we'll see the sun come up again, we'll climb higher than we've been

More shouting briefly ensnared Astiar's attention. His head and gaze lifted from being tunneled on the lava to the female that had arrived to shout at the lion. When the lava stopped coming, the dragon stopped backing up. He stood there stiffly, whimpers sounding at even more shouting ensuing. He was not able to distinguish that this shouting was not directed towards him. To Astiar, it was only noise. It was noise that was just as aggressive as the shouts that came from the lion to continue pushing him back. Heavy breaths came from the insect, the result of panicking making itself known. The creature was tensed, stiff, as if he expected that the lapse in being pushed back was about to begin again with a greater ferocity. His wings were buzzing noisily still. Astiar's gaze returned back to the closest burst of lava that was near his feet. It was not getting closer. It had stopped, if for a moment. The beast heaved harshly, mandibles softly clicking. Then another sharp noise of submission came forth, now toned with breathlessness from his panic. The dragon was feeling exhaustion creep over him that came both from the energy that had been devoted to panic as well as the lack of oxygen in his veins. The air had been used to pour nonsensical noises of yield from his jaws instead of supplying oxygen to the rest of his massive form.

When the shouting ceased, the bug felt as if finally his shrieks of submission had worked. It had taken a while, but it was the only logic Astiar could go off of. It was a learned behavior. It seemed to have worked, for Astiar was unable to comprehend that it was the vixen who was the actual reason the attack ceased. The comment directed to him over how lucky he was went over his head in an equal manner. He could not understand, it was beyond every single mental process that Astiar was normally capable of. In his exhausted, fear struck, starving state it was even less so. Astiar barely could register the later shouts as being fueled by anger. Noise, it truly had been becoming noise at that point. The dragon's head and body lowered, demonstrating his lack of energy in a way that was visible rather than audible. The obnoxious buzz from his wings became almost silent, and the limbs that allowed for flight dropped by his sides. With one leg entirely unusable for the moment, Astiar stood in a near lopsided manner that could almost be considered comedical had the situation at hand not be so severe. His entire body fell into a position that was devoid of energy. Starving, a sharp growl in his stomach reminded him. It almost shook his entire body, which was rigid to try and remain standing upright. His gaze momentarily lifted, eyeing the tree that he had been feasting upon prior. The lion that had spat the burning feeling was in that direction. He couldn't go back for the tree that he'd already knocked over. Astiar knew he probably didn't have the strength to knock down another. Whines, softer, parted from his mandibles. The chattering motion flung spit freely from his mandibles.

Huffing, the dragon slowly released the tension from his limbs. He shook furiously, almost collapsing. Most animals did not handle stress well. An injured leg could kill a horse. Astiar somewhat fell into that category of having an injured leg. The stress of near death was painful, and it exhausted the little energy that he had managed to regain by partially munching the tree that he had felled. Shuffling slowly, he turned his head in an equally as unhurried mannerism. When he noted a brittle branch just a foot away from his head, Astiar wasted absolutely no time snagging it and plucking it from it's place on a nearby tree. His mandibles and jaws crushed hard against the bark. Splintering was what followed from the branch that he had eaten. Unaware Astiar was of the discussion at hand of what to do with his mere presence. Not only could he not understand the words and conversation that was in progress, but he felt lightheaded and shaky from the furious hunger that grappled at him. The dragon was starving, and when he was so deeply bound to his instincts he could not afford to devote any energy elsewhere. It was debatable, really, if Astiar would have been able to take to the sky and fly back to the Pitt in his state. A pack sort of mentality it was, the insect's thoughts towards the Pitt. It wasn't as if it was a home. It was a place that previously had enough good to sustain him. Now there was no food, and instinct supplied the thought that wherever a steady supply of food was, he needed to be. Furious was the clicking that sounded from his mandibles after he finished eating the pathetic branch, lifting himself up to try to snag and break a larger limb that was just out of reach of his head. He began trying to break it off, lower it to the ground, and begin eating the easily obtained branches of the tree that, in all honesty, he was now leaning against to combat his injured front leg.

we've got a fire that burns within, we are the dragon hearted

decisions to decisions are made and not bought

Biting into a branch was both easier than harder than sinking his teeth into the flesh of a tree. It was easier to break. The branch was far more brittle and easy to snap with his jaws and mandibles than the hard bark of the trunk of the tree. Easier to break was both a blessing and a curse. It snapped when he tried to chew on it, splintering. His wings buzzed and twitched briefly. Slowly the insect tried to curl his sharp claws around the branch to keep it from being nudged away. It snapped, again, and a soft hiss of irritability came from the cicada. He could try to pin down the branches, and tear away another limb, but it was just becoming a horrific tangled mess of snapped branches to deal with. Astiar was not about to give up his attempts, though. Hunger was his motivator, it demanded for him to feast upon the food that he had already felled before even allowing the notion of searching for other sustenance. His energy was drained, and his body was situated in a manner than suggested unfamiliarity with the body he possessed as well has his utter exhaustion. Fear, too. Occasionally the bug lifted his head, looking at the smoldering lava. He was afraid that the heat would get close. He was afraid he would be pushed off of this scrap of a meal, too. Then he would have to find another branch to eat, and likely be pushed off that one as well. In the Pitt he had once offered his food to Kydobi, under the impression that the jaguar too was capable of eating the pulp of trees just as he could. He hadn't been made aware that the other was incapable. Was that why he had been pushed away from his food? Because the lion that could create lava wanted the trees for himself? It was hardly a concept able to be grasped in his basic mind, one that made sense to his lackluster sentience. Food was food, food was important, food was worth fighting over - if one could even fight in the first place. Astiar had already proven that he did not fight. When attacked he had only shook his attacker off and backed away.

The branch that Astiar had snagged was not exceptionally large. It wasn't long before he finished crunching down on the brittle limbs of the tree. The cicada remained positioned there, the equally brittle cogs of his simplistic mind turning. He was still hungry, a small series of branches was not going to sate his hunger in full by any means. His attention was ensnared by approach. His head raised from where previously Astiar had briefly laid down, a swift buzz of his wings sounding. The dragon lifted his body slowly, wincing at the use of his injured foot. It nearly led him to fall back down, but hard flaps of his wings helped him stand. Slowly he shuffled, the antennae flicking slowly from his head. There was food. It was a small branch, but food was food, food was important, food was worth fighting over. A chattering noise sounded from his mandibles and jaws. Red eyes looked down at the child that had approached him. His head lowered, and carefully his mandibles ensnared the offered branch. Astiar crunched down on the branch, chewing briefly before swallowing down the small limb. A small, lighter noise came from the cicada. A rumble of some sort. He was not capable of saying thanks to the one that had presented him with food - he hardly understood presenting gratitude in the first place. It was a brief surge from the draconic side of the beast, the body that the cicada had been thrust into. The light noise was as close as he could get. He was not about to offer food as thanks when he was starving. Again the cicada raised up his head, moving his weight so that it better compensated for his injured front leg. It remained lifted and curled, raised from the ground and rendered useless. His red gaze turned to inspect his injury again, as if Astiar expected for it to suddenly be healed from briefly resting.

His mandibles clicked together again. Uncertain was his stance. As absent minded as he was, he knew what he wanted. The tree that he had knocked over was untouched. No one else was eating it. Perhaps if he was more in tune with his draconic side he would feel cheated for being shooed from a meal that was now going to waste. He was not capable of such thoughts. Another whine sounded from the cicada as he shuffled on his feet again. There was the burning heat of the lava between him and the tree. He didn't want to risk more lava coming his way and rendering another one of his legs useless. Noise, again, noise from the creature that briefly Astiar deemed reoccuring. He had mostly dismissed kidnapping from his mind upon the taste of flesh becoming distasteful to him. The kidnapping had been his first attempt at hunting, and had not resulted in any form of nutrition being bestowed to him. He had munched upon the flesh of already deceased mammals and had found the taste lackluster and the feeling in his gut terrible. The sight was familiar, though - that much he knew. From what, he didn't know. He couldn't process thoughts deeply enough to think past the brief feeling of familiarity. There was noise, too, speech. Stuttered, not that Astiar could truly understand speaking in any form. Hunger again whisked away his brief confused chatters that had ensued without any thought given to them. Slowly the cicada began moving forward towards the tree he'd felled. He stepped around the pools of lava, not wanting to be remotely close to them. Astiar's pace was slow, and his wings were raised to prepare himself to fling backwards should he have to back away once again. The cicada's tail dragged behind him and his head was lowered, soft whines sounding from him as he carefully trudged forward towards the felled tree.

control yourself and take only what you need from it