That's at least four other independent plants! And one of them is still very young! He's still not interpreting this right, not quite cottoning onto the idea of alternate realities instead of weird plant biology being weird, though it's definitely strange that they're all sharing kind of the same name..
Ever so slowly he levers up the box one-handed, cautious for any signs of movement. There are none that he can see, so the box is tipped right over. The worm, a good sized one that could after who knows how long mature into a proper grand worm, is no longer green but thoroughly white and powdered. "I wish I knew earlier there were more of us."
They might not have been so lonely. Things might have been safer, with adult plants around. Adults would prove humans could be safe and fine to be around, because look, these other guys grew up fine!
He crouches to study the worm, weighing how to get it out of its shell. He'd only ever been able to catch the flyers before, and those he just ate whole, chitin and all. Standing up, he turns to study the older plant more carefully, now that dinner is assured. He's really tall. And one hand.. looks. Well it might be a fancy glove! "But it's kind of neat your hair's different, it looks like something the Bad Lads might wear." All punk!
No sooner does he turn his back to the worm than it suddenly 'reanimates' from its patient playing possum, thrashing once in a whole body fling that showers white powder everywhere, then dives for the sand with even more thrashing, paddle-like front legs and long muscular tail kicking sand in all directions in a sudden obscuring hail of pebbles, sand and diatomaceous earth. His first impulse is to recoil, shielding his face as best he can from the sudden onslaught of harmless filth, then dives after it with another curse. There goes dinner! And it's FAST in the sand, his chances of catching it on sand and not hard ground are pretty slim.
no subject
Ever so slowly he levers up the box one-handed, cautious for any signs of movement. There are none that he can see, so the box is tipped right over. The worm, a good sized one that could after who knows how long mature into a proper grand worm, is no longer green but thoroughly white and powdered. "I wish I knew earlier there were more of us."
They might not have been so lonely. Things might have been safer, with adult plants around. Adults would prove humans could be safe and fine to be around, because look, these other guys grew up fine!
He crouches to study the worm, weighing how to get it out of its shell. He'd only ever been able to catch the flyers before, and those he just ate whole, chitin and all. Standing up, he turns to study the older plant more carefully, now that dinner is assured. He's really tall. And one hand.. looks. Well it might be a fancy glove! "But it's kind of neat your hair's different, it looks like something the Bad Lads might wear." All punk!
No sooner does he turn his back to the worm than it suddenly 'reanimates' from its patient playing possum, thrashing once in a whole body fling that showers white powder everywhere, then dives for the sand with even more thrashing, paddle-like front legs and long muscular tail kicking sand in all directions in a sudden obscuring hail of pebbles, sand and diatomaceous earth. His first impulse is to recoil, shielding his face as best he can from the sudden onslaught of harmless filth, then dives after it with another curse. There goes dinner! And it's FAST in the sand, his chances of catching it on sand and not hard ground are pretty slim.