ORIGIN

"Perhaps," Pride agreed amiably. "But it is best not to bother them all that much--do you know what Elders are?" He glanced down, as he walked, his imagery now faded. "Very old, very powerful Gembound--from before a time the rest of us remember? I have been warned that some cannot be trusted, so--don't tell them that, but be careful around them, and know that their motives may be other than they claim. The Kings seemed honest enough," he added in afterthought.

He listened to Charity, and found himself quite frankly shocked that Envy hadn't taught them of magic. Why the hell not..? He found himself, even, a little annoyed; it was the first thing the "momma," as caretaker to their child, should have done. Food, and magicka, precisely so that things like "the burning baby crow" did not happen. With Nisha, Pride had explained magic--but explanation wasn't enough.

"Well, as for magic, it depends upon which you have. Your momma is skilled with many kinds--but I cannot recall if I know which comes easiest to her," he added, unconsciously equating "momma" with "her." It felt odd to stick to neutrality when the weasel had chosen to be a mother, at least in the third person with Envy's child. "With most Gembound, what comes most easily to us is part of one sort of... category of spells. Mine is the ability to move things with the mind, or even talk mind-to-mind with others. I do not know yours. Have you tried any magic?" he added, glancing down curiously.

They were at the Amphitheatre now, broad and ringed, and he came to a halt as he gazed down into its dish-shaped ruins. "And this is the Amphitheatre. Built before our time, I think--perhaps in that of the Elders, or even before. I do not know what it was for," he added.

In impulse, he stretched one hoof forward slightly, pressing it to the stone, curiosity driving his magic forward. Perhaps he could see what had once happened, down in this arena.

Ghosts seemed to flicker in the dim light--shades among the dust, battling down in the center. He couldn't make much out, but it seemed incredibly violent, and there were shapes up in the stands, too. His silver gaze passed over it all, eyes widening a fraction, and he spoke more softly. "Ahh. At times, my magic lets me see the past-... I see that once, they fought, here." He didn't recognize the species battling, and before he could draw closer for details, the images had faded from his sight, and his mind.

Pride shook himself from the memories--an odd feeling, seeing those not one's own--and glanced to Charity.

"I'm not sure why they were fighting," he answered gently, "And no, I'm no Elder. I'm not sure how old they are," he admitted. "But I haven't found anyone alive who knows, for sure, so it must be very old, I should think."

At her request, he swept his ears toward her, thinking. "I can try that; aside from those fruits, what else do you normally eat? If we're out and about it might not be a bad idea to get some grazing, or... hunting, in." He studied Charity, wondering. He had, he realized, no idea whether she was herbivore or carnivore. He'd never asked. He felt bad for that, now--not realizing that it was partially due to Envy likely never bothering with real food. If only he knew. If only he knew that Envy was treating Charity like a possession, a half-neglected pet, instead of truly tending to her needs from a selfless vantage point. But Pride had no idea the extent of Envy's selfishness, or perhaps self-centeredness might be a better phrase. He didn't know the depths to which they'd stoop.

It was probably better that way.

Pride glanced at Charity in surprise. Apparently he hadn't been clear enough on just what a "story" was. "Ahh, it was a story, Charity--not true, not history. Fanciful; you use your imagination to make up wondrous worlds, and tales. Just do not use them to mislead others; that is a lie, and apparently I have quite accidentally told you one!"

"And hunting is--what predators do; has your momma not taught you the difference?" He cast a worried glance his daughter's way. How the hell did he explain the fact that some Gembound ate other ones? Uneasy, he decided to go for plain honesty. "While some of us eat plants, others eat meat--that is, they hunt, kill and eat other Gembound. Usually those that cannot speak, so they are considered less intelligent and less of a problem to hunt. It's generally accepted as a necessity," he added--but his troubled memories cast him back to a time when he'd gotten to know the "lesser" deer herds of Eridanus. He still wondered to himself if he would fight a Greater to protect them; which of those options could possibly be morally correct?

It would be a relief, at least, if his daughter were purely a plant-eater.

The stag cast his gaze out, out over the arena, trying to summon up a distraction--a fanciful, dancing imagery of what he had seen in his Hindsight of this place. As he did so, he spoke. "Do you know of Eridanus? The cave is full of greens. It would be easy to eat, there; you could perhaps visit and meet your brothers?"

It's far past time for that, too, he thought.

The arena remained dark. No-... Correction; it grew darker, shaded, dimly dull and lifeless. He'd managed the exact opposite of his intent; the amphitheatre appeared as if frozen in time, not even motes of dust drifting down. Just dead, like a still image many years after the place had been abandoned. He sighed to himself and shook his head, turning back to Charity.

"I tried to show you what I had seen, but my magic failed. For now, perhaps we can find some greenery nearby, or I'd be happy to try and create bananas for you, if you wish?"

Pride glanced at Charity, and was about to comfort her when she asked an even harder question. Sick, his mind immediately, grimly answered, but he didn't say this aloud.

"Envy's stone causes problems with swallowing; no one else, as far as I'm aware, does not eat much real food." He'd wanted to help fix it, but Envy's never allowed that. It didn't matter, he supposed; it was their choice.

He turned, leading the way toward one of the smaller grazing patches he was aware of--this one nearer the Tower. He found, after a short test of his magic, that none of it was willing to summon up fruits; he shook his head and moved on. "I have a friend--a white lion named Mercurius. He's a storyteller, very friendly and gentle. He also tries not to eat meat, even though I think his kind was meant to. We each gave one another a piece of our stone, sheared safely off with a special magic, and then granted our own magics to it. I gave a piece of my stone, too, to Envy--one of my oldest friends; and Envy gave that stone life, and you were born. That is how new life is made." The Gembound and the Stones speech was given--maybe Envy had already explained it, he realized, but oh well. Too late now. "So while you appear to be half me, and half Envy, your brothers look different. They are both white, half me, and half lion. But they are very kind. They're in Eridanus, the next cave over--jungle and the like. I'd be happy to bring you to meet them. We would need your momma's permission first, though, so perhaps not today."

He came to a halt nearish the old tower some minutes later, not too close--its shadow did not even fall to them, but it was visible in the distance. Here, on the rock flecked with lights from the 'stars' above, were wispy patches of grass. "The plants in Orion aren't the best," he admitted. He took a small nibble, himself--compared to the things in Mercurius' garden, it was dry and rough. "I think Envy would have a more prolific kingdom in Eridanus, with easy food, water and so forth, but food isn't something they often think of."

"Not really sick, no. And Mercurius is far better than I am. I'm sure he'd love to tell you a story, when we visit him. He told me the first stories that I ever heard, and I found them so beautiful that I decided to tell my own." He paused, considering his daughter's question about siblings. "As for creating life--perhaps not yet; I think you ought to be a little older, first. But you will be free to visit us, and we will visit you, I promise. I'm sorry that you're lonely. You should certainly have playmates." He'd had the benefit of many others around his age, at hatching, and hadn't ever really thought about it, before--he'd taken it for granted. She had to be lonely without others to play with--and bored.

At Charity's complaints, he tilted his head a little, peering curiously at her.

"You sound annoyed," he observed. "Is there a great deal that puts you at odds with your momma?"