ORIGIN

He had nothing to do. So he painted. There were a dozen or so dead rats lying around him by the time he was finished - his paws and halfway up his legs were covered in blood, even his tail had been unlucky enough to lay in the blood and gore for a moment while the dog was propped up on the wall, eyes wide and almost fearful as his scarlet paws brushed against the walls.

He had worked on it for some time now. It took him out of reality, made him forget his shaking legs and aching back, even when he lifted himself onto his back legs and the pain increased, he managed to ignore it. He was somewhere else now.

But now, he was finished, and reality came flooding back to him. His tail lay flat on the ground and his ears were tilted back, as he stared at the scarlet figure of a dragon staring down at him. He wasn't threatened by it. It was only a drawing and it couldn't hurt him like it did in Eridanus, but he wasn't relieved by this thought.

It was still out there, somewhere, and that was the thing that scared Bones the most.

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Giggle had been on her way down to see him, her adopted "son." Harsh emotions had been roiling in her over the few days since his injury--emotions she wasn't used to.

Guilt had been foremost among them. She'd met Baratheon; she'd seen his bloodlust firsthand, and though she'd tried to help him learn to control it, she hadn't forced it on him. Hadn't kept him until it was locked down. At first, she'd blamed herself for that--the idea even crossed her mind that perhaps she should have killed him while he slept, or while he was lost under the control of mushrooms. If she'd just killed Baratheon then, Bones would never have been hurt.

Yet the idea of killing what amounted to a young and innocent cub--as Baratheon had once been--repulsed her. Even if he'd been a dragon, and even if he had the potential to kill, he'd also been naive, and had the potential to correct his bloodlust. To be a guide, and a protector, and not a killer. So the thought, even, of murdering him had flooded her with guilt just as much.

So what was she left with? What should she have done?

The moping hyena had at last reached the realization that there really wasn't anything she could have, or should have, done differently. She had acted as she thought best, and she'd just have to live with that--and to thank the bones that Bones was still alive.

If... different.

As she padded over the crest of stone to look down past her den, she was reminded of the changes wrought in the pup. He was older, so maybe simply his maturing had had something to do with it, but she thought that his new morose quietness, his brooding silence as he wrought his art on the cavern walls, was a result of his violent experience with Baratheon. He'd lost the carefree nature he'd had before, the simple confident joy he'd had at the approach of another Gembound. He seemed... a little lost, she thought, or maybe she was just imagining things. A little afraid. A little sad.

She stood, for awhile, watching the painting come together. He drew with great sweeps of his paws, and she found herself biting back a bit of irritation at the waste of food. Hunting took effort, and a loss of life, and he was just smearing it all over the cave... but it did him good, and if it was how the bones guided him then so be it.

As the painting's subject became apparent--a great dragon, staring down at Bones--Giggle felt another twist of guilt in her gut. He was hurting, and now this spectre, this nightmare of Baratheon, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Should I have killed Baratheon? I should have kept him with me.

At last, Bones finished, sitting back and looking up at what he'd drawn. Sighing softly through her nose, Giggle stood. She picked her way down the slope, quiet but not silent, speaking softly as she came up alongside him.

"It's a good drawing. Impressive," she said simply, making no mention of the waste of bodies, or the fear Bones must hold in his heart. Then she looked to him, eyeing him over, glancing critically at his hind legs. "How are you feeling?"

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Roll the bones.

Bones lowered himself to his stomach, looking up. It was easier on his haunches and back this way. His head barely turned to acknowledge the hyena as she moved closer, quicker to look back at the drawing as if he were afraid it'd start moving, with his ears twisted towards his mother.
"..Thank you. I think I'm okay," the dog spoke quietly, staring a moment longer before his body shifted onto it's side, towards Giggle, and he began to lick his legs clean. "My back hurts. I had to burn it or I'd die."

He said the final word with an abrupt tone of dread. What would have happened if he died? He didn't want to consider it, nor did he want to consider what would have happened to the foal if he and the other dogs hadn't attacked the dragon. She would have died; but would she have if he had just stayed out of it and let the two females take care of it? They were older, after all. They knew what they were doing - he did not. He charged in with blind vengeance.

Bones shook his head briefly and began to focus on cleaning his legs and paws.


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Giggle tilted her head, staring at Bones with some surprise.

"Burn it? You had to burn it?" She wasn't sure if she'd heard right--but before she could hear much else, she'd glanced at his back to examine it and noticed that it hadn't fully healed.

As she moved closer, plopping onto her haunches and beginning to run her tongue over the injured flesh, licking Bones's wounds, she thought about this.

She knew that it had been burned, of course--that had been apparent from the stench of seared flesh and fur. But Bones? She had a vague memory of him having burned his paws, once, but she hadn't thought twice--there was plenty in the cave that burned, and bit, and stung.

Maybe fire was his magic, as the ability to speak to the fungus was hers...?

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Roll the bones.

Bones flinched a little as Giggle's tongue ran over the burnt skin on his back. His head flopped on his front legs with a soft whine. "I can make fire," he murmured. "But it hurts a lot. It's not nice or particularly helpful. Destructive."

He craned his neck over his shoulder with wide eyes, ears flat. "I don't think I like it," he stared at Giggle for a moment, clearly a child seeking guidence form his mother. Briefly, his eyes shifted shifted up at the blood drawing on the wall that was glaring at the two, before he looked back at Giggle.

"I don't know. It doesn't help-- even when it does it just... hurts." He nestled down on his front legs again, neck beginning to hurt. The dog grumbled a little, half-closing his eyes. Perhaps he shouldn't have ever left Canis. Why would he ever, even? He had his mother and Kerberos here, that was all he needed. He liked Booker enough - but he was too small to play with. If he couldn't talk Bones would simply assume he was food instead of a tiny, tiny little friend.

Bones slowly allowed the thoughts to leave them, ears pricking up to listen to Giggle.


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Giggle was silent, for a time, pondering Bones's words as she cleaned his wounds. She felt him tense and flinch now and again as she hit tender spots, licking away flakes of blackened, dead skin and exposing fresh, bleeding flesh beneath.

When at last she had finished, she sighed and moved up beside Bones again, briefly nuzzling his head before sitting next to him.

"Fire could do many things, I suppose. If you light a fire, you could keep the cold warm. You could see things in the fire, or let it cast shadows on the walls, and dance in them." She didn't explain this, exactly, but instead stared up at the blood painting, for a time, before continuing.

"I was afraid for you, you know? I thought you were going to die." Giggle's tone had grown quieter, and she gazed at the fake-Baratheon, still, thinking how ironic it was that were he here, the mere scent of his portrait would drive him into another round of bloodlust. "I imagine you were in a lot of pain, and very afraid. What will you do about it?"

She finally looked down at her "son," calm, placid even, her dark eyes searching him for any hint that he had a way to cope with this. With any of this.

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Roll the bones.

The dog watched quietly as his mother walked around and next to him. He was silent for a long time, moving to rest his head by her paws. He didn't move or speak, barely even breathing. Perhaps he was thinking over Giggle's words, or perhaps he wasn't even thinking at all.

He felt the hyena's tongue on his head and he whimpered, ever so slightly. "... I don't know," he said, quiet."I don't wanna be sad, or sca.. or scared, or hurt." There was another pause after Bones more or less choked his own words out, droplets of water streaming down his face.


"My legs hurt a lot. I don't think I can run and I miss it. I raced with Kerby, once, and I wish I could do it again but I can't," he was babbling now, rubbing his (increasingly wetter) face against Giggle's leg. "I don't know what to do."

There was more, more that was wrong, more that he was confused about- he could barely sleep now with the strange and cryptic nightmares that flooded his mind. He couldn't hunt, he had no energy for it. He had tried, and failed- the rat ran away and he couldn't run to catch up to it. It's like he was someone else now, not Bones anymore, perhaps just a shadow of what he used to be.

These thoughts only fueled the water pouring out of his eyes. He wanted to be Bones again, not a hollow shell of some weird looking dog.

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Giggle didn't need the fungus or the bones to tell her what her son was feeling. She'd known when she arrived, and her phrasing had been deliberate: he had to take control of this situation, to feel in control. To have a plan. Her words had been orchestrated to nudge him in that direction--and to gauge just how badly off he was. She's also phrased it so as to be clear that she would not mince words, would not dance around the topic--and neither should he. There was no point in being coy about what had happened to him--that would help no one.

But first, perhaps he had to understand the situation he was in. The hyena lay down, close beside Bones, looking up at the painting that he'd done. She was silent, for a beat, and then when she did begin to speak, her voice was gentle and slow.

"The pain will fade. The fear may not--I do not know. ...You were hurt. You can try and find meaning in that, or you can deal with it as best you can. One day you may heal and run again, and you could and should hope for that. But you may not, and you should be ready for that, too. One thing you should always remember is that you have family here that will watch out for you, and care for you. Kerberos--I never thought I'd see him befriend a smaller creature, but you managed that, Bones. He will watch out for you. You know--that brings to mind something else. Who you are isn't about running with Kerberos. It's about the little dog who managed to befriend him in the first place. You haven't lost that. Don't forget it."

She paused, thinking things over. She was hardly worldly, or experienced; she spoke with wisdom, and she spoke matter-of-factly, but truth be told she didn't have the knowledge of past traumas to let her say, "I've been there." So she didn't. Instead, she turned the topic in the direction that Bones seemed to find the most worry in.

"If you feel that you need to find something else to do, to prove yourself--then do it. Perhaps you can try to read the bones, as I do. There is always enough call for that, and it would be good to know that there is someone to take over for me, when I need to sleep or what have you. If you ever let me sleep," she added wryly; the pup had been nothing, before his accident, if not rambunctious.

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Roll the bones.

Bones was quiet a few moments later, allowing Giggle's words to digest for a while. He knew she was right - but what are friends if you can't do fun things with them like run and help them when they fall? He frowned somewhat, thoughtfully.

And then he abruptly got up, wide-eyed and tail wagging. He began limping towards Giggle's bonepile. "I'm the best at letting you sleep," he said absently as he hobbled away. As he approached the pile, he looked closely at the bones.

Carefully, he inspected a bone, before he picked it up carefully with his entire mouth, placing it down and looking over it fondly. Despite watching his mother read the bones many, many times Bones wasn't sure exactly how it worked. But he did like this one, particular femur bone.

He looked up, waiting for Giggle with huge eyes, tail practically beginning to helicopter so fast it might lift the wild dog into the air at a moment's notice. Briefly, he nuzzled the femur as if it were his best friend before he placed it back, getting up. He would be bouncing and barking if not for his legs, like a small puppy following his mother.

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Giggle sighed, melodramatically, for humor's sake. She gave the wild dog pup a nuzzle on the head before padding after him.

"I suppose you could be worse," she admitted wryly. "Though it isn't the bouncing about so much as the leaving-dead-rats-as-a-present thing. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the meals, but sometimes it's a surprising wake-up-call," Giggle laughed, raucously.

She lowered herself quietly to her haunches and sat watching Bones wag his tail at a femur. She tilted her head, peering, bemused.

"Do you like that one? You can keep it, if you want. They all may have a story to tell, but maybe you can pry that one's out on your own." The hyena sounded amused.

After a moment she looked back at the pile, her demeanor calm and indulgent. "You could try to see the patterns in them, or roll around and just see what happens--... Just avoid the mushroom spores," she added. The mushrooms were hallucinogenic, and Giggle figured it'd be, well, bad, if Bones were to suddenly embark on a mind-journey so close after such a traumatic event.

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Roll the bones.