ORIGIN

"Speech"

Near the heart of Polaris, where the lights were at their brightest, a new life was beginning to stir. Quietly, quietly; if one was to creep around the dark stone, the light would dance upon its surface in tones of deep midnight and dusky yellow, crisscrossed by darker strikes like rainfall. If they found just the right angle, they might be rewarded by a dull purple gleam.

Had it been silent, one might have heard a quiet creak. Then another. But it was impossible to see through the opaque stone to catch a glimpse of what might lie inside.

But it was mere seconds separating the newcomer from the outside world.

A deep, more audible groan emerged from the stone and cracks crawled over its surface. Another moment of hesitation and the stone simply seemed to burst, shards falling into a haphazard pile of dusky tones and pale nightfall. And in its centre, a tiny and shivering lump.

A pair of brown eyes opened, and a tiny muzzle pushed upwards. The world was a blurred mass of colours and shapes. Sharp stones pushed into the sides of the little, floppy black mass, an unpleasant sensation. His ears, having spent so long pressed to his skull, flopped in his face, and a small paw reached up to bat them away.

The light of the world around was finally coming into focus. So strange. So new.

The youngster was overwhelmed and almost afraid, and huddled down into the unpleasant pile of sharp stones he'd emerged from.

The sound of voices was quick to alert the cow to the presence of others - he was no longer alone. For the most part, he had been trying to avoid Hasira after having heard of his critical beat down back in Orion. Rumor had it that a bunch of carnivores had had enough of his tyranny - his kidnapping of young children and beating them to near death - and had come to give them a piece of their mind. Err, hooves. Err, paws. Whatever. The ones that followed him had come to his aid, pulling him from the fray and fending off the carnivores, in the process earning a few new battle scars. When he heard of what happened, Caravaggio had thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't been around when it happened - he'd been hiding in Polaris, which was a good safe distance away from all the danger, and too much of a distance for somebody that had supposedly pledged himself to Hasira. In a way, he felt guilty about it. He'd wandered back to Orion to assess the damage, but hadn't found much. He feared encountering the group of herbivores again because he knew Hasira would berate him for failing to be there to defend his honor.

But really, would Caravaggio have done it if he was there?

The truth was that the cow shuddered at the thought of violence. Had he been around, he would have fled. He would have left Hasira to die. He felt guilty about it, but it was a strange, sort of forced feeling of guilt, not entirely sincere. That was what pushed him away from the herbivores, keeping him in the safety of Polaris, where his pretty friend White lived, and where the ranchers lived, and where he could find lovely stones and treasures and work on his excellent physique all day with nobody to boss him around and tell him to fight. It was nice. But that guilt still nagged at him. It was an obligation that he neglected.

He listened to the two Gembounds converse; it started with the cracking of a chrysalis, and Caravaggio refrained from investigating because he remembered his encounter with Creedence. She coughed and barfed and sneezed on him, and then the hyena chided him for looming over them like some kind of monster, even though he'd only been trying to watch them because he was curious. But the more he listened, the further he was assured that this baby wasn't going to make the same mess. The other Gembound sounded birdish, and as Caravaggio edged towards the two, he noted that she was a bird. White's mom is a bird. Isn't she? A Queen or something, right? Because White is a Princess. Caravaggio furrowed his brow. He'd never really met a bird before. Nearby was a small, silver canine, wailing as he tried to step and slid forward instead. The cow cocked a brow, lashing his long, tufted tail.

A few clacking steps brought him closer to the pair, though he kept a safe distance - approximately the distance that would render him safely out of reach of any bodily fluid - and pointed his fat nose towards them. "Hey. What are you doing? You're being awfully loud." The cow frowned, though the volume of their discussion really had no bearing on him. Moreover he was just bored and he wanted to be included.

The cow had barely noticed the crow fly off, most of his attention now on the young silver fox who had come to notice him and was now chattering away about coming out of his chrysalis. Caravaggio furrowed his brow slightly, following his gesture towards the multicoloured chrysalis gleaming in the light. The cow had to tilt his head, his large ears twisting and rotating before finally flattening against his skull, and then he looked back at the fox. Oh... He looked back at the chrysalis. That would make a really pretty gift to give to White, wouldn't it... At least... just a piece of it. He blinked, but his attention had flickered back to the chatty fox, not allowing enough time for Caravaggio to plan his great heist.

Despite his warning that the little vulpine was being too loud, the creature insisted on being even louder, appearing to find some amusement in raising his voice and obviously drawing attention to himself. Then again, the boy must have just hatched, it was understandable he would draw entertainment from testing out the limitations of his new body. Hmmm. He began to babble about being an Eve, and while Caravaggio struggled to understand what an Eve was and try to come up with an adequate response (probably somewhere along the lines of him not being an Eve, whatever that was), they were interrupted by the crow's sudden return. She tossed a fat rat down at the fox, startling Caravaggio into jumping back and staring cow-eyed at the deceased mammal, before gawking at the bird who asked if he was alright.

What was that supposed to mean?! Why was she asking that? Did he look sick? Maybe she noticed him staring at the rat. What if she tried to feed him? No, he didn't want to eat one of those! It looked gross! It smelled bad! He almost gagged thinking about it! "I-I'm fine!" Caravaggio managed, swallowing down the shudder that threatened to run down his spine. "Are you the Eve he was talking about?" Then he looked at the fox. "I'm not an Eve. I'm Caravaggio. That's different from an Eve." He explained. At least, he thought so. To be quite honest, Caravaggio was kind of dumb.

"Speech" @Eve @Caravaggio

Oh, that was where she'd gone!

Suddenly the crow was back, and she dropped something at his paws. something that was almost half his size. Furry like he was, but it didn't move around. Just lay there. But it had a face and closed eyes and little legs. The cub wasn't sure what he was meant to do with it. "Hello, what are you?" he asked more quietly, curiously. reaching out a paw, the little one prodded the rat in its side, but it didn't move.

He noticed the cow jumping back which, for some, might have been rather terrifying; because Todd was so small, he could have been crushed easily by those landing hooves. But in his innocence, the youngster had no concept of fear.

His stomach was gaining that weird and unpleasant feeling again though. It didn't take too long before he started sniffing and eventually nibbling. Taste, an entirely new sense to him, almost flooded him. He froze for a few moments before taking another bite, froze again, bit again. His ears twitched, slightly aware of the conversations happening between the older creatures but seemed to be choosing not to reply. He was busy indulging in his newfound senses.

the sensation started getting old after a while and feeling funny in his stomach in a different way, and it was by this point the pup sat back on his haunches.

"If I'm not an Eve, what am I? Who am I?" he asked loudly, his voice a little demanding. But he didn't know any better.

The cow then introduced themselves as Caravaggio. Strange. "C-Cara... Caravaa... Caravaggio?" He looked up at them expectantly to see if he'd gotten it right.