[Trade] Homemakers

Nest building was a time honoured tradition amongst the stonefleshed inhabitants of the Kiama Isles. More than the courtship, the hatching of the children, and more than the act of actual good parenting, the nest was the pinnacle of it all.

Grenadier tamped down the earth with his club, completing the ring of flattened earth that served as the base of his nest. He stood back to admire the symmetry of the shape, perfectly even sides to his fourth nest. It seemed practice really did make perfect.

“Oh, you’ve started without me,” a sleepy voice yawned from behind him. His mate, Twinspot, lumbered out of their den, eyes bleary. She yawned again, making Grenadier suppress his own yawn as he greeted her with a gentle butting of heads.

“I wanted to let you rest, darling, you’ve been so tired lately,” he clarified, “You know I would’ve waited for you otherwise, like we always have done.” The other Euoplo nodded and yawned once more, her eyes watering with the effort. She lay down on the ground nearby, the plush stack of leaves she had gathered providing the ideal cushioning for her sore body. With Twinspot settled, Grenadier returned to the task at hand and began to paw at the dirt to dig out the nest properly. 

There was plenty of work to make a functional nest, but the foundation was always the most important part. The edges had to slope at the right angle for the ideal incubation of their precious infants, and the two of them had perfected the method over the years. It was different this time around, doing it solo, but Grenadier felt he had enough experience to make it work. This clutch had been hard on Twinspot, but for what reason neither of them knew. She had kept herself fit and healthy this season, well-fed with various rocks and minerals to keep her spirits up as well as perusing the usual fare in their luscious jungle home. Still, as the days went on her strength seemed to be leaving her rapidly. The eggs were making themselves known in her belly and they made any kind of movement uncomfortable at best and painful at worst. Grenadier had teased her at the start about the small army she was raising but now he felt mostly pity for her condition. It was another reason he was determined to finish the nest by himself, Twinspot had already endured far too much for the sake of their children, he could step in everywhere else. 

“What are you planning?” Twinspot asked drowsily, lying slightly at an angle to avoid the pressure. 

“I’m thinking the classic formation, reed brush like our second clutch,” Grenadier thought out loud, “I liked the scent the pine needles provided for the third but it was so hard to keep the younglings clean and it didn’t keep the heat in nearly as well.” His brow furrowed as he considered the texture of the soil beneath his claws. It was at the ideal consistency to pack into the raised ridge he needed. With his tail he began to scoop the earth up and pat it down until it formed the shape. With his perfect circle to start with, the raised ridge was also nearly symmetrical on all sides.

“Not bad,” Twinspot observed, “It took longer than normal but that’s to be expected. Well done, dear.” He preened under her blunt praise, especially when he knew she was still stinging over not being able to help. “Pass me some of the reeds, let’s get started on the next part.” Ah, there it was.

“Twinspot,” he started placatingly, but he was rooted to the ground by her stern wisteria gaze.

“I will not be left to the side while you make the nest our children will be born in,” she said firmly, “Besides, if I stay in place for too long I fear I may end up beached there.” Her determination floored him and he watched on carefully as she began to wrap the reeds around each other. It was like she was folding them back and forth on top of each other, making something that resembled a braided rope, but with far thicker binds.

“What is this?” Grenadier asked eventually once Twinspot had reached the end of the strands.

“It’s called ‘weaving’, those little primates that waited on the Queen of Atlantis used to make ropes and carpets from this technique, I’m not as deft as they are but it works in a similar fashion,” Twinspot explained.

“And it’s useful for the nest?” he inquired, watching carefully as his mate began another strip.

“I think so. Something about making them weave like this helps retain heat better,” Twinspot hummed, laying her next finished strip into the nest.

“Let me see it once more,” Grenadier requested. She rolled her eyes but obliged, going slower so he could see the repeated motions required to bend the reeds into their new shape. He followed suit, slowly bending the reeds back and forth with clumsy determination.

“Talk about teaching an old dog new tricks,” Grenadier mused, placing his woven strip next to Twinspot’s.

“Isn’t there also a phrase about there being life in the old dog yet?” Twinspot teased, nudging his shoulder.

“There are a lot of phrases about dogs it seems,” he agreed.

“Should we name this clutch after dogs then?” she asked, her voice lilting with laughter. Grenadier beamed, delighted to see her in such high spirits.

“Ah, I feared you would name them after thorns considering the trouble they’ve put you through.” Twinspot laughed even louder at that, making herself wince as she glanced down at her belly.

“It’ll be worth it in the end,” she sighed, “they’re always so worth it.” Grenadier looked over the nest with its newly acquired covering and smiled.

“Look at that, we’ve finished another nest together,” he observed. Twinspot huffed.

“I barely did anything,” she grumbled.

“So I’m finally pulling my weight instead of leaving all the work to you then?” he asked cheekily, earning himself a smack from her club.