ORIGIN

A crystalized formation of rich colors, colors of which would be beautiful against sunlight, lay wet and unmoving deep within a swamp. It's sharp edges and rigid corners nestled against, almost inside the trees, of which were visibly wilting and nearly falling apart- dead.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, it ruptured. The once solid prison creaked and groaned against the weak batter of wings from within, the quiet cries of something scared- someone scared.

When Iokepa tumbled from his refuge, he most definitely flailed. His wings lashed against the tree he emerged against, enough to throw him from what would be safely down towards the murky depths below. His mouth gaped in a silent cry, had his throat not been so raw, so unused.

The little hatchling landed with a puff, and all of the air- which, granted, was not much- was expelled from his lungs. He gasped, not even bothering to scramble to his feet, and lay trembling and damp against a branch far too close to the frightening water.

When he finally roused himself, the boy was nearly beside himself with the absolute cold. Nothing was broken, thankfully, and he didn't feel hurt. He didn't know it, but he'd only fallen a few short feet. Still, it felt like the scariest experience of his life- because it was. His feathers, sopping wet, clung to the bark and his talons dug so much into the wood that they would likely leave gouges if pried off.

Iokepa could do nothing but wait. He was silent, shivering, and utterly alone.

Once what seemed like hours had passed, and his downy plumage was only just slightly damp, Iokepa made the difficult decision to sit up. He was less confused, less scared, now that he'd gotten a view of his surroundings. He figured he came from the crumbled rock above him, fallen, and now had to figure out how to get off this branch without plunging straight into the water. He was only a minuscule, puffy white ball at this point, very much incapable of flight- not that he'd any idea that he could fly.

Still shivering a bit, the fledgling pressed his pale face to the bark once again. He was, and felt, very helpless. As he blinked big, eerie eyes against the wood, he felt a small burn in his throat. It wasn't necessarily pleasant, not unpleasant- and it was almost familiar. It felt like a part of him.

Nothing happened, though- he shook his little head and eyed the branches above him. Hesitantly, Iokepa dug his talons into a notch in the tree just a little higher than his head. He did the same with his beak, and began painstakingly clambering up. His muscles were sore from disuse, and it was most definitely not easy for the freshly hatched gemling. He couldn't make it to his chrysalis, but with one extra swing he pushed his body onto a smaller, thinner, but higher up twig. Feeling a bit safer, maybe even warmer, the bird nestled himself against the trunk once again. Starkly contrasting the wood, he was likely easy prey for anything that came across him, but hopefully was too high for any aquatic beasts to snag him without the boy at least seeing them.

Iokepa fluttered his weak, fluffy wings with caution. He wanted desperately to leave this tree, to leave this foggy place overall, and he was determined to do so. Quietly, almost inaudibly, he murmured:

"Iokepa. Kepa.. Iokepa." In the not quite happy trance of knowing his own name, the owl dipped low to the branch he perched on and watched the water with wide eyes. He blinked very little, scanning its surface- until he spotted a shallow, almost dry patch of land.

Strands of grass and other plants swayed underneath the thin veil of water, several peeking their wilted heads above the surface. If not for the recent rains, this patch- and likely several others that Iokepa couldn't see- would be above water. He wasn't experienced enough to know of the shallowness of water, but considering he saw something to place his little talons upon- he figured it was enough.

Taking a leap of faith, Kepa clambered quickly down the trunk of his crumbling tree, falling the last few inches directly into cold, heartless water. For a few moments, he didn't know what happened- his feet brushed a few fronds, he kicked up as hard as he could, and his head breached the heavy blanket. He sputtered and gasped, but his toes' contact with the bottom was enough to push him to the land. The warmth was back in his belly, and oh how it burned. Once again nothing good happened, but now he felt a pressure underneath his skin, as if something was pushing to come out. He squeaked in pain, and it did sting quite a bit. Still, though, he kept going.

Once he could stand, the bird didn't spend much time waiting- not this time. Instead, he continued his chilly trek forward, caution out the window. He'd stop periodically to rest, but never for longer than a few minutes.

Iokepa would waste no more energy, nor time, here.