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// Chapter Four: A Momentous Occasion 
// Story: The Cuckoo Child 
// by Nyarlathi 
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As time crawled on, Black Hat noticed that he was more hungry, more often – and that his was not the only appetite growing significantly – did that mean they’d be shedding again soon? He hoped so – as abominably itchy as the process was, he wanted very much to no longer be reduced to waddling as his primary source of locomotion. It was clumsy, it was undignified, and it was tiring – he missed the smooth gait he’d enjoyed before all this, one he’d cultivated over the years. While he had wondered what starting out fresh would be like from time to time, it had always been under the assumption that he’d still have his legs. Really, this was quite ridiculous, and he was fed up. He had to keep a lid on it, though, as the more he stewed, the more of that stewing leaked out into the others – and the more inexplicably frustrated the others became, the more likely it was that he’d have to sit through yet another lecture about responsibility and patience.

Sure enough, thankfully, it wasn’t long before the dreadful itching and the sensation of being uncomfortably compressed began again in force. The clutch were better prepared this time, knowing from experience what they need to do, and started gnawing at one another almost as soon as they noticed it beginning. Their teeth and jaws were stronger now, as a few careless bites proved kind of painfully, but it was worth it to finally slump stretched out, nymphs at last. No longer grublike, they were changelings in miniature, around the size of a young post-toddling foal and complete with their brand new tiny wings still crumpled and damp.

Just as they had with the last moult, the caretakers greeted this new instar with celebration and much affection, helping them to get used to their new forms and legs. This time, though, there was a bittersweet note to it that he and the others could sense more easily now but didn’t quite grasp, which had him wondering. That was, until they were arranged into their nest groups, each paired with a caretaker, and bade to follow. Clearly, something of significance was happening. For all that he’d been in many, many more thrilling situations before, Black Hat found that whatever equivalent of a heart he possessed was pumping harder as he realised that they were being led out of the hatchery. “Keep up, Nest Joro, that’s it.” Their caretaker called, when the unsteadiest of them fell behind. “Not far now.” It wasn’t far at all, before they were led into a space very like the hatchery, but filled with other nymphs. Now he thought he understood – they weren’t being sent into a test or culling, as he’d thought might explain the bittersweet tang to the caretakers’ emotions, but simply being handed over to a different set of caretakers – or was it hoofed over?

The Queen herself was there, which likely kept the others from noticing and bawling when their familiar caretakers slipped out. There were other caretakers present, and the wide-staring eyes of many, many other nymphs of varying size, waiting in the cavernous, softly lit chamber. An air of ceremony and significance had settled into the air, and nervousness rippled through their ranks – but the Queen was smiling. Black Hat took that as an encouraging sign, and gave the nymph in front a pointed mental shove to get them moving, since it seemed their nest was first to whatever this was. As he and the others watched, the nymph drifted towards the Queen with wide, wondering eyes, pausing just a caretaker’s length from her as she smiled down at them. “Hello, my little changeling.” She crooned, giving the nymph a little caress on the cheek. They chirped up to her, giving her a bright smile, and she chuckled warmly. “As you take your first steps in nymphhood, the time has come for you to be named. Little bright one, I name you Firefly of Joro.”

There was an extra pulse through the hivemind at the uttering of that name, and nymphs and caretakers alike echoed it to the beaming nymph, who squeaked their new name all the way as they were guided to one side. A quiet nymph was next named, Silk of Joro, followed by bold Chitin, acquisitive Aphid, rambunctious Dragonfly, creative Honey, protective Elytron and, last of his nest, the horror himself. He told himself, as he strode closer, that he was not tense – but the truth was quite the opposite. The only name he recalled truly possessing, he had given to himself, bereft of any that might have been given to him as a true child. So, as much as he’d deny it, his pulse was racing, audible in his ears as he stopped and peered up at Sclerite, eyes just as wide as the others. He’d been given a name once, he was almost sure, but it was long lost to time, and another had been lost to him before he could even learn it, but now – now he was being granted an entirely new one.

Sclerite caressed him gently, just as she had for those who’d stepped up before him, and he leaned into it just slightly, a little more swept up in the moment than he’d have liked to admit – he planned to blame the whole being a nascent empath in an emotionally-charged room thing. “Hello, my little changeling. You’ve had quite an eventful wait for this, haven’t you?” She began, with affection in her tone, in her eyes as she gazed down at his rapt expression. “As you take your first steps in nymphhood, the time has come for you to be named. Little fierce one, I name you Sparrowbee of Joro.” The name resonated through his mind like a gong, with the brush of its meaning from the Queen – she’d named him for an Neighponese giant hornet, one whose Earth counterpart he certainly knew of, and one he rather liked the comparison to. His nest’s name, too, he learned the meaning of – a golden orb-weaver spider, thought in folklore to become a beautiful false love and devour lovesick victims. Fitting, though without quite the same emotional impact as the personal name still reverberating through his being.

Pride and warmth bubbled up in his small frame as his new name was chanted, filling him so full he thought he’d burst from it, an odd little squeaking noise in his throat as he gave the Queen the brightest smile he’d yet had in this form. He hadn’t considered how much it would affect him to be given a name by a parental figure, but it was… somewhat intense. At least he had the excuse of his youthful form to cover for the emotional reaction every empath in the room could feel – or so he told himself as he fought to keep from welling up. His new wings would have given it away even if everybuggy present had been mindblind, though, buzzing frenetically as he was guided over to where the rest of his nest waited, still giddy while they watched the other nests receive their names.

Once the ceremony was over, the caretakers distracted them from the Queen’s departure with the unveiling of an array of succulent and wonderfully fragrant dishes. Actual food! They licked their lips at the sight of the assorted insects, rodents and birds, each either crystallised, fried or otherwise smothered in a sauce that proved upon tasting to be infused with love. As he dined, relishing the discovery that he could still consume flesh, the horror decided that although he would of course not discard his chosen name, he would gladly bear his new given name as a changeling. A name was not a gift to lightly discard, and he felt that this one fit him rather well.

As with many parties, the food was gone rather sooner than the participants might have liked – but the older nymphs were eager to teach them some games. Sparrowbee suspected that, in the case of charades, they meant to enjoy the little newbies not being able to guess much, but he’d no qualms with playing to the best of his ability – and showing his nestmates how to ‘cheat’ by querying the hivemind for clues or answers. He rather suspected, too, that this was one of the roles of this game – to teach nymphs to turn to the hivemind for answers, and how to do so effectively. Silk was one of those best at the game so far, of his nest, and he made a mental note of these observational skills. They might, he mused, prove useful at a later date. Finally, quite pleased with how the day had gone and still filled with a heady breath of elation, he bedded down in his clutch’s new nest site, closing his eyes. The feel of the others snuggled in around him was familiar now, and it wasn’t long before he was drifting into the realm of dreams – which was precisely where he wanted to be.