Stagnant.
Routine.
Every day, like clockwork. She awoke, and she would roam her enclosure. It was...adequate. Enough for her to walk and not feel trapped. Enough for her to see different trees, to scent the crosswinds that flowed across the island.
But it’s not enough.
More. More is what she had, more to walk and more to see and venture until she reached the sand and the bitter-water and the cries of the nameless things that cried noisily in the sky.
Stagnant, she would think. Were she capable of it. Boring. The crying-same-food would appear, the soft-things would be there. She would see them. She would not eat them. She would eat the crying-same-food. Many times this would happen, and she would not question. She could not question.
But she could be bored.
She was bored.
Until she remembered the others. Little ones, of the nest. Not grown but not new. At her side, bickering, even they were routine. But at least they kept her busy. The aged titan rumbled, a noise that would terrify lesser creatures. To the two, half-fledged and only belly-high, it was nothing.
The Matriarch rumbled once more, this time with the parting of jaws, the flashing of teeth. The bickering stopped.
There was silence, and now she could rest.