Work Text:
Hornet notices that she only returns to Kingdom’s Edge to hunt. Her father’s grave, which she had protected with her typical filial piety, is now a place to be avoided. And no wonder, with the anxiety she associates with it. Any old bug could’ve gotten in there and accessed the King’s Brand. It has long since been claimed by her older sibling, but her body is still on guard every time she steps onto those ash-swept cliffs.
She’s nervous and twitchy, which is a detriment to her hunt. The basket she hoped to fill with prey is only a quarter of the way full, and to make matters worse, one of the aspids she bagged ruptured. Their sacs are bloated with precious nutrients and, rarely, Lifeblood. It’s a damn waste, Hornet thinks with a grimace.
It’s only acid here, so she can’t clean out the basket without burning a hole in it and ruining the rest of her prey. She sighs, stops under an outcropping and removes the aspid before it can leak any further. While she’s cocooning it in silk, she sees a hopper off in the distance—a big one, surrounded by its diminutive counterparts.
By herself, she can’t drag the big one all the way back home, but she could pick off several little ones and end up with a feast. A couple of them even have Lifeblood in their stomach sacs. How lucky! If it were any other bug, she’d string up some webs and wait, but hoppers, even the little ones, are constantly thrashing about. What she needs here is timing, and a steady hand. Both of which are difficult when she’s nervous. She anticipates herself throwing her needle and missing, and takes her time approaching the herd.
The good thing about Kingdom’s Edge is that the ash doesn’t rustle when she creeps through it. She only has to put forth half the effort in staying quiet. Today she’s wearing a mottled grey wrap around her dress, further camouflaging herself. It’s as easy as trapping gruzflies.
She stops behind a boulder and waits for the hoppers to settle near a patch of scrub left untouched by the ash fall. Feeding and sleeping are the only times when hoppers come to a standstill. From where she’s hiding, she could easily take out a handful at once, but at the cost of alerting the giant hopper to her location. She has the idea of fastening some silk to the ledge above, so she can pull herself out of the way right after attacking.
It doesn’t go well, to put it lightly. Hornet’s hands shake while she prepares the silk. The great hopper makes a sudden movement that startles her, and she launches her weapon straight into the herd with no clear target. What happens next is a blur: a massive thud, crumbling rocks, a thread tangled around her wrist. Her basket flies from her back and goes sailing into the ether, and it’s by sheer luck and the strength of her silk that she doesn’t lose her needle, too.
The world spins uncontrollably, before suddenly going black.
When Hornet comes to, it’s like waking up from a restless sleep. She’s flat on her back, half-buried in ash, and all alone. No herd. No needle. The silk is still around her wrist. She tugs until her beloved weapon comes sliding into view. Thank Wyrm.
It takes several minutes for her mind to start up again. Her basket is gone and, she doesn’t see herself getting it back. That means no food to bring back to her hatchlings. Hornet groans and sits up. Immediately she sees a big chunk of rock pinning the remains of her right leg to the ground. She gasps at the sight of the crushed chitin and from the sharp pain that accompanies the slightest movement. There’s no pulling this out or bandaging it up.
Hornet sets her jaw and digs the heels of her palms into the ground. She leans away, and winces. It’s usually not this painful when she has to remove a limb. Her body is working against her this time, rejecting any movement that would bring her pain. Pulling herself free from her injured leg is an ordeal and a half because of this.
It’s just not normal for her to struggle with this, and by the time she has separated herself from her ruined leg, she’s almost in tears. Her entire body is tensed up and shaking so hard that it’s almost as difficult to lie down.
She doesn’t see the herd returning any time soon, nor can she just get up and go.
Her hatchlings. What are they going to do if she doesn’t come home? Maintaining consciousness is a losing battle, and when she finally passes out, she is besieged by nightmares. Visions of her children and her siblings starving, even though there are plenty of bugs to take care of them should she die. Then there are long breaks of nothingness, where she is unaware of herself and everything around her. Losing and regrowing limbs are typical for spiders; it’s not supposed to hurt this badly. It never hurt like this before. The time between bouts of pain and fever is not long enough for her to wonder what could have gone wrong.
Hornet is on the ground for a long time, while the world swims beneath her. She hears footsteps and voices, quickly drowned out by the ringing in her ears. There’s a shadow overhead, a hand scooping under the back of her head. She rolls to her side and immediately throws up.
“Easy, now,” says a familiar voice. “There’s a big crack on the back of your head. We can fix that right up, but...”
The ringing grows louder. Hornet sluggishly feels around. She never stopped to notice how empty the air was. Her body is light and heavy at the same time, the way it always is when she hasn’t slept well and wakes up groggy.
“Is it morning?” Hornet slurs. Her questing hand drops onto her stomach.
“No, love. You said you were going out to hunt. Do you remember?”
“Uh...” Hornet tries to focus on the bright red eyes gazing down at her. It’s Grimm. Had she told him that? And did she tell him where she was going? Had she been lucid, she would’ve reasoned that he could pinpoint her location from her nightmares. Like a pin on a map, he once said, and went on to complain about how distracting that sense could be. Well, it finally came in handy.
He lifts her off the ground, makes a remark about her missing leg, and carries her home as gently as he can. Even so, the world spins around her. The queasy feeling in her stomach makes her mouth water, but to her relief, she doesn’t throw up again.
“Where are the children?” Hornet asks. The ringing in her ears has subsided, so she can clearly hear Grimm’s response: they’re all fine and at home, and Hollow is keeping an eye on them. To fill the silence, he offers tidbits about what each of the hatchlings were doing, and how the youngest wanted to take a nap on Hornet’s pillow because it smelled like her, can you believe that? Hornet forces a weak laugh here and there, or a noise to show she’s paying attention—but she’s so tired.
“I’m going to sleep,” Hornet tells him when the howl of Dirtmouth’s winds become audible. And then the next thing she knows, she’s at home. The curtains that cover the walls of her and Grimm’s bedroom muffle the sounds of her children squeaking nervously in the next room. The door opens, and Hollow’s crescent moon face pokes through. In the crook of their arm is the Vessel child, who holds their stubby arms out at the sight of her. Hollow sets them on the bed, so they can crawl into her lap.
Hollow frets when Hornet sits up, but she doesn’t feel dizzy or nauseous this time. She puts a hand to the back of her head, and the shell there feels smooth, with only a hairline crack as evidence of her injury. Looking under the blankets is more of a disappointment: her leg is still gone. It’ll take a couple of molts for it to grow back and to regain its normal shape and size, and it’s not like she hasn’t gone out hunting with a missing limb before. It’s just so inconvenient.
Hollow comes over to sit on the edge of the bed, watching with a kind of reverence as she coos over the Vessel child—Howlite, she ended up calling them, after Hollow. Now they were the subject of their siblings’ jealousy; the other hatchlings were now pushing their way in. Hornet located her needle in its hook beside the bed, and used it to prop herself up.
She hobbles out of the kitchen with one child in her arm, four more trailing behind her, and her massive sibling ducking so their horns don’t knock against the door frame. The crowded atmosphere of her house has only intensified now that her children are mobile. She half-expects to find Grimm in the kitchen, but instead, he comes in through the front door with a bundle under his arm.
“You’re up.” His eyes widen, but just for a moment.
“Yes,” says Hornet. “I must thank you for bringing me back home.”
Grimm leans over to kiss Hornet. There’s slight laughter in his voice when he replies, “There is no need to be so formal, my dear. Now, can’t I fuss over you for a little bit? Come sit down, I’ve brought medicine for you.”
Hornet tosses her head and sighs to an exaggerated effect, but allows him to lead her by the arm to the table. She lets Howlite down, and acknowledges the rest of her children with murmured words and brief embraces. Hollow is clingier than all of them, and the moment Hornet is seated, they’ve squished themselves right up next to her.
“It’s strange that Ghost isn’t here,” Hornet remarks. They can take care of themselves, obviously...but still.
They went to the Blue Lake, Hollow traces into her palm. Her other hand is tenderly grasped by Grimm, who has come to fawn over her and kiss each of her fingers. Combined with the hatchlings surrounding her remaining leg, she feels thoroughly crowded.
“Is all of this necessary?”
“Yes,” Grimm hums as he hands her a small bottle. “It absolutely is. Everyone was worried when you failed to come home.”
“But you know I always make it home alright.” Hornet puts the bottle—an anti-inflammatory tincture—on her lap, and gives Grimm’s hand a tight squeeze. “Really. I’m alright. Now, could you please distract the little ones for me? I fear they’ll take my other leg off.”
“And your arm, it looks like,” Grimm teases. Hollow flushes and looks away. “No, it’s quite alright. I know you were worried. Come here, children.”
He opens his arms, and the hatchlings crowd into his warm embrace. Hornet squeezes a few drops of the medicine on her tongue and shudders at its sharp taste. With Hollow still close, she gets up and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her mouth still tastes sour from when she got sick; she couldn’t have had anything to drink if she was asleep. While Hollow leans over her shoulder like an over-affectionate, domesticated Aspid, she thinks that the situation could be a lot worse. She will, after all, have plenty of company while her leg regrows.