ORIGIN

On one side of canis's walls, among the piles of bones long-ago arranged into fortresses, there was a large stone hidden. It had been growing, gradually--swelling with the size of the creature within--but its vibrant blue-green was near-hidden beneath the same coating of dust and dried mud that covered the bones themselves.

The stone was cracking--softly, quietly. Over hours this continued, this piece and then that slowly giving way, until abruptly the chrysalis itself simply gave. The bottom and the front both fell to pieces, the small brown ball of fur within falling limply the foot or so into the bones.

He woke to the sound of clattering, unsure what it was. He had not been conscious until this point--and now he was born into a strange world, lifting his head (and this took effort) to blink deep brown eyes around at what lay around him.

Bones... as far as the eye could see; all brown and grey and white. The faint fear of the newly-hatched gripped him, and he curled back on himself, emitting a single pleading cry.

He didn't know who he was, where he was, or what to do. He only knew that he was confused, and afraid.

The bear cub nudged a bone, which clattered away quietly. He moved to mouth it, to taste it, licking it curiously--and suddenly, drifting from the shadows and seeming to emerge from them, was a huge creature of a color not unlike the darker bones.

Sergei cried out in fear and tumbled back, racing a bit over the bones, near-missing what the mare said--but upon hearing her gentle voice he paused.

He still moved away, but-... backwards, and more slowly; and after a moment, he stopped. He certainly fled the kindly-offered muzzle by a long shot.

She seemed... well, he didn't know much about the world, but she didn't seem hostile, at least. She wasn't killing him, which was nice.

The bear cub watched the horse, watched the outstretched muzzle, and for a moment he mulled her words over in his mind. He had little idea what they actually meant, but the beginnings of what was almost a distant recollection, an inborn knowledge, began to kindle within him. In the manner of many young creatures, he began by mimicking.

"...Heeeeey," he offered. His voice was high-pitched, young, and filled with hesitation. He had no idea what the word meant, but he parroted it nonetheless, wavering as he stood there. He was half-tempted to approach, and half-convinced it would be a very bad idea, but he was far too curious to flee. And anyway, here was the first living being he'd seen--there was something achingly lonely about the idea of rushing off alone into the empty bone piles.

There seemed, too, to be nothing abnormal about him--he was very fluffy, his dark eyes bright with health.

The bear cub remained unhesitating in his dedication to hesitation. Every sense was turned toward the horse as he crouched there, trembling--his nose quivered, his brown eyes fixed dolefully on her. They were beady in his fluffy face. His rounded ears rotated, but returned to her again and again; his head slowly shifted around as if he'd find a better vantage point within his few inches of reach.

She looked--kind. And her smell was nice; where the bones were dry and lifeless, the horse held a warm and friendly odor. He couldn't quite describe why it was friendly, but it was. And as for hearing, well--her voice was warm and gentle.

Slowly, Sergei took a few stumbling steps forward, repeating Maeve's last word. "Hungry," he squeaked quietly. The word rang some kind of bell in his mind, and suddenly he realized that yes, he was hungry. His stomach growled audibly, and a haze of some as-yet-unknown instinct plowed through his mind.

Excited and energized, his slow and stumbling shamble turned into a slow and stumbling gallop. He raced toward the horse, possibly bouncing right off her, before bouncing around excitedly. Each time his four paws landed in the clattering bones, a single beeped word escaped him: "Hungry! HUNGRY! HUNGRY hungry hungry hungry!"

Sergei watched as the horse began to slowly trot off, and quickly--and with a quiet grunt of protest--he followed. When she paused, he nearly collided with her hocks, and then scrambled back, wondering what had stopped them--was it dangerous? But no--she was... What was she doing?

The young cub watched, intently. The horse was stalking the water--he wasn't even sure what water was, let alone what might be in it! Cautiously he turned, mimicking her, taking up his own position a few yards distant at the shoreline. He studiously peered into the water, stealing glances up at Maeve to copy her technique; when she waded a few paces in, the bear dutifully did so as well. He saw a dark shape just beneath the surface--a shadow, slipping past--and quickly pulled back with an alarmed expression. And then he saw his own reflection just below--and found himself fascinated by that, instead, peering worriedly at the furry brown face that apparently peered at him from underwater. After a moment he plunged his head under the surface and peered--but no, it was just him. He pulled out again, dripping, the ripples disrupting this image of himself as he tried to more closely examine it.

Then, suddenly, there was a fish.

Maeve was speaking, and the bear cub realized she was tossing a big, flipping thing about on shore. Instinct again flickered up in Sergei, and the bear cub trundled rapidly back onto dry land--but the thing was scary. It was violent and desperate, and the cub hesitated for a moment.

"Try that on for size, yeah?" Maeve was saying.

Sergei understood the meaning, at least, and with a worried glance up at the gentle horse, he realized he had to try and kill the thing. Not that he understood, yet, anything so complex as life and death.

He waddled forward, again hesitating, and then charged clumsily in.

The fish flopped. Its tail slapped Sergei in the face, and he recoiled.

He lunged in with tiny jaws open, a spark of fighting spirit flaring up. Predatory urge guided him, damping his fear with enthusiasm, as the fish flopped about, and his little clawed paws tore at it.

Shining scales glinted as it arced, trying one last time to escape, and then the bear was battering it, leaping on it and ripping at it. After a moment, it finally went still, and with a grunt Sergei began to tear flesh from bone. The taste was delicious, and the bear cub began to make satisfied sounds as he ate.

Completely absorbed, for a time, he almost forgot Maeve; when he remembered her he glanced sharply around and then up, eyeing her earnestly as he chewed. He swallowed, and then stared.

He'd have liked to have said "thank you," perhaps, or to ask who she was, but his words had not fully formed just yet. Instead, he thought about things, about just what he could say.

"Sergei," he decided on at last, and with a cheerful shake of his ruff, went back to eating.

As the mare spoke, Sergei stripped the last few bits of fish clumsily from its bones. He ate with relish, but one ear was toward Maeve, as hers had been toward him, and he glanced at her relatively attentively between swallows. Finally he finished, and looked around. The food was in his belly, there to help him grow; likewise the words she fed him now lay in his head, to nourish his mind.

For a time, he considered what she had said. He wasn't sure what it all meant, but he was pretty confident that he had a handle on "fish," which was important, and "Maeve"--was that her?

"Maeve," he tried out, his new-hatched pronunciation skewing the name a little. He began to toddle over, sniffing up to the small horse, his fear of her forgotten.

"Fish," he tried, and then, with earnesty--"Yes fish, nice." He then trundled over to try and touch his nose to hers, sniffing in a more animalistic sort of greeting, though it was certainly heartfelt enough. He was content--fed, and warm. That being said, he did now stink of fish.

His behavior also didn't helpfully tell her more of what his needs might be, but perhaps he was simply, for now, fulfilled.