ORIGIN

Claustrophobia tightened its grip around the creature, murky blackness extending within all areas of the enclosure. Comprehension did not yet hold a significant role in the creature's conscience, therefore the specimen acted on pure instinct. Wiggling its small body, the creature pushed against the suffocating walls of the prison. Nothing. The little critter attempted to up its forcefulness, shoving itself into the chamber's bulwarks.

Foliage sprouted in copious amounts around the area, selfishly claiming large portions of the land. The most prominent, in this division, at least, were differentiated species of ferns. A relatively deep fissure within the earth cut across the room, setting itself apart from other territories. A particularly thick growth of horsetail ferns clustered along the right side of the trench. Within these perennial shoots of greenery laid a stone commonly known as Serpentine, reflecting a moss-green pigment. Grass and juvenile ferns jutted out from under it, as if it had been there for quite a long spell.

A tapping noise seemed to come from within the stone.

The shift in decibels only seemed to increase in volume as time passed, the formation twitching periodically. The sounds of the inhabitant's struggle, to what could only be assumed the intention of breaking free, ranged from the first tapping, scratching, and even full blown weight being thrown against the stone's insides. Eventually, thin cracks ingrained themselves along the sides, a few chips giving in to the attack. Soon, a shard of the gem was fractured, and left its original vessel. A teeny, paw-like appendage coated in some sort of fluid slipped out of the new opening, flailing and clawing at the ground. Two, three more shards detached themselves from the egg-like stone, a slick, wet tail slithering out, along with another paw-like limb following suit. As the ore began to fall apart, the creature residing within threw itself against the cavity one last time.

Crack.

A slimy lump of fur lay in the middle of the mess of gem shells, curling its body into the fetal position, its senses flooding with the unfamiliar happenings of the cavern. Shivering, the minuscule body clumsily lifted itself, wobbling from side to side, its young body unable to stand properly. Eyes shut, the tiny beast shoved his nose in the air, confused and dazed. Its fur had begun to dry gradually, and displayed a fuzzy, juvenile appearance. A small, tilde-shaped object was exhibited upon the base of the creature's tail, matching the color scheme of the gem it hatched from. An infant cry left its jaws.

His life had officially begun.

Sylvestre squeaked.

It was so sudden; an elongated, warm, wet appendage coming in contact with his body. It was somewhat rough, but tranquilizing all the same, and soon the fear subsided a bit from the little marten. Bringing his front paws up, he attempted to prod at the entity above him. It was awfully peculiar, but the newborn's mind took it as something that was simplistically supposed to happen, the presence of the unidentified being. He wriggled his body over, exposing his stomach, and expanding his jaws in a wide yawn.

Another surprising factor was the ever so slightly present coherence within his conscience, as if memory was gradually trickling into his psyche. Basic words fumbled about within, sparking tension, curiosity, and even fear in regards to his current situation. He could pick out a few. He was 'tired.' He was 'hungry.' They made sense, but did not at the same time, as if he was thinking with instinct and not actually worded thoughts. But the weasel was able to match a word with a feeling, like, as stated prior, the urge to sleep and the urge to feed. Slowly, he felt his mind become more connected with his body, the initiate confusion lowering a bit.

His heart leaped marginally as an unfamiliar noise prodded at his eardrums. It sounded.. he could not describe it. Some of the words used his mind registered, but he did not know speech even existed. It was truly a lovely experience, hearing such a tone. One word in particular, 'Hello,' caught his attention. Struggling a bit, he opened his mouth, trying his best to utter a noise. The result was a gargled chirp, like a dry-drowning bat. But it was something; his first greeting. Excitement bubbled forth in his chest, tail wiggling cheerfully.

Another intriguing sound filled his ears; laughter. Opening his maw, he attempted to reciprocate the noise. Similar to his failed attempt at a proper greeting, it came out has a gurgled mess of squeaks. But that was alright, at least he tried. Something caught his attention, though.

Spiritual one.

Though it did not make much sense, per say, Sylvestre felt it was relevant. The voice in question put him at ease, even if he did not understand what wonders were. It felt like warm honey had rushed over his teeny frame, and his mind registered that these two creatures were not to be feared at all. He did not know what to call it, but he saw them as maternal figures.

Difficult times.

Afraid.

Path of Brilliance.

Garden of the All Mother.

Dovefeather.

Sylvestre's ears twitched back and forth in sync, curious and puzzled as to what the alien phrases meant. He took a few notes: One of the entities was called Dovefeather, and the name 'All Mother' sounded imperative. This was all he could muster to ponder. Everything was still so odd, what with him still being trapped in darkness, but there was something. He could see the blackness, could he not? He must have something to be viewing it.

And just like that, two black, beady little optics opened up.

@Dovefeather

At first, the little marten's newly discovered vision was quite disorientating. What with the large creatures before him, he was considerably frightened. But, as he backed up ever so slightly, he realized that these two entities were the beings who were speaking. From what he heard, the other creature was called Blackfeather. But, in all honesty, he did not care. What he cared about was the emptiness he felt in his stomach. The young weasel dug his miniature claws into the soft soil under him, clenching his paws in discomfort.

He pondered, for a bit, tuning out the conversation between Blackfeather and Dovefeather. He was 'hungry,' he realized, the word he had matched to a similar feeling prior to this moment. It was more prominent now, the aching within his belly, and he knew he had to do something about it. Since he had no knowledge of what 'food' was, though the word graced his conscience, he tried to alert the two she-cats of his predicament.

It was quite a comical site. The teeny brunette critter, wobbling clumsily forward, at risk of falling any second. He did a few times, tumbling over on his side, only to lift himself upward and try again. Eventually he made it to Dovefeather's leg, and propped himself against it. He pressed his nose to it, kneading her appendage with his small paws.

@Blackfeather @Dovefeather