ORIGIN

Easily determined by her master's praise and encouragement, the Avian hopped up the stairs dutifully, flapping her wings with sheer excitement. Oh, she could barely contain herself as her goal came into view. Diánysma continued to clamber up the stairs.

With a great heave of effort, the bird reached the peak of the tower, the hollow room of the great crystal encrusted in shimmering white stones. Until she had reached the top, there was dim lighting. As Diánysma scampered into the room, lights were all around. Floating specks of dust drifted all around as she gazed around, dancing in the light of many bulbs outside. Propped up in one of the windows was a strangely crafted object, a tripod of sorts? She was not sure what is was. She desired to investigate it and its purpose, but it was far too large for such a small raven to carry. Perhaps when she was older.

Absently, her stone glowed for just a brief second, before fizzling out. She was more focused on the exploration of this room. Carefully, she stepped, watching each and every dust bunny shift around. Cobwebs were absolutely everywhere, hanging and shifting whilst a draft blew through. Amongst the age-old dust, there seemed to be more solid things. She tore a claw into one, and pulled back.

Beneath the thick layer of cobwebs and the massive plume of dust that she stirred right up into her face, quite a collection of objects were revealed. Painted containers of all kind, clay and mica varieties. They perhaps may have been vibrantly colored, but now, they were reduced to a dull grey or terra cotta hue. Most were intact with some few cracks and scrapes. Those that were not intact had either crumbled to dust or were smashed into shards that were scattered all about.

Vases, that's what they were. There were some that were perfectly Diánysma-sized, just small enough to be held in her juvenile talons and large enough to keep some of her leaf-writing scriptures within. Eagerly, she stepped into them and held them with her feet. She was now standing on clay pot stilts, sort of. They went up to her knees.

Eager to take her prizes home, but not so eager to climb back down and up the stairs again, she did the next best thing, right?

No.

She got to the window, she dropped and glided for a little, but apparently clay pot boots are quite heavy, and she did not account for that. Diánysma cawed in distress, flailing her wings as she fell.

Diánysma forced herself to calm down, and she managed to steady herself long enough to glide a small distance and lightly land on the earth. Sighing in relief, the bird took off her fashionable clay pot boots and began to push them across the floor towards her little... shack??? Home? Something along those lines.

Like a penumbra, her stone shimmered and glowed, hoping to lend her strength as she toiled away on the pots. Her nest was only about twenty feet away. No biggie. Diánysma had one thing, though. DETERMINATION.