decisions to decisions are made and not bought

Where he had been born and lived his life as a nymph was, essentially, gone. He had burst out of the earth in a dense jungle, but was far different from the other cicadas. He was massive and had the body of a dragon rather the small body of a cicada. He was a cicada at heart. It mattered not that his body was huge and associated with mythics and destruction and despair. Bound to instinct in a manner most firm, not allowing for much deviation. He had been greeted by those that had lived there: the group known as the Pitt. Their territory included the jungle, not that insects really cared for the territories of the mammals. Astiar certainly had not. Territory was a concept that was beyond his little insect brain. It didn't make sense to him, not that he was capable of understanding any explanation that was given to him. When he burst from the ground and had been found, he had tested out his vocal chords and dried his wings. The noise that the Pittians exchanged with him were not the same. He chirped and chattered, they rumbled in a way that Astiar could not comprehend. He had been allowed to stay, though. The methods for gaining sustenance was odd. Like the cicada that he should have grown into, the dragon had an appetite for the pulp of trees. In a dense jungle it was no issue to find a tree suitable to sate his belly. His jaws were horrifically strong, able to pierce through the bark of a tree with relative ease. His gums were hard, too, deterring splinters from sticking in his mouth.

Then there had been the fire. He had been in the process of munching on a tree when it had caught ablaze. He had never seen fire before, and so he had absolutely no idea what to expect from it. It had scorched his face briefly and forced Astiar to abandon his food. Then he had wandered into the camp of the Pitt, and all those strange people had been there. He hadn't understood what was happening. The concept of a raid didn't make sense to his simple mind. Astiar hadn't partaken in the raid. Instead he had stood amidst the chaos, watching everything happen, but did not interfere at all. Not even when Kydobi was killed. He'd considered the other as close to a 'friend' as he was able, but hadn't done anything to try and help. After the raid, the jungle was burned. There was hardly anything to eat. He tried digging up roots, but those were thoroughly burnt as well. When trees were burnt, the nutrition that Astiar would have received was practically gone. The insect was starving. He claws up whatever plants that dared to try to grow back, snapping them with his mandibles in his attempts to sate his hunger. It wasn't lasting. He was starving, and eventually had to leave in order to find a better food source.

One of his first attempts to feast upon the pulp of a tree after arriving in new territory had been an absolute disaster. It resulted with his front leg being severely burned, useless until it healed - if it ever would heal, at that. The burn left Astiar with an awkward, limping gait. He possessed six legs, yes, but without all six working together for locomotion it awkwardly affected his walking cycle. This was a different place, where there still was plenty of trees, and thus far Astiar had yet to see any flames. Heat and fire had become his fear, it bound to his instinct driven mind off the processes of pain. Pain was a great motivator. Hunger was too. Finding a tree that he fancied, the cicada readied his stance. He shoved into it harshly, time and time again. Eventually the tree would fall to the ground, snapped somewhere around the bug's shoulder height. Sharp mandibles then set upon what was left of the tree in the ground, tearing into the trunk. His one good front leg, the one that was not burned, then began to dig at the dirt to reveal the roots. He didn't let a single bit of the tree escape him. The roots and branches, all of it was edible matter to the cicada. It was odd, though, seeing a creature that was often deemed a mighty predator to be taking the time to dig out the roots of a tree. His wings softly buzzed while stretching into the air behind him. Ill observant was the starving dragon, mandibles and jaws sinking and tearing and munching down on the hard bark of the tree. His head occasionally snapped backwards, heartily gulping down his meal. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. It could be a considerable additional reason for how he was so easily approached. After all, this was a mighty and ferocious dragon, was he not? Soft grunts accompanied the dragon's feast upon the bark of the tree, tail laying limp and useless behind him.

control yourself and take only what you need from it