He used to feel lonely at night, but now his body has no room for any feeling that isn't hunger or thirst. He can't remember the last time he ate, and he craves something, anything, green. To find a growing thing in this endless desert is rare, and when he does (and when he can trust himself not to pounce on it and devour it then and there) he's faced with a choice.

Green things can be eaten. Green things will burn.

And so, as the desert night rolls in with waves of iced air so cold that his carapace feels as though it's breaking, he must choose which is more important: to be fed or to be warm. He can't have both.