It is a good, deep nest.

“Those lights and noises will not harm these little ones. They are far away, and will not come into the territory, and the organics make them for the same reasons we like to call loudly after the sun goes down.”

“Oh! To let the hive know that hive is together, even if the sun does not come back?”

Sometime around their second litter, the old fear of passing on his deformed wing slipped his mind. He began to think that his and Little Male’s children would always fly easily and quietly, unburdened by his imperfection. 

When Little Male is away from the nest, he eagerly jumps to his duties of tapping in. He warms the eggs, turns them, and cleans them, chittering a seldom ceasing stream of affectionate nonsense to the hatchlings within; how adored they are, and how everyone can’t wait to meet them, and how he hopes the weather will be warm and clear the day they break into the world. 

“Once, there was a foolish Hive who dug a den where the soil was bad. The soil did not keep out the rain. It did not let crystals grow or pearls thrive and it invited mites and rust and scraplets. The foolish Hive had a good and clever friend who came from a good Hive, and they explained why it was important to have a good den, but the foolish one did not listen. 

Scraplet grubs and energon pearls are very good gifts that are also for eating

Dance very well

Always be grooming

SCREAM

Hypoxia nuzzles back warmly, idly grooming his mate’s head and neck.

Hypoxia’s spark wells with happiness to hear them. He chitters encouragement of their beautiful singing voices, glowing with paternal pride.