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

Astiar wasn't close to other bugs. He hadn't tried interacting with them since his transformation. He wasn't sure what to think of them, and he was sure that the feeling was mutual. His mind was on the barest and thinnest verges of consciousness. His movements and motions were all based on the depths of instinct. It kept him alive, and therefore he had no reason to change such a thing.

However, instinct also provided him with the ordeal that when he was hungry, he had to eat right then and there. He had been looking, as he usually did, for a tree to push over. The cicada was looking for an easier meal than normal, something that would yield more energy than should be expelled. That 'hunt' that he had gone on? The cicada likely wouldn't be doing such again. It hadn't yielded any energy to him in the slightest. It left him hungry and tired, which was the exact opposite of what he had been trying to do. The smell of corn was foreign. It was not as incentive as trees were. He had grown used to being called a 'bug', though. Hearing such a word made him trudge on over. It was essentially his assigned name around here, as in truth no one knew his actual one. Astiar himself barely acknowledged it. His parents hadn't given it to him. In truth it had only sprung to mind in his first moments of pure sentience, just before instinct swiftly snatched his mind and grappled it back under control.

Astiar in truth could care less about other insects being munched upon. Cicadas didn't eat corn, therefore there weren't any present. Spare him, who had his loudly buzzing wings to announce his presence. He rumbled as he raised his head, trying to look over the rows upon rows of corn. It was superbly tall, and even Astiar felt a little befuddled by the tallness present by the article of food that had run rampant here. His response to watching other bugs being munched? Only an irritated rumble, snagging an ear of corn to experimentally crunch on. He sat down, his red eyes giving their ever-usual blank and neutral stare while his mandibles crushed and munched on the snatched corn. The cicada truly only seemed irritated by the eating of other insects, but made no move to stop the activity. Nor did he watch, his red gaze lowered to where his mandibles made swift work of the corn.

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