ORIGIN

Though she did not know it, Marrow was the only one out of the three to not have had such a thing as blood—as far as blood relations in the caves, went, anyhow—family. (Though Titanite's hardly counted.) It was a foreign thing, the idea of a nurturing parent, or perhaps even the idea of an older Gembound who stayed by her side. The closest thing she had was probably... the two Gembound from the Sentinels, in her first cycles, though she had hardly stayed close. They were more aquaintances than anything, childhood friends faded as she grew, and although sometimes her mind wandered to them the idea of a companion any more constant than that was alien.

Loneliness, too, was not a thing she thought about often. But it was still there in the back of her mind; Marrow was, despite herself, a social creature. It was times like now that the loneliness rose up like a shallow tide—pricking at her heart, reminding her... reminding her that it was not a constant. That there was such a thing as companionship, as more than bones, if only she could find it.

...would this be it, then? If they stayed together, for—for the kids? For family?

It was a warm thought. And a thought that presented itself in the incline of her head towards Shango, and—was that?—a small, subtle smile. "That does sound good," a warm agreement.

Her cloudy eyes drift to Titanite as she considers everything between them, the literal and the metaphorical. "I... am not certain if I had family," she says. "There were... at my birth... two creatures who met me. One small, sandy, and catlike—one large, dark, and... green-tinted. Like you," she says, unknowing of how true that comparison rings. "But not like the trees. Ah, but we did not stay together for long..."

She brushes the ankle of her hoof along the gem set deep in her face, giving an idle hum of thought. The stone location is... unusual, she's figured, compared to others'. She knows the treebeast has his within its chest, considering where the sliver she'd given magic to had come from... as for Shango, perhaps... the horns? They seem slightly unnatural compared to the rest of him, stone-like... but it is hard to tell with such a fanciful creature. She wonders what child will come of him.

But—back to the treebeast's question. "Ah, close. My stone," she says, tilting her head curiously. She can understand how one would fail to make the distinction; her stone is clear, set deep enough that one could see the bone beneath. Perhaps it is like bone, almost... or perhaps, more like her heart. It is certainly a more vital part of her, she thinks, than even her own skeleton.

The statement—question, perhaps?—statement he gives actually earns something like laughter out of her, faint amusement. "And I live inside my bones, do I not?" She has seen corpses before, of little vicious rats and other things she has snapped up and eaten. The heart between the ribcage, the organs nestled among the ivory; the living, breathing garden, vines upon porous stone.

She had not known, of course, of those things when she was a child. The name had come instinctually, nestled knowledge that she had carried within her since the hatch. But it is, she thinks, a fitting name.

Despite every implication pointing to the idea, Marrow is still caught off guard by Shango's sudden declaration of 'family'. That they, together, are family. She supposes she's been so caught up in the idea of the growing stones before them, that family, that she failed to consider that these two, too, would be family.

Does she like that? This concept? There's a difference, between children of stone and shared magic being family, and these two Gembound who, not so long ago, were strangers to her.

But she was a stranger to them, too, was she not? And she was still graciously given a sliver of stone; still accepted into their little bond, to have conversation, to talk. These stones, these children they will raise; they bind them together.

More than that. She thinks… she thinks there's something more, that could bind them as family. Or, well, could be. Could be something more, like the little green spots of sprouts in the dirt.

Family, family, family. She rolls the word around in her head until it takes root, and then, softly, she smiles.

Family.

"I would love to live here," she says, "And be… family." She looks back down at her own magicked stone, takes in the play of dappled light upon its green; it will be a beautiful child indeed which hatches from it.

They'll all be beautiful. All of the children. All of—her, her children? Or perhaps just shared? Either way, they are family.

The thought warms her heart.

Marrow herself seems a midpoint between the two; not with the hyperactive energy of Shango, the catlike urge to bound and leap and speak at rapid speed—but neither the sheer sedateness of the tree, her blood still running hot and her movements still mammalian, if subdued. "I tried to climb a tree, once," she comments. "But I fear I need more practice at it." She'd hardly made it halfway up the trunk before slipping back down. Her deer's hooves are agile, yes, but not all that great for finding purchase in the bark.

She glances over to Titanite. Amusement pricks at the corners of her mouth as she realizes that the mushrooms that had sprouted over the treebeast had, not, from the looks of things, been just something a tree-creature like him did—but rather, a misfire of magic. She supposes she can't fault it; she remembers with some mirth the time she'd attempted to aid a hunt with her magic to command plants and been smacked in the face with a branch for it. Perhaps that particular tree had been temperamental.

"It's painless, thankfully," Marrow replies, thoughtful. "I don't know what it would be like to not have a stone such as this. Perhaps less heavy on the neck." More durable than flesh, she supposes. Vulnerable for it, too, although Marrow has never been in such a situation to have her stone broken and she hopes she never will.

And then his next question comes, and she falls silent, considering. The beast's face, as it is, is not all that expressive, solemn wood and glowing eyes which wink and blink seemingly on a whim. But there's something in his tone, there—a kind of yearning which strikes familiar. A kind of yearning which, perhaps, she knows.

The concept of loneliness, and the concept that, perhaps, one does not have to be so alone after all.

"Yes," she says, "With only my magic for company." And the few vicious rats which lived near her den in Canis, but she didn't count those. Her glossy eyes meet his, knowing. Yes, she thinks. You are not alone.

Perhaps they will not be alone for a long, long time now. Perhaps there will be companionship for both of them, a steady thing instead of the few wavering moments Marrow can recall ever meeting another. There will be children, she knows, and…

…and family.

Magic is good, Marrow can agree that much, with the small, subdued tilt of her head that counts for her as a nod. Magic is good indeed—common in the caves as it is, she has never lost her love for it, nor her wonder for it. There is always something new to discover when it comes to the magic exoteric to the caves. There will always be something new to discover about magic, Marrow thinks, no matter how long she lives.

But it is a small comfort compared to the presence of other Gembound. Marrow is a social creature despite herself; she can content herself with the bones, with the plants for a time, but without distractions her mind will always wander back to the longing for another soul beside her.

And then the rain begins to roll in, and Marrow's eyes flick to Shango, curious. Storms... was that really his doing? To spark the weather in the cave? It seems too long-reaching for one caster to work—and yet...

Oh, but she wants to know more about magic like that.

Soon. Some other time, perhaps; aren't they bound together by child, now? Family? She will have all the time in the world to talk to him of things such as magic... won't she?

Marrow does not mind the cold rain which begins to sprinkle at her pelt. The humidity itself is a welcome change; Canis is always so dry. But it seems that others are not of the same opinion; and as Titanite shrinks away from the rain Marrow reaches out with magic of her own, asking gently for nearby foliage to please perhaps lend the tree-beast some cover?

The magic flows well, strong, steady; the nearby trees listen as they bend to shelter the tree-beast, and Marrow hums to herself in surprise. Volatile as the magic is, as that spell could be... perhaps they simply favor the tree-beast. More willing to listen to her on that regard, maybe.

She does not mind the way Titanite speaks. There's something about it... the soothing repetition, the slow retracing of thoughts already spoken, that makes her feel more grounded herself. Sometimes Marrow feels as if she will drift away from reality itself, some days; to float out of her body, an untethered spirit... but with the rain, the coolness, the rising smell of petrichor and the rumbling, creaking sound of Titanite's voice, she feels almost... balanced. At home.

Is this what the absence of loneliness is?

"Magic, the bones... tireless companions, both," she says, her eyes lingering on his glow. (Beautiful.) "I am... strange, to some Gembound, I think. And I thought... with myself as a complement... perhaps, I did not need company."

A quiet shake of the head. "I was wrong. Over time, when I had time to myself, to think... I found myself wanting to speak with others. To have—someone other than myself and the bones to hear my voice. To have my existence acknowledged.

It was... it was an emptiness, yes. Of the harshest kind. I was able to distract myself from it, at times, but it was always... always there. Always with me, as constant a companion as the bones, as my magic. I..."

A slight waver of her voice. "...I am grateful you—both of you—allowed me to come up as I did. To share magic and stone... to be... family."