They must move fast now. The crawlers of Over have watched, and so the crawlers of Under know. And if the crawler know, then so do the gnawers. So they must move fast now.
Temp crawls rapidly through the tunnels, as cave turns to killer-cut stone, Temp crawls, and in his wake, so crawl the others. "Move faster, we must, move faster," he clicks, though the words are much quicker to say and much easier to know in Crawler — as their meaning implies urgency, so does their sound.'
Somewhere, far behind, they smell rats. It is a sinister smell, is the smell of rats — constantly nearing and at a faster pace than the crawlers. But they are far, still, are the rats, and so, there is still time.
There is still time for the princess.
And here is the entrance, a killer-cut rock that Temp pushes out of the way, as any crawler would have. Yet it is Temp, for Temp is the most urgent of all — Temp is who the princess will come to, for he is the crawler who has cared most for the princess, and who has been cared most for.
From Under to Over he climbs, from Under to Over he drifts.
They must move fast now.
The smell of death is nearing.
"Come quick, princess, come quick!" he hisses.
And there she is — the princess, of tender youth and unjudging eyes, coated in some killer garment, patters the princess towards Temp. "Beeg bug! Temp! Beeg bug!"
"Be quiet, princess, be quiet!" Temp says. "Come quick, come quick!"
"Ge-go come too?" she whispers, making a sound of amusement.
"Later, later," Temp says, flat on the ground. "Climb, climb. We must go, we must!"
And the princess climbs on his back, climbs the princess. He ducks back into the tunnel, and then they are off, for they must move fast now.