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Bog loved inviting Marianne to the Dark Forest. So many things were new to her and to be examined with wonder. One of their first of those jaunts in the middle of the day was in the summer, the canopy blanketing his realm in mercifully cool shadow, only occasionally letting a ray of sunlight spear through to the undergrowth. Marianne found the effect similar to the light in the great hall of the fairy palace, but more alive, since the light here moved.
By chance they focused on insects, after discovering a procession of caterpillars crawling up a tree. There were many, wood-boring beetles and leaf-mining larvae and whatnot, which Marianne had never seen before.
Pointing at a black-and-red insect approaching the huge stag beetle she had been admiring, Marianne repeated today’s most frequent question: “And what’s this?”
“Stay back!” Bog’s voice was quiet but sharp. Trusting she would listen, he stayed focused on the wasp, almost subliminally noticing that Marianne, while floating back, also drew her sword.
He moved slowly lining up his staff while the wasp landed on the beetle and looked for a crack in its shell, then struck with all his speed, crushing the wasp’s head and grinding it into the bark of the tree they stood on. A shudder ran through him, making his shoulder plates rattle. Vile, disgusting beast.
While the stag beetle ambled off, unimpressed, Marianne gestured negligently with her weapon at the corpse, looking at Bog with a mix of disgust, concern, and amusement. “And what exactly makes them so scary?”
Bog grimaced, but bit down on a claim of not being scared of them. It would have been a lie. “Parasitic wasp.” He carefully moved the corpse with the bottom end of his staff so the ovipositor was visible against the copper. “They sting other insects and lay their eggs inside them. The larva slowly eat their victims alive, until they’re all hollowed out. There is no cure.”
“Ew. Yeah, that’s… just no.”
Bog nodded and crushed the thorax of the wasp against the bark, continuing to grind the remains of the beast into gore mixed with splinters of chitin.
“Bog… could one get you…?
“I don’t know. I’d rather not find out.”