ORIGIN

Giggle rushed for her bone pit headlong, her loping gallop kicking up clouds of dust and sending pebbles rattling down the trail behind her. The presence of Kerberos in her mind was strong, unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome, like a warm blanket lurking behind her consciousness. She drew him close, invited him in, tried to show him everything.

The pit lay just ahead, and at last she skidded over the rise, scrambling for the bones. The typical ring of fungus lined it, some of the mushrooms glowing brightly, others providing a line of defense ready for her to use, some near-toxic. But her focus right now was on the bones within--and she paused, studying them. For the first time, perhaps, Kerberos would catch a glimpse of her process.

There was a strong certainty in her, a total trust--a faith--that the bones were true, that they would speak to her. There was no charlatanry in it, and no doubt--her readings had simply come true far too often for that to even occur to her. And as she paused there, she drew on her magic first, to check for visions--for a future. She felt the magicka flicker, and fail--and there was faint disappointment there, followed by a sort of mental dismissal: the idea that maybe she was meant to consult the bones, instead, this time.

She did so, snaggin a misshapen twist of fused ribs, about the size of a small dog's. These she pulled from the pit, backing quickly up, and a quick trot brought her to the top of the pit.

Show me, bones, and the thought was both commanding and deeply respectful, as one might speak to an equal--show me what this war means to us: the Bonebound.
She then tossed the ribcage, dropping it to the bones below, and sharp eyes took in every spin and clatter as it landed. The way the entire bed of bones seemed to quiver beneath the strike--her mind read this instantly as a sign that the very foundations of this war went far back. Far, far back--an inheritance of the progenitors of those who fought now, consequence of an action (or mistake) centuries, or more, in the past. The way the bone bounced back, vibrating throughout the pit, whispered to her subconscious of actions long since taken coming together, reaching fruition at the same time. Order, and Chaos-? Or was it something else..?

The ribs landed upright--and stayed there, a glaring sign of victory... but Whose? But--there was nothing to indicate, and so her mind tentatively assigned it, Ours. -Perhaps even everyone's. She sagged a little, a weight lifting from her shoulders, and called down along that link. We'll be okay, Kerberos. We still need to steward Canis. We'll need to clean it--after all of this is done. But we--us, the Bonebound--we're not in any real danger here.

They could have been--she knew that. Maybe they would be, later on--but if that was so, the bones did not even hint at it. They were safe, she thought. For now.

Ahh, that presence was so... comforting. After so long feeling alone, ever encroached-upon by the lingering dark, his thoughts in her mind were a welcome warmth. She responded kindly, feeling surprisingly... content.

Heat might. I haven't tried. Cold, either. But the fungus--generally--can burn, at least; I know that. Frost-... I'm not sure I'd trust frost.

The visions of Khavur and of Orthoclase... surprised her. I have seen them, came her startled thought, before she'd had time to filter it--and that would take some getting used to. She shook herself, a little, and switched to verbal talk. And wouldn't that confuse any onlookers! "They've been here, I mean. For readings. That one-..." She considered. There was something secret about the bones--like the readings were meant to be... confidential, really. She never explicitly stated as much. But the thought she sent to Kerberos was an urging, bound by honor: Don't repeat this. And then she carried on aloud.

"The two-headed one will be fine, I think. -I'll check anyway. But my reading for that one was clear: they had a strong partnership, a union--unbreakable, maybe!--with another. They supported each other. The other one-? Orthoclase-Alpha," she said, remembering it now. It had always been an odd name, always stuck out to her. "Victory in battle, I think it was--and that it'd end up alone." She nosed her way down to the pit, pausing to purge any encroaching fungus from the bones.

There was a faint puff of white spores as she sent some of it off in another direction. Ugh. The only emotion she really spared for this shit was a vague disdain. So it was Order, for sure, then.

She shook her head and plucked a bone from the pile after a moment's search, and then another: a thick spiked antler, and then a twisted piece of something that was mirrored to split into two. These she forced into her jaw, and with an amused glance (and wry humor) at Kerberos, what with her face stuffed full of bones, turned to trot up to the ledge.

There, one by one, she tossed the bones--and read them.

Orthoclase-Alpha first, she thought. Tell me, bones--will Orthoclase-Alpha be all right? And as the first bone, the spiky antler, fell, her mind quickly snagged each meaning once again from every clatter and tumble and crack. "I see... endings," she said, but her mind whispered deaths. Not, however, literal deaths. The sort of cycle of plant life: a plant withering into dormancy only to be reborn. A chrysalis? Or something else? She wasn't sure; she accepted this at face value. I see need, and sorrow, delay? Bad times, she summarized. But... it ends well. It learns something. A pause as she tried to process what she was seeing: the word, essentially, of a god. Some greater power, at least, and likely within the caves--granting Orthoclase-Alpha the wisdom it would need to move on. It will, I think, recover.

And then--the twinned bone. This she lobbed down, studying it closely. It was Khavur's turn. I see battle, now, and victory, for that one. But--I see warnings of violence, violence it should avoid. It could have avoided. And--it doesn't. And I see... Ahh, the irony. Where Orthoclase was set to be granted some divine wisdom, Khavur was set to drastically misunderstand it. Misunderstanding of some greater power. Confusion, or ignorance. Or ignoring it completely, to its detriment. You could try to find it, she offered, uncertain, studying the pit. See if it'll listen to a warning to think closely about its own assumptions? But I'm not sure where that lot is, now.

She felt--sorry, just then. Sad, for Kerberos, that she wasn't the bearer of better news--but she was, despite commonly resorting to theatrics, honest.

With her son, at least. With family.

She settled into habit, dropping to her haunches and preparing for conversation. At least now, she had company. Strangely linked company--but that was not unwelcome.