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

Astiar hadn't ever tried eating actual flesh before. For some reason the stench of death didn't scare him as much as it had when he had been a nymph. It wasn't as terrible. The salivation that happened when he smelled prey was odd, but he went along with such. That was something that was new with this body. It mattered little. He had to learn - and learning was hard when one couldn't form coherent thought.

He had flown past the desert in search of other trees to eat. Perhaps it had been for him to test the taste of other trees. Or, perhaps, it was to try hunting. He had never done it before. It wasn't something a cicada did. It was odd and foreign and he had absolutely no expertise in the method. Astiar had crossed the desert and had wound up at Tanglewood: not that he knew the name of the place. He didn't even know the name of his home. The cicada had no need for names when he wasn't able to even speak or say such a thing. He had arrived and had wandered about. Searching for a right tree to shove over and munch on. He wasn't aware that he was not in the same territory. Yes, the smells were different. Astiar could tell that with ease. His sense of smell was odd, and mostly done through his antennae. Not that he cared. He was driven by hunger, and a hungry animal tended to take greater risks.

When he had seen something small and did not contain the smell of his colony, he decided that he would try his best to hunt. Astiar hadn't watched a hunt before. He hadn't ever even considered something of the sort. The cicada had never even stood around while the other members of his colony ate their carnivorous meals. It wasn't something that he did. Maybe he had lingered around or have been resting while other's ate, but as his meals were trees he often ate alone. His talons had wrapped around the smaller creature and carried him up and away, all the way back to where the dragon deemed his home. This was his concept of hunting, even if it more lined up with 'pseudo kidnapping'. He was kidnapping instead of hunting, but he had at least tried. The loud buzz of his wings announced his return.

Astiar hadn't been educated in the means of capturing. His landing was heavy with two of his six legs occupied with carrying something. It left him awkwardly resting upon his haunches until he set Roy down. He roared to summon attention, his wings twitching as he then was able to lower back onto all of his feet. The cicada was still hungry. Huh. So this form of hunting hadn't worked. Sad. But now he knew for the better, and could try something else the next time around. He'd settle for leaving to munch on his usual diet trees as soon as someone else came along to take this creature from his grasp. Just because he had set the other down didn't mean that he released his hold: keeping a large talon pushing against the other to make sure that he wouldn't have to go chasing after. That would be a waste of energy, and wasting energy was not something that he aspired to do.

[member=7526]ROY[/member]

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

— TREMBLE FOR YOURSELF MY MY MAN — tags
YOU KNOW THAT YOU HAVE SEEN THIS ALL BEFORE

Visions of a life before strike him like blades in his chest.
He felt freedom, for one morning, alone.
There was no one to share it with.
There was a pile of dirt, a friend in the ground.
And there was the sun, with all of its light, and warmth. But he wasn't warm. He was freezing cold.

And he never got to feel that same sun ever again.
An experiment was never meant to be free.

His mind is filled with a familiar static, noise cancelling everything out. Fear was clear, but he did not do anything about it. He was frozen, eyes wide and body curled into a defensive position, though helpless, staring up at the creature that had taken him. It was a strange scent that had pulled him, and then large talons that stole him away.

The tiger's identity was slowly slipping, but, still, he's no idea where he has been taken. That was, until, another creature arrived, announcing a familiar name. A name he's recognized to be an enemy. Heat rises. Sparks travel about his pelt, flames quickly sprouting as he feels a prod at his shoulder, a warning snarl escaping him. "Let go!" he demands, voice cracking as growls edge at it.
No. Certainly not dead.

But what rights did he have, demanding orders? He is a weapon.
Those memories had escaped him, leaving behind vague feelings of what had been before. And now, it seemed they were shuffling back, replacing room left from just moments, days, weeks before. His mind is juggling between thoughts and things he knows to be true. So, what is the truth?

He is in the Pitt.
He is on the verge of combustion.
He was a weapon.
He does not know what he is to do.
And nothing about this is right.
Huffs exit his body, teeth bared.