to walk across the dunes. At first her feet felt unsteady on the sand. They were so used to the hard stone floor of the cavern, that the desert felt unstable and unfamiliar. But she quickly remembered how to carry herself. Her hive had been located in the middle of a desert after all. Most of her time as a wriggler was spent rolling down sand hills and giggling, all while underneath the watchful eye of her lusus. Being back among the dry, dusty dunes was like coming home.

They traveled through the night and into the day. Porrim was careful to shield the grub – her grub, as she now thought of him – from the harsh rays of the sun. She'd stolen a few night's provisions upon their escape, but they wouldn't last them long. Growing grubs ate nonstop. He cried for food constantly, and when he received it it vanished almost instantaneously. And though she attempted to ration everything carefully, their supplies were depleted seven nights after their escape. By that point the desert had slowly begun to change. Dry grass and trees sporadically dotted the dunes. The dunes began to give away to hot, flat stretches of land. These, at least, occasionally offered shade and water. At ten days, Porrim began to fear her grub was dying. He'd stopped screaming for food, and instead seemed to crumble into himself. There was no light in his candy red eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep, and that alarmed her.

Porrim found a cluster of cacti on the twelfth night of their journey. She harvested the fruit and fed almost all of it to her grub. It seemed to rejuvenate him, and he cooed happily all through the night.

Their journey continued on for another four nights. At that point, both she and her grub were starting to weaken. The tiny oasises of water and cactus fruit were gone. It was freezing at night, and too hot to move during the day. Porrim was beginning to think they would both die among the dry grass and rocks.

Until, on the sixteenth night, something short of a miracle occurred.

As night fell and Porrim began to contemplate giving up, she saw something in the distance. A fire. Multiple fires. She could see shadows moving and tents being erected. Voices floated towards her through the still night air.

Feral trolls, Porrim thought. There were small groups of them all across Alternia. They were considered pests by some, dangerous by others. Horrible, nasty stories circulated around ferals. They killed without discrimination, they practiced cannibalism regularly, many of them were dangerous criminals and runaway slaves. All of them were unpredictable and dangerous, and should be killed on sight. All of these she contemplated as she stared at the burning fires.

In her arms, her grub let out a pitiful whimper.

Without a second thought, she ran towards the camp.

No one saw her approaching. It was only when she stepped into the light of the fire was she noticed. The trolls wasted no time. Someone grabbed her by the horns and threw her on to the ground. Her grub went flying from her arms and landed near the fire. There was a whirlwind of yelling and weapons being drawn. Eyes of every color and hue glared at her from all sides. Someone pressed a blade to the back of her neck.

A momentary silence fell. Her grub began to cry.

All heads snapped towards the sound, including Porrim's. She reached one hand out towards him, but couldn't reach. A few gasps and murmurs ran through the group. Someone leaned down and picked him up, holding him easily with one hand.

"DON'T HURT HIM!" Porrim screamed.

The attention turned back towards her. She kept her eyes on her little one. He was crying still, screaming to be held. "Please. Please, just don't hurt him."

"Let her up," someone said gruffly. "I'm sure she won't be any trouble so long as Tempis has a hold on that one."

Slowly, the feral trolls backed off. But they kept their weapons drawn and their eyes narrowed at Porrim. The troll who had spoken walked forward. He wasn't old, but he wasn't incredibly young either. One of his legs seemed to have some sort of deformity, and he walked with the aid of a wooden cane. The others moved aside for him and bowed their heads respectfully.

"Who are you?" the troll demanded.

"Porrim Maryam," Porrim answered.

"Why, may I ask, do you have a grub with you?" He frowned at her and leaned on his cane. Porrim stared up into his eyes. It was difficult to tell, but she thought his eyes were dark brown. There was an ugly scar just underneath his right eye, and the tip of one of his horns had been broken off. "Lady, it'd be in your best interest to answer my questions when I ask 'em. Understand?"

"I rescued him," Porrim answered quietly. "From the caverns."

The trolls began to talk amongst themselves, discussing this new piece of information with the person directly beside them. The troll called Tempis frowned down at the grub in her hands. He was still crying, and he was now attempting to bite her hand.

"Quiet!" shouted their leader. All talk ended, and the only sound that could still be heard was her grub's pitiful wailing. The leader looked back at Porrim. "You're a jade blood, then?"

She nodded. "I found him. And...I took him."

"Why?" he asked.

"Look at him! He's...he's a mutant. No lusus would take him. He would have died in the caverns," Porrim said, staring past him to look at her grub. "I tried to kill him. But I couldn't. So...I took him instead."

The leader seemed satisfied with these answers. He turned towards Tempis and held out his hand. She happily turned over the grub and began to nurse her bleeding finger. The troll stared at her grub, frowning deeply. "Now that's a mutant if I ever saw one. Candy red blood. Never even heard of that before. He might be the first of his kind. And the last of it, too."

Her heart was pounding in her ears. What was he going to do to him? Kill him? Kill both of them? The thought of his candy red blood spilled on the sand made her sick to her stomach.

Without another word, the leader handed him back to her. A relieved smile broke across Porrim's face. She hugged him close, and in that moment swore she'd never let him go. "Shhh...it's alright, little one, it's alright...I'm here..."

Slowly, his cries began to fade. Over the past sixteen nights, he'd learned that Porrim's words and caresses meant safety. It meant he was safe from the blinding sun or the freezing winds. He was safe from desert serpents and thirst and hunger. Being in her arms reassured him that all was well and all would be well.

"You act like you're the damn thing's lusus." The troll shook his head, frowning. "But I don't think you two are a threat to us. I'll call together a Council meeting, and we'll discuss whether or not you two can join us."

Porrim frowned at him. "I don't wish to join you. I just need food for the grub, and water-"

"You don't understand," he interrupted. "We can't risk you going off and getting caught by a bunch of threshecutioners and telling them where they can find a bunch of ferals in order to keep from getting your throat cut. You either join us, or you die. That's the deal."

With that, he turned and limped off.