ORIGIN

The painted dog had - until now - quite literally spent the time realising what his tail was and (successfully) chasing it down. He approached the bonepile with the fluffy white tip of his own tail clamped between his jaws where he stood watching Fisher and Giggle.

Upon realising that Fisher was likely about to leave for cetus, his ears promptly dropped and he let go of his tail, sitting down with a frown.



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Giggle looked at Bones, watching him with her hollow gaze for a long moment. Her mind registered that he was there; that his tail was in his teeth. That it was kind of adorable. But it didn't reach her heart. She was still empty, still lost in that other-place where the fungi dwelt.

"Bring the skull," she said hoarsely, turning her gaze to Black. He stared, dipped his head and moved off, and she waited, thinking to herself that somehow her own phrase had been fundamentally wrong. "Bring the skull." Something about it rang wrongly with her, a discordant clang in the quiet harmonic clatter of bones. She would think aout that later.

For now, the dog returned, and she leaned forward with the sharp awareness that his large head was inches from the back of her hackle-prickling neck. It made her uneasy and she pulled back quickly, the horned skull in her teeth.

She dragged the skull to the edge, and then released it, for a moment. She eyed Black. Stoic, earnest, loyal, his jet-black coat velvet and seemingly barely touched by the dust of Canis. He wanted to know his future. And he wanted to know where some prey he was chasing had gone, if she understood right. She looked back forward again, and with a push of both her front paws, sent the skull clattering over the edge, slamming into the pile of bones below. And again, she watched the patterns that it made, and listened to the whispers drifting through her head.

"The defenses fell," she intoned distantly. "or you were drawn into violence, have been drawn, into a battle that was unneeded." Her eyes scanned the bones, but she seemed unseeing, as if moving automatically, through force of habit. "You will be called upon to take a chance, and soon. Be wary, but take that chance. It will buy your success, though it may have to be bought with sacrifice."

She then cast her gaze along the pile again, looking over the outer edge, quiet. Suddenly and abruptly she spoke, her voice stronger and louder, more urgent, than it had been since the group arrived. Her gaze swung up to meet Black's, and her eyes were no longer vacant but very intense, ablaze with vehemence.

"It has returned to whence it came, but whether that is physical, or metaphorical, I do not know. But it is not the thing for which you must sacrifice! There is a loss, and I see a repetition. It shall repeat. If you are not wary, it will end in disaster. Look for the signs of your prey acting again as it has, and do not fall into its trap, black dog." She kept staring, intent and intense, for a long moment.

Then, suddenly, she sagged; she blinked and inhaled sharply, looking around as if waking up. Then she frowned, looking to Fisher.

"A final warning for the visitors to my bones. A creature came here, with feathers and antlers, blasting magic, the body of a stag and the wings of a hawk. He attacked without reason--he is violent and dangerous. If you see him do not trust him. If you find him dead--bring me his skull, and I will be in your debt."

With that, Giggle stepped down from her pulpit of stone, pacing around to face the three.

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Roll the bones.

Black listened intently to all that Giggle had to say, his eyes locked on her form and his body motionless as he attempted to absorb every word. To commit it all to memory, weapons in his arsenal of hunting.

Unneeded violence. Perhaps Aquarian. Cetus. Perhaps not. I must take a chance. I will succeed. The prey has returned to the place from whence it came. It is not the sacrifice. It shall repeat--... I had not thought of this. But it makes sense. It caused strife between us and Aquarian. It would make sense, if it tries to do so again. Perhaps with another. Perhaps this is its purpose. I will remain alert. I will not let it draw us into our own deaths.

Aloud, though, after all had been spoken, Black simply said--

"The Dog thanks you." At the mention of the stag-bird, however, he looked to Fisher; this was his "master," for the time being, and he would take his cues from him. It was not the time to go off on another hunt, nor to swear to another goal, another prey. He would let the brown-friend have the lead as to how to respond. Black then flicked blue-grey eyes up to Bones, and watched the dog with its tail in its mouth.

He tilted his head, quizzically--but for now, he remained silent.

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The painted dog scooted over to lick the top of the Fisher-noodle's head, ears lifting again and tail wagging.

He got up and cheerfully moved to follow the noodle and the wrinkledog down to the cat's bone tower, if they started moving along at all.


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Black looked to Giggle and then to the others, and then simply followed Fisher, padding along in silence. The hyena simply watched them go, some odd bit of hunger on her face that he didn't quite recognize, and didn't care to.

They would go and seek the white cat, then, and Black hoped that she was well, and he hoped that Fisher was content. He seemed it. He seemed joyously juvenile again, chasing his tail and bouncing about, and Black followed with the air of dignity that wasn't snobbish but rather a marked counterpoint to Fisher's enthusiasm.

He didn't speak any more than Giggle had; he just left the pile of bones, taking with him its lessons but nothing more.

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