A cautious flick of the tongue, testing the air.
Is it safe?
It is.
Move now, quickly, to that rock, now that hole, now that log.
Exchange some furtive glances skyward, leftward, rightward.
Still clear.
Breath a small sigh of relief and scurry on.

It wasn’t always this way. The world without the old ones watching over it that is.
But now, things are starting to change.
The drakes, with their glimmering scales and glinting fangs, are restless in their roosts. They feel the heat of the coming age and it makes their wings ache in remembrance of the servitude they once suffered in days long gone.

A beetle, a feast.
Char it, roast it, just a little sneeze should do it.
Devour it, but be quick.
It’s not safe out here, in the open, with raptors above.
Make haste, back to the burrow, live to hunt another dawn.

Soon things will change. The little ones can feel it, the drakes can fear it, but it will not stop. The old ones are stirring, their dreams coming to an end.