Illustration: "The Climber" http://www.hitrecord.org/records/1011952
Red, red everywhere.
Her hair is splayed so beautifully on the pillow, her lips slightly parted in what appears to be the beginning of a smile. My body shudders at how perfect her perfection is, at the multiple images of her moonlit skin soaring through my mind. I nimbly comb my claws through her red, red hair. Gently I sniff it, the scent of strawberry wafting through the tiny slits that comprise my nose.
"Brother, do not wake her with your misplaced affection."
I click my teeth in protest, hundreds of sharp points clashing in tiny successions. "She is OURS. You may have the better share of our brain, but I have better eyesight and reflexes than you, so do not boss me around." My tiny chest tendrils wiggle in excitement, unmasking my eagerness to show off.
"We have to do this quickly, or we will starve for an entire year again."
"Yes, yes, I will move in haste."
We position our bodies so that we are almost encircling her, our tendrils growing and extending and waving in unison towards her. This is the part that I loathe, but I can't do anything about it. We crawlers need blood, youthful blood to survive, to help us see in the dark, to power our hungry muscles so we can move with extreme agility. I drown in her beauty as we close in.
Red, red, lovely red everywhere.