ORIGIN - spinning in daffodils

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Once travelling with his new companion, the bird mostly forgot his sorrows over having lost his fox friend. He didn’t mean to forget about her, it was just that having a new friend was so exciting! And he was very, very interested in this beautiful, pale, gangly thing. The avian gembound seemed boundlessly energetic throughout their walk, darting all around the other animal, looking it up and down with big, curious, yellow eyes. He followed it with a growing, doglike adoration.

After a while, the bird’s attention was wrenched from the other creature by a sudden awareness and familiarity. His beak cracked open and he inhaled deeply, slowing his somewhat awkward two-legged trot. Green had started to seep into the tunnels, and there was a smell that brought him back to the first time – the time of his first birth. His piercing eyes widened for a moment, and then he was sure. He leapt up, fluttering his useless wings again. ”Here here!” he cried. Excitement flared up again. He skipped left and right. He ran forward some, hoping that the other animal would share his excitement and charge towards the lush greenery with him. He wasn't quite conscious of it, but the air around him gathered and swept forward with him, boosting his stride [pickup].

@Pride

The white fawn followed along, dutifully digilant and half-lost in his own thoughts. He was enjoying the scent of Eridanus, the taste of the juicy leaves he'd snatched along the path. However, the last time he'd come here, he'd lost track of his slight-younger companion--so he was cautious not to do so again. Pale grey eyes continuously tracked back to Raharjo, keeping note of his location as the chick bounded all around him.

He tried to reopen the link between their minds, but instead of the soft and bubbling personality of the chick, what he got was a horrific screech, a hellish feedback that ripped briefly through his mind and sent him flinching and stumbling back with a tangle of white limbs and tree roots, landing him firmly on his rump.

He blinked a few times, and his thoughts, he noted, were for him alone; the magic had not only failed, then, but backfired rather painfully. Well-... that's never happened before.

Pride shook himself as he stood, glancing to Raharjo.

"I am all right," he reassured him preemptively--and then, to keep him from getting possibly upset, he spoke further. "Was that--magic that you just did?" he asked curiously, though he was unsure if the youth even knew the words of his sentence.

@Raharjo

Shrieeek, sorry this took so long! Had a really busy couple of days hit me all of a sudden.

There was a clatter behind him, and the bird came screeching to a halt. He turned quickly and stared back at the other animal with wide eyes. He’d fallen down! What had happened?! He raced over, his head bobbing this way and that to try and look the other over for injury. Had he tripped?

The other spoke aloud, assuring the bird that he was alright. The avian gembound cocked his head very far to the side, as if expressing intense skepticism. But he couldn’t dwell on it much; the other animal asked him about something – magic. ”Mmmm… Magic,” he said back, not entirely sure what it meant. He thought back to just a moment ago, going fast. Something had felt special about that. And even earlier, many times before, he had also done something that felt peculiar, special. It happened whenever he repeated something the right way, the perfect way. With the fox, and when he had first met this animal. He didn’t like talking too much; it was… hard, and strange, and his grasp on words was really no more than that of a newborn gembound.

He stood and seemed to think for a minute. Well, why not give it a go now? He reached back, reached for those sounds he had heard from Pride just a minute before. It was difficult, as it often was, but he could just grasp those faint strands, those faint echoes of what he had heard before. And there it was. "Was that–magic that you just did?" in a voice that was somewhat warped, but notably enough a reflection of Pride's. Upon his struggled for success, the bird let out a croon of pleasure, and clacked his beak together a few times. Then, with his chest puffing, he looked towards Pride, hoping for some kind of approval.

@Pride

Pride blinked a few times as he settled himself back on his feet, peering curiously at the chick. Raharjo had imitated him--not perfectly, no, but near enough. Had that been magic, or merely--mimicry?

"That is-... impressive. Was that--magic? or was it... Imitation?" he asked. He was unsure, even, if the youth would know the difference. Pride would have grimaced, were his face quite capable of it, as he realized his next thought: despite the pain it had put him through, he had to again try to connect with Raharjo's mind.

He attempted it tentatively, reaching his mind for the chick's, doing his best to contact him in a gentle fashion and without harshness or surprise. His words came twinned with thoughts: he repeated himself, but this time, directly into Raharjo's mind--and the idea and concept of magic, the idea of merely imitating a sound, and then a questioning blankness came along with his words.

Was that magic--or imitation of sound? Hopefully, it would also help to teach the little fellow the meanings of some of the words. Learning language had been a struggle without the link, which had--for Pride at least--made things so, so much easier.

@Raharjo

The bird’s tail wiggled and he cooed softly as Pride spoke. “Impressive.” That word sounded good – his tone sounded good. The smaller creature was pleased. The other words though, the important parts of his question, the bird didn’t understand much. He tilted his chin upwards, and looked right strained as he tried to think about them and assess them. But soon the messages came again in his head, gentle and welcomed. Much better! The chick returned his idea of that special feeling; it had been a repetition of what he had heard, but there was something special about it, something like this idea of “magic” that Pride had sent him. It must’ve been “magic,” he would conclude.

He had been excited about finding worms to eat, but this magic thing had sowed a new curiosity in him, and distracted him from the thought of food. He hopped closer to the other animal, twisting his head to the side. ”You magic?” he peeped. The bird had only Pride talking in his own voice, but maybe he could do the same thing? Maybe he just didn’t know! Or maybe he wasn’t good at it (not that the bird thought himself especially good – it was more of a necessity for him). He stopped abruptly and stretched his neck up, staring with wide, expectant eyes. He wanted to see something cool!

@Pride

Pride blinked down, and nodded his head slightly. He understood that the bird was confirming, as best he could, that his sudden rush had indeed been magic--and was now asking, in turn, to see Pride's own.

"Yes. This speaking--this is magic," he explained softly. "I can do other things. Hmm." He looked around, trying to think of what else he could do. What could he show the little bird? What might it like to see..?

Careful, he turned and paced his way to a mossy rock that reached to perhaps his knee. He stood aside so that Raharjo could see it, feeling the mental link dissipate as he focused on this new magic. He looked to the rock again, concentrating, gathering his magicka and feeling it well up within--then looked to Raharjo.

The moment he broke eye contact he felt the magic falter, before the stone ever budged; he glanced back to it, and snorted gently at his own failure. "Sometimes, it doesn't work. No one I've spoken to really knows why," he confessed. "Should I try again? Err--my magic? Or--find food?"

He looked back to the hatchling, indifferently patient either way.

@Raharjo

Pride’s gentle voice confirmed that what he had been doing was magic too, and it made the little bird feel a lovely sense of belonging. They both had magic! He shook his awkward body atop his long legs with excitement and cheeped again with pleasure. At a glance, his partly open beak could almost be a grin. He cocked his head and stared expectantly and with ravenous curiosity at the other animal as it proclaimed that it could do other things too. The bird blinked and stared around. Had he missed it?

Pride said that sometimes it didn’t work – as it apparently hadn’t now. The bird uttered a quiet, disappointed “peep,” and then straightened himself. He perked up more at the mention of food, and hopped. ”Food food!” he squeaked excitedly at Pride before turning to begin rustling about in the surrounding foliage. ”Worms!” he exclaimed, vaguely for the purpose of explaining his quest. Everyone loved worms, right? He would find Pride some, just like the fox had done for him! He dove into a patch of undergrowth, and scratched around in the dirt near its roots. Moist dirt, worms. No one had ever told him this, but it felt right. And maybe he a little bit remembered his fox friend doing it.

The earth was plentiful, and he clacked his beak together with excitement as his churning of the ground revealed a few plump grubs. His mouth watered and tempted him to snap them up right away. But he stopped himself, utilizing every ounce of his restraint to gather three delicately and run off to find Pride. ”Worms!” he announced proudly, dropping them on the ground in offering.

@Pride

Pride blinked.

He'd seen others eat meat--he'd even helped hunt rats for an injured dog who was a friend of his--but... worms? This was new.

"Oh, err--thank you, but I eat... leaves. Everyone eats something different, it seems," he added with mild humor. He leaned down, snatching up a soft swatch of leaves to demonstrate, chewing and quietly enjoying them while pale eyes regarded Raharjo calmly.

"Sometimes, grass. Others eat... rats and mice, or birds. Or fish. It seems you eat--worms."

Pride wasn't sure what else to do with the little one. If it wanted to just--follow him around, that would be fine, he supposed; he could hardly just leave it here, naive to the wandering predators.

"If you like, I can show you where I rest. You can sleep where I rest, and I will protect you... if we are attacked. As best I can. But... If you wander alone--there are dangerous things." He paused, realizing how important this lesson was, and quietly drew upon his magicka to try to link to Raharjo mind-to-mind. It came swiftly, and crystal-clear this time, and he focused for a beat.

Be careful, when alone, he spoke slowly, into the bird's mind--and along with the words came the idea of caution, of wandering alone but looking, listening. He sent, too, brief images of hunting creatures in the dark--hopefully enough to instill caution, but nothing horrifically nightmarish enough to truly frighten the bird.

He hoped.

Then, too, the image of where he slept, here in Eridanus, and how to get there; the idea of safety, and Pride himself lingering there.

You can hide with me there whenever you want. What do you want to do now?

He wasn't sure if there was anything else the little one wanted, or wanted to ask, or do. Or perhaps Raharjo just wanted to go with him; that was all right, too, he supposed.

@Raharjo

The bird stood frozen in place for a moment, with his amber eyes stretching widely as if he took in all his senses from just there. He briefly looked confused as Pride declined his offering. He blinked, looked at the writhing (delectable) worms, then looked back at Pride. Leaves. ”Luuuh—eaves,” he practiced as the other animal took a bite out of the scenery. The bird stretched his neck, his eyes still in the same stretched position as before, but this time, somehow reflecting a strong sense of incredulousness. Huh! He had never thought of eating that! While glancing towards Pride as he talked—to make sure that the white creature knew he was still listening to him—the bird skipped over to a bush and plucked savagely at some of the leaves. They were a little difficult to grip with his beak, and he ended up just ripping some shreds off. He turned toward Pride with his beak full of green and the corners of his mouth almost seeming to smile.

He ground at the vegetation with his jaws, and suddenly all the pleasure disappeared from his face. ”Blyack!” he made a disgusted, gritty sound as he spat it out with urgency. Gross! He stared at the wad on the ground with open-mouthed revulsion, and then at Pride. He liked that stuff? Well, more for him then! The bird shook himself briefly, as if experiencing a chill of horror, and then hopped back to where the worms were trying to escape. ”Worms,” he agreed with Pride’s assessment of his diet, and plucked them off the ground.

Pride started talking about something else, and the bird swallowed and paid attention. Rest. Sleep. Attacked. Dangerous. The bird’s forehead furrowed and he frowned a little. He was having trouble understanding, and he felt a bit bad about it; this new friend was being so nice spending time with him and no doubt trying to convey something important or fun, but he couldn’t quite grasp it! It felt rude. Before the young gembound could be further troubled by his shortcomings, he sensed the magic that he had earlier with Pride. But this time it was stronger than ever, more marvelous than ever. If the unknown was the greatest terror in the world, than total understanding was a vast and indescribable comfort—a peace that rivalled that of an infant’s with its mother. He felt secure, his thoughts freely exchanged with Pride’s. The ease and wholesomeness of communication was beautiful. He wished the deer could do it all the time.

The idea of danger came into his mind and filled the corners of his brain with prowling creatures. And in their faded shadows a realization grew, gifting him not with terror and anxiety but with understanding and appreciation. Then came an image of Pride’s dwelling, tinged with feelings of safety and the idea of sleep. Excitement surged in the avian gembound. What an excellent place! And he was invited! He bounced a little where he stood, filled with the most innocent sort of joy. Pride sent him a question, and he beamed at the deer, his head filling with distorted reflections of Pride’s safe haven, and with images and thoughts of Pride. ”Stay... Pide!” while speaking wasn’t quite necessary, he was so excited that the struggling sounds sort of came up on their own (and left behind the “r” in Pride’s name). A sense of loyalty emanated from his mind, as did an idea of himself accompanying the deer for a period with no projected end. The bird did not know of companionship, but in that moment he craved it with all his little heart.

@Pride

"Leaves," Pride agreed at first, quietly. He idly plucked and chewed a mouthful of grass even as Raharjo spat out his own leaves with a disgusted sound, and Pride himself found himself faintly amused by this.

After a few moments, his little tail flicking contentedly at the taste of fresh food, he swallowed and spoke.

"All right, then. You can follow me, if you want; or do... whatever you wish." The link maintained, strongly, so that he sent the meaning of what he meant, as well--as slowly and as clearly as he could. He hoped that it would help the chick to learn to speak, too, as it had helped him.

"For now I will lie down, but if you want to speak or... practice your magic, or find--more worms, I will be awake for a time," he offered.

With that he nosed around, finding a soft spot within the ferns--a bed of moss and soft leaves. He nudged the undergrowth aside, folding up spindly legs to lower himself down, and there he curled up to rest.

@Raharjo

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