At the time Father called six in the morning, Isnanna began her day, just as always. The first thing she did, as always, was to practice the common tongue and Fitendra, the Moonchildren’s language. There was no problem remembering the words themselves, as Isnanna had not forgotten anything yet, so far as she knew, but her mouth and tongue weren’t built to speak those languages, so she felt it necessary to force her tongue and jaw through the strange movements of the foreign tongues.

Around her, the lackadaisical morning routine of the swarm had yet to truly begin. Even Father, Mother, and Ishtar had yet to begin to rouse, and they were the most consistently early to wake among the rest of the swarm. Therefore, Isnanna had plenty of time to briefly exert herself, leaping, tumbling, imagining the movements of the best fighters in the swarm. She only did this some days, since every day was spent on the move, and Isnanna never had the opportunity for her muscles to atrophy anyways, but since she was spending less and less time hunting and physically exerting herself, she considered it a necessity to ensure that she could at least marginally keep up with Iituli. Ishtar was out of the question, of course, since she was, by all measures, a freak of nature. Father was like that too, but of course he was, that’s simply a fact of life. Mother was like Isnanna herself, focused on less physically-focused aspects of life. Iituli was strong, but not a physical anomaly.

Ishtar… could move in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. Father could move faster, but Ishtar could bend, twist, shift and whatever other word of choice, more than any other creature imaginable. On top of that, nothing excited her more or faster than physical effort. Ishtar relished victory, and, except on rare occasions, that was what she got. There were the occasional fair contests that she lost, but for the most part, if Ishtar participated, she won. Isnanna supposed that said competitive streak was what had lead her to the peak of physical conditioning that she was, given that her brother with whom she competed most innately could use magic, while Ishtar was completely without.

Since Isnanna cared deeply for her sister, nobody knew about the final part of her daily practice, the part that she undertook once she had begun her daily run with some of the wolfstags and then gained sufficient distance from the body of the swarm so as not to be noticed. Together, they worked their magic, creating and manipulating water, pressing it, and more. Isnanna wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling of using magic, but it was as if she pulled the water from the ground beneath and the air around her, then pressed it into obeying her will. It wasn’t a creation of water so much as a force of will to make the material obey her whims.

In combination with the wolfstags, Isnanna sent blasts of water into the near distance, summoned small, whirling walls into existence before her, and attempted to change the state of the water under her control. That last part had been mostly unsuccessful, but she felt like she was on the brink of a breakthrough, so discouragement had yet to set in. It was surprisingly relaxing, this magic training. It took a certain amount of mental acuity and focus that daily life didn’t demand of Isnanna, and she welcomed the challenge and change. Today she was focusing on controlling individual small motes of water to move separately from each other, and the division of mental focus was a strange, interesting demand.

After she decided that her family would probably be missing her, Isnanna returned to the swarm to ensure that they didn’t realize her lifelong deception. Someday she would need to reveal herself, but today was not that day. She trotted back to the swarm and began her day with the rest of the swarm.

For the rest of her morning, Isnanna was tutoring all willing members of the swarm on the common tongue, organizing movement of packs, and constantly tailing Mother’s movements. She was currently investigating sociopolitical undertones among the swarm, and focusing on the impact on morale as well as a secondary objective only Mother seemingly knew. Isnanna wasn’t sure exactly how wide Mother’s net spread, and every time she asked her questions were avoided and the conversation ended without Isnanna having learned anything of value. Mother was great that way–an intellectual opponent more savvy than herself, a perfect whetstone for her wit.

Father was busy doing things that were helpful but generally surface level, but that was quite all right, since he did what he needed to do, which was destroy whatever and whoever stood in the way of the swarm. Isnanna and Mother would be there to reign him in if necessary, and point his fist at whatever next needed leveling.