As the sun rises, so do they.
Woken by something that ticks away inside them for all their endless lives, they curve away from slippery rocks, stretching out whisper-fine legs and tentative toes. The surface of the lake that lies still and silent in the dark; satiny black dimples as they skate out over the water, hunting for flashes of light far below.
Beaded eyes spy faint luminescence between rocks, and they sink, finding some way to float down through the crystal depths. Rising again like a seeds on a gentle wind, they break surface and totter back on to dry stone.
Picking their way up the sheer walls of the cave, they tuck needle feet into cracks and crevices, finding support for the little weight they have. Each one carries but a single light; progress is slow and unhurried. The sun arcs above the horizon, wheeling slowly over the Earth, and they climb, unknowing, in the cool blackness.
By the time they reach the open air, their energy is spent. The day is over, the sun is gone, and there remains just one thing undone. They release the tiny flares, caught way down in the depths, and watch with ancient, impassive eyes as they float up, and up, to be lost among the millions that went before them.
With no burdens left to carry, they topple gracefully, carelessly over the edge of the pit. Their souls almost emptied by the joy, the freedom of release, they drift down and down into indigo darkness, before settling on rocks by the side of a satin black lake.