ORIGIN

Trigger warning: contemplation of death

This seemed to be becoming a cycle.

When he had been young - well, younger, he was not one of the oldest in the caves, life had been easy. Sure, he had gotten dizzy sometimes. Sometimes he hurt.

But as he had grown, as his gem had grown, life had grown harder. Sometimes he had fits. He would wake up aching, vomit by his mouth.

And now he slept more than he was awake. He would be walking, or drinking, or hunting, or eating, and then he would get dizzy, and then the next thing he knew, he was lying in the shards of his chrysalis once again.

Slowly, carefully, he stood.

Despite however long he had slept - it must have been long, he could tell. He had grown good at telling time while he slept.

He took stock of himself. There was a dull pounding in his head, concentrated around his gemstone. He was lucky, he knew. There were Gembounds whose gems killed them. His had stopped growing a long time ago.

Sometimes he wondered if he was truly lucky. Was a life of pain and suffering truly living?

As he stood, he groaned. His joints popped, sliding back into place, tendons and muscles stretching back into motion after cycles of inactivity.

Hesitantly, slowly, he stretched. Cat-like, his back was arched downward, spinal column popping, hips clicking. His legs were stretched, toes spreading.

A deep breath as he got used to breathing air again, taking in the crispness that was the air of Polaris. He had never left Polaris - had never been able to. Every time he had tried, he had had a fit, and found himself back in his Chrysalis. And, oh, he wanted to explore the rest of the caves, really, he did.

But he feared. What if it was Polaris that returned him to his Chrysalis? What if he never woke up?

His mouth was dry, and he licked his lips.

He knew from experience that it would take time - from hours to well over a day, for him to grow hungry. The dog didn't know how bodies work, but he had always assumed that it took time for his body to restart after so much time in his Chrysalis.

Looking around, he was relieved to see a puddle of water not far from him. The walk to the water was slow, his shoulders hunched and head low, each step stiff and painful. His joints clicked, and his paws ached. The dog's ears drooped, and his tail hung between his legs.

But, finally, he made it to the water.

He lowered his head to drink, and stopped.

And, oh, he looked like a much older dog. Grey had darkened his golden muzzle, and his eyes were hazy. His ears drooped, and he looked exhausted. If he didn't know better, he would say he was an ancient dog, one around since the formation of teh caves, grizzled and tired and ready to rest forever. Pain furrowed his brow, and exhaustion slackened his features.

But no, he was young. He knew that much - he didn't know exactly how many cycles he had lived through, but they were not that many. Not nearly enough for him to appear so tired.

The korean jindo gave a weary sigh, and lowered his head, lapping at the water. He fought the urge to gag, his throat revolting at the sudden chill after so long without anything touching it, but struggled through it, swallowing down small amounts until his mouth was no longer dry.

Stepping back, he whined as his stomach began to churn. And, oh, he lowered his head, closing his eyes as he fought the urge to vomit. He didn't have the energy to vomit, and didn't want to lose what water he had managed to drink. So he stood, stock still, trying to keep his drink down.

Finally, his stomach settled enough that he felt comfortable enough to raise his head. Nausea was familiar to him, and so he knew what he needed to soothe it.

Tilting his head, he sniffed the air, searching for that familiar, somewhat biting, scent. And he found it, and began to follow the scent.

The ginger he found wasn't big, and it was somewhat off colored. But it was ginger, and that was enough for him. So he lowered his head, took it into his mouth, and began to chew. Its taste was disgusting, but he had grown used to it a long time ago.

The ginger crunched beneath his teeth, and the dog forced it down. He had never been much liked the taste, but it worked fairly quickly, so he swallowed it, before filling his mouth with grass, and tearing that with his teeth to get rid of the taste.

With a groan, he sat, hips popping, and waited for the ginger to work, stomach churning. What kind of life was this? How long until he collapsed again, only to wake up in the shards of his chrysalis again?

Or, maybe, he wouldn't wake up? Would that be such a bad thing? To no longer have to lead a life of suffering?

Closing his eyes, the dog sighed, allowing himself to relax. His stomach was easing, and a lick of his lips cleared away the excess drool. Ginger may not taste good, he thought, but it worked damned well.

There was a funny tug on the back of his head, and he opened his eyes, surprised to see a dully glowing mushroom growing out of the debris before him.

Where had that come from?

Well, that was odd.

He'd never seen a glowing mushroom before. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't going to try to eat it. But he couldn't help but to stare in confusion - it hadn't been glowing before.

And then he turned his head, looking at another, larger mushroom. There, it was normal. But then he blinked and it, too, began to glow, but far more brightly. Well, what was going on?