A southern jungle, and to deal with new stimuli.

TooMuchSeeTooMuchHearTooMuchSmellTOoMuchFeelTOoMuchSeeTooMuchHearTooMuchTooMuchTooMuchTooMuch

I lay their writhing through the pains of being newly born to the wilds of a jungle, puking up bile and shredding through ferns and grasses, chewing my own mandibles to not screech like easy prey, scarring the thick clay-y dirt. Time is lost to agony, each sense blinded by its own power, until through the cacophony comes a slow, gentle drumming, a beat to guide my path to focus.

Hearing. What is around me? the calls of distant birds, the tips and taps of miniscule feet upon leaves and bark and soil, the hissing movement of a serpent through the grass. When I angle my wings to cup the air above I can hear the movement of branches and vines above, this is something to practice with.

Touch. the soil is thick and damp, it clings to my talons thickly, but sticks better to the plants beneath me as i scrape it off.

Sight. I shutter my eyes until only slits of vision remain, countless little pictures shrinking down to the thousands, and they fit together perfectly to form a greater image, with movement tracked from one eye to another appearing more sharply as a slight breeze moves leaves of ferns and blades of grass, or as centipedes and beetles meander on their way.
Looking down at myself my chitin is smooth and sleek, like a solid, jointed piece of black glass, with shifting malachite and lapis beneath reflecting through its cold surface when speckles of light sneak between the leaves of the canopy above. I have four arms, two legs, and four wings which i can see the ends of when I spread them wide, like clear blue glass excepting the veins.
My four hands bear three sharp curved digits, thickly ridged and many jointed for dexterity, with a sharp-grooved inner surface, coming from a sturdy pair of arms from my shoulders and hands on the shorter slightly more dexterous pair coming from just below my chest, which is only marked by the barest indentations in the chitin in the place most races have breasts, equivalent to A or B cups.
My hips flare wide, and from them sprout thick thighs leading into thin calves, with four-toed articulatedly jointed feet, three toes facing forward in an arch and the last pointing straight backwards.
Turning my head to the side to look over my shoulder allows me to see my abdomen, connected by a thin petiole to the rest of my body, at current (lowest) angle it rests just above my perfectly carved ass cheeks. My abdomen flares wider at the sides and curves downwards, articulated with multiple "plates" of chitin in a similar way to my hands and feet, allowing it to curve towards whatever I may desire to sting. With an instinctual twitch it releases a matte black stinger, almost half a foot in length, with short sharp barbs curved towards the abdomen. Even just the pressure of releasing the stinger also forces out a few thick drops of golden venom, which drip languidly to the ground below me before I sheath the weapon, wary of wasting any more venom.

Smell. My antennae bring me so many smells and scents, from the sweetness of flowers to the bitterness of certain insects. There is a smell made by grass i've cut and torn, and another filtering down from above, rain? the air around me reeks of pain, but only my own. As I push myself off the ground and rise fully onto my feet I catch a glimpse of the scent of warm blood, coming from, since north is that way... east. As my antennae search for more of that rich scent in the air my stomach contracts. I'm a child of Darkness, of course I must earn my first meal.

I launch myself into the air headed east, flying a few feet above the ground, eyes fully open I search