A little grey bug waves its antennae in the air, sitting atop a small mound of soil overturned by an insectivorous rat the previous day. From its perch, it can sense no danger nearby, so it skitters forward a few more inches, squeezing between some decaying palm-grass leaves. It smells a member of its own species - another male. It ignores the conspecific, for A. dermestemimus do not engage in intraspecific violence. Though it won't be getting a chance to mate today, it pushes on, skirting around a half-buried stone. It continues traveling all afternoon, finding nothing of interest. Not to worry; it can go many more days before it begins to starve. Little does it know, though, that a windfall is coming its way.
It scuttles across the ground beneath a partially-exposed rock face, freezing when it hears a loud noise. Looking up, its compound eyes can't make out the scene playing out at the top of the hill. The scents in the air fill in the details: two kiwis are fighting over a female, and their battle is getting fierce. It's all for show, though; neither truly intends to hurt the other. The winner is determined by the female, who gets the final say as to which of the two males will get lucky today. Despite the larger male pinning his foe to the ground, she chooses the smaller one for his brighter head feathers, a feature she finds quite appealing. The scorned Apteryx flutters around, trying to win back the attention of the female. In his frenzy, he doesn't notice himself stepping on a loose pile of dead grass. He slips, tumbling to the pseudoforest floor below the cliff.
The two-centimeter woodlouse, oblivious to the social lives of birds, is suddenly confronted by a much larger face directly beside its own. Had it been sitting just a few body lengths further to the right, it would have been crushed. It's not safe yet, though; the kiwi snaps at him in its death throes, gripping his dark exoskeleton. It doesn't get a chance to swallow the spooked crustacean, for it collapses only seconds later, unable to overcome the pain of its many broken bones. The pill bug slowly unrolls itself, climbs out of the beast's mouth, and surveys the pile of meat and bones that was, until a minute ago, an old and proud ratite.
It wastes no time in sinking its mouthparts into the exposed flesh of the kiwi's tongue. More of its kind will be here soon, drawn by the stench of blood seeping into the dry dirt below. Being the first, it stands to have its pick of the dozens of females who'll arrive on the scene over the next few hours. For now, it focuses simply on filling its belly. When others find their way to the site of the kill, they join in the feast, crawling over each other in search of the best bits. Over the course of a few days, they gnaw through its skin, muscle, and organs. A rat passes by at one point, snagging a few bites before deciding the now-putrid flesh isn't worth its time. The scavengers eventually move on, with newly-born mancae and adults alike setting off in search of another meal. All that's left of the bird is its bones, which will decompose into the ground within a year or so. The rich nutrients of the kiwi's body will be returned to the soil, fertilizing the pseudotrees that, in turn, provide food for other birds.