Aunril pressed his weight against the fence post, testing its hold in the ground. The barrier hummed softly under his touch, a good sign, but seventeen problems still waited. He turned toward the old monolith where his parents' eggs rested in their nest of grasses. He lifted the frame of colored beads from his workspace, counting through each sphere with careful precision. Twelve beads had already shifted to the solved side, but the unsolved row still held too many. His claws clicked against the wire as he moved the bead for the western fence forward. Sixteen now. A sound stopped him cold. High-pitched and rhythmic, coming from the eastern ridge where no sounds should be. Aunril moved toward it, his smaller frame keeping low to the ground. Behind a tumble of rocks, he found the nest — a crude hollow lined with shredded bark and something that glowed faintly blue. Inside the hollow lay three smooth eggs, smaller than his siblings' but whole and warm. The creature that made them stood guard nearby, its body assembled from floating meteor fragments that shifted and crackled with each breath. Two tails lashed the air. Yellow eyes locked onto Aunril without blinking. He backed away slowly, then faster. The creature did not follow. When he reached his workspace, he lifted the bead frame again and moved one sphere back to the unsolved side. Seventeen problems. A new predator, already dug in, already breeding inside the grounds he was supposed to protect.

Aunril moved back toward the meteor creature's nest at first light. He needed to count how many days remained before those eggs hatched. If he knew the timing, he could plan around it. The creature lifted its fragmented head as he approached, yellow eyes tracking his path. But the crater nest stood empty. Three broken shells lay scattered across the stone bowl, still warm, their insides slick with something that glowed faintly in the dim light. The eggs had hatched early. Aunril spun, scanning the ground. Small tracks led away in multiple directions, pressed into the ash and sulfur deposits. The hatchlings were already loose. He ran toward the trail where the fungi grew thickest, where small creatures always tried to hide. The path showed clear signs of disturbance — flattened moss, scattered twigs, and tiny glowing prints that led deeper into the grounds. Aunril grabbed the wide-mesh net from his workspace, the one with cords that glowed at the edges. He could see the hatchlings ahead, three small shapes crackling with energy as they moved toward the old monolith. Toward his parents' eggs. Aunril threw the net wide, catching two of the hatchlings in one sweep. They sparked and thrashed against the mesh, but the cords held. The third hatchling slipped past him, faster than he expected. He chased it down the slope, his smaller legs burning with effort. When he finally cornered it against the fence, the meteor creature appeared above him on the rocks, watching. It did not attack. It simply waited as Aunril scooped the third hatchling into a fold of the net and carried all three back up the ridge. He placed them in the crater nest and backed away slowly. The creature descended to its young, fragments settling into a protective stance. Aunril had bought time, but now the creature knew he would interfere. The problem had changed from unknown threat to active conflict.

Aunril returned to his workspace near the fence and began checking his counts again. The meteor creature's hatchlings were contained for now, but containment was not a solution. He had reduced seventeen problems to sixteen, then back to seventeen when the creature arrived. Now he faced eighteen. The sound reached him during his third circuit of the grounds—a scraping, rhythmic pulse from inside the nest. One of the eggs was moving. Aunril crossed to the clutch and placed his hand against each shell in turn. The fourth egg from the left had turned restless, its spiked ridges vibrating with pressure from within. Hairline cracks had already appeared along the base. Five days. He still had five days before the clutch was scheduled to hatch, but this egg was moving now. If it broke early like he had, the hatchling would emerge into grounds that still had eighteen unsolved problems. He pulled the hourglass from his pack and watched the luminescent grains fall. The device measured time in nest-cycles, and it showed four and a half cycles remaining. The egg did not care about measurements. Aunril built a shelter over the restless egg using curved panels salvaged from an old observation post. The structure was small, just large enough to contain one hatchling, with gaps he could seal quickly if needed. He positioned it directly over the egg without moving the shell itself, then reinforced the base with stones. It would not stop a predator, but it would slow one down long enough for him to respond. He stepped back and counted the problems again. The shelter reduced the immediate risk, but it also created a new task: he would need to monitor this egg separately from the others, splitting his attention across more ground. Eighteen problems became seventeen, then shifted into nineteen. The meteor creature appeared on the ridge above the nest, watching him work. Its hatchlings had tried to leave the crater twice since dawn, and twice Aunril had turned them back without touching them, using only his position to block their path. The creature had not attacked, but it had not retreated either. Aunril looked at the shelter, then at the creature, then at his hourglass. He walked to the crater and placed the hourglass at the edge of the meteor creature's nest. The device would track time for both clutches now. The creature tilted its fragmented head, yellow eyes fixed on the falling grains. Aunril backed away slowly. He had made a choice: shared ground instead of contested ground. The creature settled beside the hourglass, and its hatchlings stopped testing the crater's edge. Problem nineteen collapsed back into eighteen. It was not a solution, but it was a term.