The lump of green gemstone at the edge of the swamp clearing would have been pretty, in more direct light. As it was, it looked mottled, damp and dirty, with the deposits of detritus and mineral mist that one might expect from laying too long in the bog.
Its appearance hardly mattered, though: what mattered was that it had slowly grown from a hidden vein to a gemstone bubble, protruding just at the limit of the brighter light around this verdant clearing. And now, it was ready to hatch.
The creature inside--tiny, helpless, and red--squirmed, a little, as half-awareness came to her. There was no coherent thought, as yet, just a vague awareness of being, of an existence warm and wet and comfortable--if a little constrained.
The low cracks sounding through the clearing signalled a hatching: the first fractures in the brilliant but filthy green, the first leak of amniotic fluids.
Awareness grew.
Tiny limbs pushed, but the stone did not yet give. A miniscule hand--pink-skinned, and red-furred--pushed slowly through a crack, little fingers stretching into the cold beyond.
Lumut reached for the world beyond; she did not know what might reach back.
Why would they worry when they had not experienced serious danger? To most predators, they were too small to eat. And to the rest, Nymph had become very good at flying by now. Predators were a natural part of their life, but they were not scared of them.
The cockatiel paused, tilting their head at the chrysalis they saw. And then they noticed the small hand poking through the crack. They had shattered through own chrysalis with their beak. But perhaps not all beings had an easy way to break a chrysalis. Soft beings, made of fur and hands, with no claws or beak or wings... A being like that would have trouble.
But this being deserved to hatch too.
They climbed up the chrysalis to nuzzle a softly feathered head against the hand. It didn't occur to them that such an action might startle the other child. "It will be okay! Nymph believes in you! You can do it!"
@Lumut
The baby in the stone froze at the sensation of something soft, and dry, pushing up against her hand. There was a distant, muffled sound--of comfort, she thought--and after a moment, careful, she resumed her efforts to break free.
Liquid spilled from the widening crack, rocking and pressing causing more shards to fall away. At one point, a single brown eye opened--wet and squinting--beyond the gap, peering out at Nymph--and a few moments later she'd struggled free of the rest of it, spilling out onto the rock.
Lumut landed face-down, overly long arms flailed out to either side--and with the clumsiness of the newly born, pushed herself upright. A tuft of hair at the top of her forehead, wet, stood upright.
One finger pressed for a nostril, wide and guileless as she stared at Nymph. Thankfully, she removed the finger after a moment. Hands gripped confusedly at the moss; toes curled, new to this sensation.
A mouth opened, as if seeking words, but found none. Lumut blinked at the little bird--and smiled.
@Nymph
What hatched was a creature unlike any Nymph had seen. And the little bird had seen many sorts of creatures while helping the Tailor! They gazed at the gembound with fascination.
Though Nymph could not smile themself with a beak, they understood the expression. It was a sweet, kind expression. "Hello!" The cockatiel chirped at the newly hatched being.
"Nymph is Nymph! Who are you?" The little bird tilted their own small head as they asked the question. It did not occur to them that this child might not be able to speak yet. After all, Nymph had been chirping about since the moment they had hatched.
@Lumut
...Words.
She sought words.
Language-... sounds, with meaning. Her first instinct was to gesture--and, being a child, she did so; a motion, with raised and questioning brow, with one hand toward Nymph, then--thoughtful--back to herself.
This was the language of her species, flicks and beckons, waves and the like--a repertoire of sign language. But-... No, this wasn't right, was it? Something niggled at the back of her mind, an awareness, even now, that this place was not like that. Who was she, then-?
She looked around and took in the light shafting down through leaves, the dark trunks of trees, the litter on the ground, and--the thick, green moss. She liked that. The moss. That was her name, but in another tongue, one that she did not know much of and would likely never truly speak. Still, as she looked back to Nymph with her gentle gaze, she tried to say it.
Her voice was a little weak, broken, and high-pitched with childhood.
The gesture, again: to bird, to her.
@Nymph
Still, Nymph waited as patiently as the little bird could manage. There was a pause, and Nymph wondered if maybe this child was not hatched knowing her name like Nymph had known their own name.
But, then she did speak. Lumut! Her name was Lumut! And she had said Nymph's name too! "Nymph is happy to meet you, Lumut!"
The cockatiel, usually restless and flighty, stood still so that the new being could stroke their feathers. It was nice, the other being taking care to be gentle.
@Lumut
The child felt soft feathers beneath her fingers, and sat quietly, withdrawing her hand after a moment and settling it loosely over one leg. She watched Nymph, happy.
So far, her entire life experience consisted of "soft, nice bird" and forest. That seemed... good. The talking, though, kept almost jump-starting her brain into gear. -Maybe she could do that too?
Joy crinkling up her dark eyes, she lifted her hands and then dropped them into the dirt by her sides several times as she made some word-approximiate noises:
Then she dropped them again, tilted her head back, and crowed
@Nymph
Nymph cheered for Lumut as she tried to say 'very happy'. "You're doing great! Nymph believe in you!"
As the other descending into giggles, the cockatiel hopped around, chirping cheerfully. Giggles were a delightful sound.
Nymph laughed with delight as Lumut once again said their name.
The little bird paused, genuinely thoughtful, oddly enough. "Lumut? Do you want to be friends with Nymph?"
The bird had not personally met many other children before. So Nymph did not have friends their own age. Which was fine, Nymph was happy to help even not-friends, but friends their age... That was a nice idea.
@Lumut
Lumut listened intently--and seemed to understand a little more, now, staring closely at Nymph (and stopping her childlike spinning) as the cockatiel spoke.
The orangutan child then looked up and around, pondering the leaves and the light and the swamp all at once, as if awakening fully to the new world. She seemed pensive for a beat, then began to point around with her other hand--at the mist, the canopy, the trunks.
She seemed to see Nymph as a guardian, parent, friend, and a guide to the entire world.
@Nymph
That sounded enough like an agreement to Nymph, who gave a delighted series of whistles.
The little bird's head tilted for a moment at the extended hand, before extending their foot. Nymph did not understand the concept of shaking hands, but they did understand the concept of connection. So they simply held onto the hand gently with one of their feet.
"Friend!" Nymph happily chirped.
To Nymph, the question seemed to be directed at everything, which left them puzzled for how to respond for a moment. Then an idea came to them. "Nymph and Lumut are in a cave! One of many!" The bird explained.
"The caves have names too, but Nymph doesn't know most of the names," There was a hint of apologetic tone to the statement.
If Nymph had known the way Lumut was viewing them, they may have been worried. While Nymph was not unreliable, per say, the bird was very flighty and undoubtedly young.
@Lumut