The clover plant was dying. I knew it the moment I touched its leaves. They were brittle, their edges brown and crumbling under my mandibles. The once-rich green that shaded the terrarium had faded, leaving behind a skeleton of what it had been. It wasn't sudden—I had watched it change, leaf by leaf, over the days. But now, standing beneath it, I realized how much it had given. It had been shelter, food, and something more—something I didn't have words for.
The moss patch was thriving again, but it wasn't the same. Crag still grazed there, though less often now. His movements were slower, his antennae dragging as if they were too heavy to lift. I watched him from the edges, staying hidden among the rocks. He was still the largest, the strongest, but he wasn't invincible. The thought sent a strange ripple through me—not joy, exactly, but something close to it.
I ventured farther than I ever had before. The terrarium's boundaries had always seemed distant, unreachable, but now I felt the need to explore. The far side of the glass enclosure was dominated by a smooth, flat rock. I had seen it before, gleaming with condensation during the mistings, but I had never crossed the soil to reach it. It was unclaimed territory—empty, quiet, and waiting.
The journey took longer than I expected. The soil was uneven, pitted with shallow craters where water had pooled and dried, leaving behind hard, cracked surfaces. Springtails darted around me, their movements erratic as they scavenged for anything edible. I ignored them, focusing on the rock ahead.
When I reached it, I hesitated. The rock's surface was smooth, its edges sharp and unnatural. It didn't belong here, not the way the moss and the clover did. But it was here, and I was here, and that was enough. I climbed onto it slowly, my legs slipping on its slick surface. The world looked different from up there—smaller, maybe. The moss patch was a dark smudge in the distance, the bark a jagged silhouette against the glass walls. The clover plant was a shadow of itself, its leaves drooping like tired arms.
I stayed on the rock for a long time, watching the terrarium move around me. The springtails gathered near the clover's base, their numbers swelling as they fed on its decay. My sibling grazed near the moss patch, their antennae twitching at every sound. Crag was nowhere to be seen.
The misting came while I was still on the rock. The first droplets hit the glass above me, scattering into a fine spray that coated everything in the terrarium. I pressed myself flat against the stone as water pooled around me, slipping over its edges in tiny streams. The air grew heavier, damp and alive with the scent of soil and moss. I stayed still, waiting for the water to settle.
When it did, the world felt new again. The moss gleamed with moisture, its fibers standing tall and vibrant. The clover's leaves, though battered, glistened like they had been polished. Even the soil seemed to breathe, its surface dark and rich. The springtails scattered, their movements frantic as they adjusted to the change.
I climbed down from the rock, my legs sliding on the wet surface. The ground felt different beneath me—softer, more forgiving. I made my way back to the moss patch, stopping once to nibble at a fragment of bark that had fallen near the clover plant. It wasn't much, but it was enough to stave off the hunger that gnawed at me.
When I reached the moss patch, I found Crag there, motionless. His antennae twitched faintly, but he didn't move. I approached cautiously, my legs trembling with each step. He didn't seem to notice me, his massive body slumped against the soil. For the first time, I felt something like pity. Crag had been a force of nature, a shadow that loomed over the terrarium. Now he was… just another isopod.
I didn't stay long. The moss was thick and healthy, its fibers bursting with moisture, but I couldn't enjoy it. Something about Crag's stillness unnerved me, as if his decline was a warning. I returned to the clover plant, seeking the comfort of its familiar shade.
The springtails were everywhere, swarming over the clover's base in a frenzy of activity. I watched them for a while, their tiny bodies flickering like sparks against the soil. They didn't seem to notice me, their world too small to include anything beyond their immediate needs. I envied them, in a way. Their lives were simple, their movements without hesitation or doubt.
My sibling joined me beneath the clover, their antennae brushing mine in a brief moment of recognition. We didn't speak—not that we could—but the gesture was enough. We were survivors, the two of us, and that was all that mattered. Together, we grazed on the clover's leaves, sharing the last remnants of its life.
By the time the light above the terrarium dimmed, signaling the end of the day, I was alone again. My sibling had returned to the moss patch, and the springtails had scattered. I stayed beneath the clover, listening to the faint sounds of the terrarium—the drip of water from the bark, the rustle of soil as the springtails moved through it. The clover's leaves hung above me like a canopy, their edges frayed and broken. I reached up with my mandibles, taking one last bite before retreating to the soil.
The rock, the clover, the moss—they were all connected, I realized. Each piece of the terrarium depended on the others, a fragile balance that could shift at any moment. The clover was dying, but its decay would feed the soil, which would nourish the moss. The springtails would thrive, and so would we, for a time. But nothing lasted forever.
As I burrowed into the soft soil, I thought about Crag, about the clover, about the rock that had seemed so alien and out of place. The terrarium was changing, and I was changing with it. I didn't know what would come next, but for now, I had survived another day. And in this tiny, fragile world, that was enough.