Sarcoptes is swole to the point of bursting so she lands where’s convenient and digs her way in out of the air. The ground quakes as she digs, and the sun, what she can see of it, goes dark; oh, well.
Cestoni is born at the end of that tunnel, him and his brothers and sisters. The girls are homebodies, but the boys drive themselves out into the air where they don’t have to be quite so close to each other. The ground quakes where they walk. They build homes for themselves among the roots and stay there until their skin cracks raw.
Diacinto is pregnant. One of her brothers, probable, or not, it doesn’t matter. She found him, whoever he was, just emerged from his roots, so she pinned him and took what she needed, which wasn’t a name or much talk. She hurries on, one eye cocked to the sky, leery of rain.