ORIGIN

There were common expectations when it came to life surrounded by stone walls. One in particular applied to this situation: where Lessers were, Greaters would or could be. Proof could be found easily, the most obvious, of course, the wellspring of vigor that'd just announced its existence with an awakening bang. But amongst the flittering of insects and the skittering of mice from flying debris, it could also be noticed in a sharp intake of breath as green shards pelted a feathered back.

If not for light's reflection off him, he could have been mistaken for a shadow without a partner. Other than the sound of a slow exhale and feathers rustling as wings drew closer to sides, he might as well have been, so still and unperturbed. Previously hidden out of view, a deathcloak moth soared off its taloned perch. It tore loose and fluttering from his figure like a tattered scrap of silhouette.

Himself settled by a flying pitch rat's corpse, East reached down to pluck a chrysalis piece from flesh already softened to pooling oil. Lifted to scrutiny, black oozed over a vibrant surface, past the held point, and onto toes. Cave aglow with a variety of mosses, the scene was ill-fitting—an autopsy at the public park on a sunny day. Indifference outweighed incongruence though. He cast no glance behind, his stance casual.

"If you want to skip stones, the river's thataway." The barest pivot of a leg readjusted him, and a wing gestured to beyond the bank. Waters rushing worse than someone with a nearing deadline, the advice rang false, but a wry tone twisted from his beak.

East couldn't profess to be an expert on Greater growth and development. Raised by the corpses he unearthed, vocabulary nurtured through the grand art of eavesdropping and the echoing gray school of deception, the odds he could be were next to nil. Days he'd spent wandering without a soul to measure improvement against, his pastimes prodding where others daren't and stringing words together by trial and error, the associations made tenuous at best. And by the time the usual haunts had been abandoned and he blundered into another's path, the damage had been done. Dialect a unique hodgepodge cultivated beyond the influence of peers, whether it was the work of an agile mind or a foolish one would forever be unknown.

Call it conceit or denial, whichever you prefer, but personally he favored the first view over the latter.

So when a response was not immediate to his less than helpful jest, conclusions were not drawn at once. Instead most attention remained on the curious shard in grasp, the clue from which all other possibilities spawned. He twisted it back and forth, letting light glint off its edge, mood contemplative.

An adult? A child?

The next wave of shrapnel contributed little to speculation, though the distant vibrations set crest feathers aquiver. Weight shifted as the subject turned—inconclusive, as the size of a foot meant nothing in the caves. Here giants spoke their fear of the dark in plaintive whines and beings a fraction his height were wizened and wise. Outside of the odd sensation he termed a "sixth sense," bestial instinct informed him of eyes boring into his back, their intent not within understanding.

Decision made that not facing whoever this was hindered comprehension of the situation, East lazily spun round, and upon seeing a lizard staring at him, the clutched chrysalis shard nearly slipped loose from talons. Wide yellow eyes gawked back. Bemused by yet another reptilian encounter, a soft snort of laughter couldn't be repressed. He let it sail from his beak before resuming a blank expression, a new tally mark chalked to a running and increasingly absurd total. Then the crack in an often stoic mask sealed shut as if it'd never happened. The shard was held aloft, and his head tilted, comparing it to the protrusion that must be its counterpart.

Whatever questions he had, some must have been answered. When he finished striding forward, squinting much like the lizard did, he spoke in an atypical manner, the diction careful and lacking wit's sharp snap. "The river. That ribbon of water over there, you see?"

Close enough now for a demonstration, his ankle flicked. Green flashed through the air, the shard soaring, its freedom momentary as it plummeted and was devoured from sight by the swift waves below.

"That was, and this is"—a talon tapped on an undiscarded shard, one not blown too far from the explosion—"a stone. Do you understand?"

As the lizard snatched fragments of speech and tried them out as sound bites, East kept his beak shut. Just as the other gembound lacked insight to the inner workings of his mind, so did he possess no tool to peer into theirs. All that could be relied upon were cave-given senses and a generous amount of logic; the former came standard with the usual chrysalis birth, provided you weren't unfortunate, and the latter could only be hoped to be in decent supply when tying information together. Holding input back was the best way to observe, allowing evidence to be untainted at the scene.

The turn towards the river indicated a connection made. Touching their stone, followed by the next parroting chirp, reinforced the pattern. He nodded at each instance, not exactly exuding warm encouragement toward the practice, but nonetheless providing calm confirmation to the budding comprehension. Tiny steps were better than nonexistent ones. Much like any other aspect of life, they'd grow over time if properly nourished.

"How?" After repeating that, an amused hiss of air left him. Talk about tackling the big questions there. A heap of answers could be thrown back, accompanied by just as many new mysteries to solve, a decent portion of those existential. "Choosing a mighty big word there, fella. Bit impressive you can fit that in your mouth."

Trying wouldn't do any harm though. After a shake of his head allowed more serious thoughts to take anchor, he pursued an attempt at explanation.

"So stone, it's everywhere. It's part of you and part of me. Like this," he said, tapping the chrysalis shard again, "came from you. That's why the color matches what you've got there." A steady talon pointed at the piece lodged in the lizard's face.

"If it were mine, then it'd be different. Would be a matching set with this up here." His foot tilted inward. Talon turned upon himself, a hunch forward directed it at the smooth and nearly opaque adornment atop his skull. "And when you're hurt or tired, the one you have grows around you. It protects you until you don't need it anymore. Then once that happens"—a sweeping gesture at the scattered shards—"there's all this."

"The river—well, it's just there. Water's almost everywhere; whether it stands, runs, or falls is what sets them apart. Rivers, they run."