Prayer to a moss-covered goddess

[Prompt: A tradition or behavior considered old fashioned]
In the dusky seasons of the skitter empire, a white statue sits, cracked and mossing. The fountain of Firefly hasn't seen water in ages, much less the precious sacs it was built to house. The creatures mastered gene-root bio-design generations ago, and with that, the old offerings were no longer needed.
In the very earliest days, there was no fountain. Their number was so few, and the mothers knew each skitter personally. One had only to approach a goddess with their sac and ask for a child.
Then came Firefly: First Generation, Fourth Mother. Then came the books of whiskers, claws, and fur. The population burst, blooming across the archipelago in quick blinks. The goddesses could no longer know every one of their children, and the statue became a necessity. Everyone knew the recipe: place your sac at her belly, your samples at the desired body hollows. Offer food and valuable items, and ask the goddesses to have a mother's hand in your child. One in ten was lucky enough for the opportunity. Of them, one in three received an answer.
To get a fawn designed according to your dreams was a great honor, but the process was slow and imprecise. Magic, in particular, was almost impossible to control. Under the whims of the goddesses, even a skitter bred from a long line of fliers could emerge wingless. So, when science gave us masterful understanding of genes, when we developed magitech to manipulate them, we no longer had reason to rely on the goddesses.
Quickly, quietly, we moved on from the island and abandoned Firefly's fountain. We forgot the mothers it spoke to.
I haven't forgotten. I have dreamed of seeing this shrine longer than I can remember. Now that I'm here, she is more beautiful and lovely than I could ever express. I feel right. I feel home. I am where I am meant to be, and I mean to stay.
I will create a new family of skitters, a line who remembers her roots. We will rely not on controlling technology, but on the love and knowledge of our mothers to help us survive and thrive in this, our first home. Through faith and worship, of the Four and in the adaptive power of life, I know we can flourish here.
For my first act as steward of this island, I revive the old tradition with this zygotic sac. I have traveled many sleeps with her, eager to offer her to Firefly's fountain. I have no particular trait requests; I ask only that you shape a skitter who will do well for this world.
I have every faith in you, my mothers. We will not let the old ways be forgotten, and with your guidance, we will thrive.
We will prove them wrong.