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"You have a daughter?"
...
"We have a nephew?"
...
"Where... where does thou child reside? Why do we not see her with you?"
Manna asked thrice, her nail barely grasping under her claw. Monsa and Morra shared similar expressions, though Monsa remained a relaxed posture and Morra only reacted with a head turn and a claw on the bottom of her face. Motror stared at his sisters, seeming expected of the reaction. A silence brew among the four. Manna approached Motor closer as she fixed her posture, landing on one knee. Her nail slams on the hard ground, a tiny echo blaring the group.
"We would like to know of her whereabouts. Does she have a name? Why have you not introduced us to her?" Manna asked desperately, her voice rising.
"Do not trouble the brother," added Monsa, gently landing her nail on Manna's shoulder. "Announcing a child, especially one we've never expected, must not seem easy to express. Give him patience, and he will show us her evidently."
"Our brother leaves the tribe for however long, then he comes back with a daughter we've yet to see, sibling," Morra interjected. "We do not know if he tells the truth, or if he's lying under his claws. You will not lull us into a false sense of security, nor your lies." She chided, motioning her nail.
"Sister!" exclaimed Monsa. "Do not spout words like that! Motror may... bear controversy around us, but he's our sibling. Our brother. We're curious about what he did, how he found his way back to this tribe, or how he raised a child, but... right now, we must be patient. We must not assume."
Manna looked at her sisters before turning back to Motror, whose silence continued. "Brother... why are you silent? Did something happen to our nephew? Your daughter?"
The other two stared, intrigued by the worrying question. Motror lowered his head, getting on one knee. With a claw, he raises Manna's head up. Manna couldn't respond, waiting to hear her sibling's response. "She's with her."
"Who? Who is with our nephew, and are they giving harm to her?!" Morra boomed, her voice being heard around the area.
"Ze'mer."
"Ze'mer? Her?" added Monsa. "What does Ze'mer possess that brought your daughter to her? Did you ask her to care for your daughter instead?"
"Your assumptions leave me disappointed. I am ashamed of you three."
"Maybe bearing silence doesn't make the mood better, now doesn't it, Motror?" said Morra.
"I needed a moment to think."
"Think what? Why you left our tribe and never came back until now?" Morra hissed, moving Manna out of the way as her nail faced toward the tip of her brother's forehead. "You cannot possibly be that folly to think we'll all forget about what you did. All because of your fears..."
"Do not..."
"... of being weak! Is that it? Huh?!"
"Sister, please! We do not wish to commit violence!" Monsa yelled in the distance. "Please... don't harm Motror. We are as angry as you are for his departure without explanation, but this is not the time."
"Your sympathy disgusts me." chastised Morra, walking away from Motror.
With a sigh, Monsa turned back to her brother. "Motror, please... get it over with. What did Ze'mer do with your daughter?" She asked.
"They share a bond now. Their hearts weave for one another, as Ze'mer told me. I told her not to go... but she insisted. I couldn't do anything. They are far away, and traveling there isn't easy. You may as well abandon the tribe if you wish to find her." Motror explained. There wasn't a tone of regret or shame, but melancholy. The group seemed neutral toward the manner, too. They have not known of their nephew's existence until now, only to hear she's far from them, unable to reach, see, or even talk with the three. Manna, who bore the greatest interest, stood up. She gave a solemn bow, thanking her brother for the information before jumping back to her throne. Not a word came out from her. The other two glared back at Motror before joining along with Manna, returning back to their thrones as well.
...
"I apologize deeply for the information I have brung here. Please understand, my sisters. None of this bears a fault to me, for I could not reject her wishes. She resides with Ze'mer now, and the chances she returns to the village... might never happen." He says, taking a breather before continuing. "Though, my daughter did say she hopes of meeting you three someday. Not now or soon, but someday. She will be glad to see you all, as I was for her when I saw her hatch."
"You waste our time, brother. Giving us news of a nephew, yet, we cannot see her? We cannot talk to her? Nothing? Only hear a ridiculous note that does nothing?"
Monsa looks at the disgruntled Morra. "Sis-"
Morra turns to her with a glare. Monsa quiets herself, holding her nail in embarrassment. Morra returns her attention to Motror. "Leave us, Motror. I do not care what my sisters say, or what they try to prove. I do not like you, brother. You bring shame to the Mantis Tribe, you bring shame to what we've fought countless wars for! Leave already before my nail strikes you before doth eyes can register!"
The slander didn't seem to affect Motror, though, he understands his sister's anger. It would only show his folly if he were to interject. "I under-"
"Quiet," she interrupted him. "Do not utter another word in front of me or my sisters. Leave this place, and never return unless your excuse of why brings enough reason. I will order our warriors to strike you without hesitation or mercy."
Motror knew if another word came out from him, Morra would not hesitate to throw her nail. Respecting her decisions, he walks away from their view, jumping back to the Mantis Village as he headed out. He could see the other Mantis Warriors and Youths glare at him, seeming ready to attack him when ordered. He knew he had to leave, and that his purpose in the tribe is no longer welcome. Yet, it is only Morra who wishes for his exile, not Monsa and Manna. Though, he suspected they secretly wished for his exile, too. He simply leaves the village as he continues his journey around Hallownest, leaving Fungal Waste and heading back to the Queen's Gardens, knowing it's the one place where he, and other mantises like him, would reside and bring togetherness toward one another. Exile pains the many, but for Motror, it's what he expected, and it's what he's glad to have.