The carving was neatly done in the bark, providing an almost life-like model of a cicada; one of many they had overheard on their journey today. It had been almost deafening at times listening to their alien cries back and forth as they committed to their mating dance. As she watched the carving, a spark glowed within it, pulsing for a moment, then lay dormant again. She waited, and as it again came to light, Chamylla could make out small, intricately carved gears turning within its fragile shell.

“Beautiful.”

She stroked the carving’s carapace, and it looked like it twitched, so she withdrew her hand quickly. From above, she saw some movement as two more of the mechanisms began to slowly crawl down the bark of the tree. Two more began their methodological journey from the roots, Another alighted from a branch upon high. Soon, she was staring at a dozen of the things, each with a pulsing light that beat faster as they approached the singular point of the original carving.