ORIGIN - i don't get many things right the first time

The forest was quiet as he slipped through the shadows of the trees, sticking close to cover, stopping periodically to carve one of the tunnel's symbols into bark, like crumbs, to keep track of where exactly he'd been. The teacup tied around his waist was heavy with slowly cooling liquid, and it clinked softly as Booker trotted along, pausing only to scratch, scuttle, scratch, never slowing his pace.

The scribe's lame leg dragged along behind him, creating divots in the soft earth, but he paid it no mind - no, he had only one goal: to find the place he'd called home, before... everything had happened. When it was him, Baratheon and Diot, happy together, safe and secure.

Diot turned his thoughts to the dark pits in his mind, and Booker shook himself away from that disastrous train, focusing instead on finding their clearing. Delphine, Bones, Diot. The names plagued him, even with Khloros restored, a gift from the Mother, healthy and whole. And yet - three. Three. He'd have to find big stones, big enough to carve into with superheated claws. He'd designed them already, the markers, though his artistry wasn't the best.

Didn't matter, in the end. He'd be the only one to see them. A frustrated huff, and Booker shook off that thought as well, along with every other frenzied, heavy, guilty shadow that clouded his mind-space - including the heavy weight of the bond, angry and searing to the touch, glowing like a coal hot off the fire.

Finally, Booker blinked, trotting out of the shadows, wincing in the bright light, but grinning, triumphant. The clearing was most definitely the same, from the deep gouges in the earth, just beginning to grow back grass, to the half-formed burrow underneath the berry bush. Even Diot's once-used plant cocoon was there, slowly rotting and returning its energy to the earth.

The numbat circled the camp once, twice, marking every tree with a different symbol, trusting them, in some strange way, much like the Mother Herself. That task completed, Booker turned his attention to the burrow, stepping into its mouth, staring unseeingly down at the enormous slashes carved into the soft dirt, remembering the soft whoosh of air as a pink talon just narrowly avoided his shoulder.

Scratching at his cheek lazily, the scribe sat back on his haunches, sat his teacup just outside of the den, slowly moving the dirt, filling in the gaps. Repair. Heal. He could do those, had to, had to make up for his mistakes somehow, had to give back to the Mother and her earthly children as well as her Gembounds.

Minutes later, he stepped back, nodding, looking at the evened out entrance, a satisfied smile crossing his face. It was a good start to a home, one that he could stay in. Baratheon had talked about Orion, of flying freely, of living under the stars, but... well. Baratheon wasn't here. Eridanus suited Booker just fine, considering it held the All Mother, his Sisters, and, perhaps, Diot.

It would give him some peace, to find his son's gem.

Or, perhaps, by the grace of the Mother, his son.

Sighing the thought away, the numbat hunkered down and got to work, using three limbs to begin to hollow out the ground beneath the berry bush, its roots providing what would become the burrow's ceiling.

@Bones

Bones didn't know what he'd say when he got there, or if Booker would even be there.

He'd spent a long time limping through Canis, attempting to avoid his mother and his best three-headed friend. He left while the hellhound guarding tunnel K was asleep and snoring. He felt bad, of course, he loved Giggle and Kerberos, but the images of the tiny numbat with tears in his eye haunted his dreams nearly as much as the forest-of-watching-figures had.

He limped in absolute silence. Through tunnel K, which sent sharp strikes of white pain and fear down his aching spine. Through Orion, which he stopped to rest his shaking legs and stare at the ceiling until he fell asleep. Through tunnel I when he woke up, peering at the carvings along the walls and, finally, into the green of Eridanus. He was surprised to see, upon entering, that it was still a lush green forest where he used to like to nap and not a smoking battleground with corpses strewn along it.

He entered, cautiously. Sniffing the air with wide eyes and slowly but surely, the wild dog crept in. Many gembounds lingered here, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to identify the numbat's scent- if he were even here, that is. But, of course, it shouldn't be that hard to find him.

His stank was worse than his mothers.

The wild dog pressed his nose to the ground, eyes half-closed as he began to sniff. It didn't take long for him to pick up a smell, which at first he considered was ancient until he got closer to it. "B-BY THE BONES," he shrieked, recoiling and clamping a forepaw over his snout. That was a fresh scent, and it took the dog an incredibly long time to decide to follow it.

Slowly, Bones limped along the trail, until he came to what he considered a dead end, and sat down, defeated.

________________

@Booker

Up to his elbows in dirt, Booker sighed, sitting back and brushing off the soft earth. The burrow was just a bit bigger, despite his continued efforts, and the scribe found himself longing for the gigantic claws of his older brother, or perhaps the hooves of his younger. Anything but his tiny paws, which were truly only good for channeling the broiling flames for tea.

Hesitantly, he closed his eye, searching for the bond, reaching out to touch it - before flinching with a pained hiss. The connection was sending out spikes of hot rage, spiking pain through Booker's mind. Broken, poisoned, strained; whatever the bond was, it wasn't right. Wasn't good. The numbat shook his head, grimacing.

Should've let him go in Monoceros.

But Booker was much too selfish for that. Baratheon was his family, his big brother, the Gem who'd raised him - and when it came down to it, Booker needed him to an unhealthy degree. It hurt now, yes, like a pounding migraine, but it settled something inside of the scribe to know that the bond, however fragile, still existed.

Grumbling to himself, Booker took a break, padding out of the roughly shaped den, sitting just outside its entrance and taking a slow drink of bitter tea.

A nearby shout, muted by the forest but still loud enough to pierce the air, made him jump, gulping in haste and coughing as some of the liquid went down the wrong pipe. As the rattling cough, deepened by his exposure to botulism, slowed to a soft rasp, Booker's ears perked forward, waiting for any more sounds.

None came.

The scribe wavered, stuck. He could rush off towards what was most likely imminent danger, probably get hurt again... or he could sit here, and possibly doom someone else to the same fate. Squaring his shoulders, the numbat sat his tea back down and trotted off towards the sound, following his markers as much as possible.

Sticking to the shadows, it took Booker a few minutes to come close enough to the source to see it, and when he did, he froze stock-still, eye widening in shock at the visage of his friend. Bones. The dog's back had scarred over, leaving a barren, ravaged patch of scarred skin, and the tiny Gembound winced, trembling. He'd left his friend in the middle of these woods, hurt, incapacitated, totally defenseless.

If he were a stronger man, perhaps the scribe would have turned and fled, stayed away from his not-quite-so-deceased friend before he turned out truly dead.

Booker was not that man.

Khloros was alive, and he wasn't able to stay away from the foal for long. Bones was alive... he couldn't just leave, not now. Not when his friend sat there, looking lost. Slowly, the numbat crept out of the shadows, staring at the dog in wonder, a small smile twitching at his cheeks.

"Bones? 's it really you?"

@Bones

The smell filled his nostrils as Bones stared off sadly. If he wasn't here, he wasn't sure where Booker would be. Not in Polaris, surely - not in Cetus, either, he'd drown. The thought startled Bones a little. What if he had died? The dog craned his neck down to lick his legs with a faint whine.

The stank was getting worse. Gradually. As if it were getting closer, and then he heard a voice. The african wild dog's ears swivelled back before he twisted his head back, looking around, and then looking down. He jerked, practically spinning on the spot and thumping down onto his gut.

The first instinct the dog had was to grab Booker in what might seem like a predatory way at first, until he rather decliately settles the numbat on his front paws with a tongue lolled out, licking his head, his belly, his back, anywhere he can reach, with his tail thumping rapidly off the ground.

"I thought you were dead," he whimpered between licks. He didn't seem particularly bothered by the shrooms. "I thought everyone died."

________________

Booker stared up at Bones, grinning, only flinching back a little at the dog's sudden movements. Rolling to flop onto the his friend's paws, practically melting at the affection, the scribe giggled as he was rather enthusiastically groomed, eye bright with unadulterated happiness.

The grin faded as suddenly as it had appeared, and he simply stared at Bones, expression soft and worn, world-weary as he nuzzled his friend's snout, pushed into the grooming tongue, at once apologetic and grateful. "I thought the same m'self," he murmured, letting his eye slip shut as he just about tried to burrow into the welcoming embrace of the dog.

"Still ain't sure how Delphine is, but Mother, am I thankful you made it. I was so w-worried..." Booker's voice softened even further, almost whispering, ears pinning back in shame. "I'm sorry I left like that, Bones. Most sorry I've been 'bout anythin' in my life."

Nosing at his friend's paws, the scribe steeled himself, ready for anything - after all, he'd abandoned his friend, point blank. It wasn't exactly the kind of action that lended one admiration.

@Bones

The dog tilted his head. He knew Booker's tone; he was scared and upset. He must have not seen Delphine recently, who, as much as Bones could remember, was definitely doing better than he was with recovery. He stopped licking Booker, resting his head lightly on his back.

He wasn't sure what Booker was expecting; but he sure as hell wasn't about to leave or eat him. "The horse is doing fine," he spoke quietly, considering his maw was alarmingly close to the numbat's ear. "She barely even looks like she got hurt at all." His words, although almost mournful, were slick and genuine - that said, Bones didn't know the foal that well.

"You don't have to worry about me either, I got a mom and a brother," he nodded somewhat, lifting his head again to nudge Booker's side (apparently tolerating the stank filling his nostrils), before he looked around Eridanus. "What are you up to here, anyway?"

Bones hadn't been to Eridanus much in his life. As much as he had considered, it was boring - until the war that was attacking the dragon happened, that is. But even then what he assumed was nothing but a battleground suddenly became somewhere peaceful, bright and quiet. It was almost as if he had experienced the place for the first time again.

No one had died from that incident. And that made him happy.

Booker hummed as the grooming session ceased, the soft weight of his friend's chin grounding him, relaxing as Bones chose to stay - though the scribe was rather perplexed as to why. No use in questioning good luck. "'m glad. Didn't look so good, last time ah saw 'er," he added, wincing - not many looked good after almost being mauled to death.

He giggled at the nudge, turning a wide, curious eye to peer up at Bones with a smile. "I 'member talkin' 'bout your mom, ah think. Gee... Gig... Giggle? Don't think ya mentioned a brother back then, though," Booker mused, absolutely uncertain of exactly how accurate his memory was.

At the question, the tiny numbat's smile grew, and he looked away, peering out at the grand expanse of Eridanus. "Enjoyin' freedom, ah guess. 's nice. An' 'm workin' on a burrow, somewhere ah can call home, y'know? Ain't had that since Polaris burned," Booker mumbled, gaze growing distant at the memory.

"Plus, here sure beats Monoceros," he huffed out, chuckling, apparently oblivious of just how much context he was leaving out. "That place is always too cold or too drafty or both! Eridanus is just right, most days. An' ah got a lil den started up, all cozy like. Gonna make it real big, so my fam'ly can..."

Booker trailed off, humming absently, ears flicking back, avoiding Bones' gaze for the moment. "Well, ah s'pose Khlor can't really go underground but... I'll make 'im somethin' nice. Whatever a topside burrow is?"

Then, he grinned, turning his head to peer up at the dog, struck by an idea. "An' o' course ah'll make it big enough for you, yeah? You're as much my family as Khlor is," the scribe added, nodding to himself decisively as the plan for his burrow grew just a bit bigger.

He didn't mention Baratheon. Might not be prudent, considering present company. Nor did he mention who the tiny, barely dug tunnel to an even less formed room had been for, before his mind caught up to his hands, freezing him in place with a paw clamped to his own opal gem.

@Bones