Tree-sitter

It sat down in my pool. Swayed like a sapling. Spoke to me in its dreams, which were as plush as truffles fruiting in the dark. Luna, it said, Luna— as if I were its pale progenitor.

Others of its kind boiled in & out like tiny, earth-bound storms, chewing with a fury, & my cousins shook the mountain when they came down. My strange familiar clung to me with its naked forelimbs & howled.

It had one short root with which it communicated to others of its kind, reaching through the air somehow. Where did it go, that larva? Did it ever manage to spin a real cocoon?