She knew it wasn’t right. Now that they’d mated, the offspring would grow without a male influence. She knew this would mean the females would have no respect for any males they came upon. A new generation, born to breed and kill and breed and kill and breed and kill until their shells faded gray and their postures shriveled like twigs.

The formula was so basic, when you looked at it. Just two primary functions, with some long and rather indistinct stretches of “inbetween”. Only two functions. It would be so simple to break the pattern if only someone wanted t—is that a male’s scent?

There was probably a different way, she thought as she scurried eagerly over the checkerboard bark. But it was most likely a bit too complex for her, once you got down to it.