Buggirl70

It is rare that I have seen the orange sky of Tral, it has been at least 500 years since my last visit. I don't go to the surface. No need. Everything I have is here, with my attendants. Now though, I feel compelled to move. As I do, I hear the sound of workers, moving from place to place. It feels strangely empty despite the commotion. Things aren't in harmony but my antennae twitch with anticipation; something is tugging at my mind, a voice other than one of my attendants, other than the background chatter of the workers. It is drawing me upwards away from the comfort of my lair. My legs move slowly, my right back tarsus and swollen abdome