ORIGIN

The emerald chrysalis had grown deeply into the mosses neatly between the Eyes of Eridanus, and was hidden now by thickly-tangled overgrowth. Its color blended well with the jungle, and the sound of torrential rain and periodic thunder masked the sound of cracking stone.

Within, a half-aware creature--not yet possessing anything so advanced as words--was awakening for the first time. Its thoughts were but sensations and emotions. It knew the tight snugness of the stone. It felt safe, warm, and it could feel the cold outside--but it was growing stifling. Its mind had not yet fully left the realm of sleep and dreams, and now and then it drifted in and out, so that it did not know whether the shapes and sounds that it imagined were real. It did not yet know, even, what real was.

Over its few minutes of consciousness it came to know other things. It had soft skin, or a covering of things upon it. It had two wings, and feet, with pointy talons that threatened to scratch it if it moved wrong. It had very sensitive hearing, and the storm outside--despite being muffled by the stone--was unpleasantly loud, even deafening.

It decided, too, that "it" was "she," and that she was an "owl," and that her name was "Hecate." Where the knowledge of these first few words came from was unclear--perhaps the magic of the stone that had birthed her--but Hecate did not care.

Half-heartedly--part of her wishing to stay in the comfort of the chrysalis, and half growing disgusted at its confining nature--Hecate began to rake those pointed claws over the walls around her as best she could. Her movement was limited, but she twisted and kicked wherever she was able.

When at last the stone broke open, scattering its upper shards to either side, Hecate didn't leave it straightaway. She was still sheltered, after all: half-hidden in the now open stone, the tangles of overgrowth above her. It was cold out here, she realized--and even louder than before. She gave a soft cry of fear as the thunder cracked again above her, roiling out in echoing growls, ricocheting over the cave ceiling. Rain dripped through the plants above, and where before the water had streaked over the surface of the emerald, now it began to quickly soak into the owlette's feathers, and drip into her eyes.

Which... wasn't as disturbing as it should have been. Her eyes opened further--from mere slits, to wide. Everything was green, blurry, and dark. Only quite coincidentally did she learn--by turning her head from one side to the other to listen--that light and dark alternated, here and there.

She could see, but--though she did not yet know it--twin, thin shields of emerald coated both like a lens, strange-feeling beneath the blink of her lids. Finding that having open eyes didn't reveal all that much, and only invited the cold wet, she closed them again--and sat there, shivering with cold, drenched by rain and occasionally calling out with fear whenever the thunder roared.

The little owl hybrid--barely larger than a puppy--twisted her nub-antlered head to peer up toward the sound. She was still crouched in the boat-like remains of her chrysalis, which remained jammed in the moss. And this, now, was filling with rainwater, which was rather unpleasant, she was finding.

Instinctively, at the voice, her eyes opened. She could see a distant... something, or maybe it was not so distant? It was hard for her to tell. And it was speaking: sounds with meaning, like the words Owl and Hecate that she had come to know.

Hecate was unafraid--she was too naive, too innocent and inexperienced, to equate Vasili's gentle calling with potential danger. Instead she thought about this new development, clicking her beak and turning her head away, third eyelids briefly swiping over the gemstone shields. At length she shoved up a bit, twisting out of some of the moss and clambering up. She hadn't been underground, but under an overhang of matted foliage, so it was rather like a clean, wet bird simply rising from the earth. "H... elp," she croaked, but it was not a plea. It was, rather, a thoughtful sound, an echo of what Vasili had said. Her rain-soaked body at once shivered down, falling back and away from the rain--but there was no escape from it, no escape from the wet and the cold.

"...Cold," she lamented mournfully. She could see Vasili's basic shape, but who or what he was she could not tell. "Wet..."

The newborn sounded positively pathetic.

She didn't understand everything he said, but the words "follow" and "warmth" both struck chords with her. The hybrid pushed up, hobbling unsteadily back into the rain. She cowered at its cold wet, and hesitated, but then made her way toward the gentle voice.

Hecate was too young to understand that her eyes were not normal, that gemstones where her sight should have been was a handicap. She was unaware, too, that Vasili suffered from the same, and to an even greater extent. She only paused, now and then, seeming to look left and right but in truth listening for the little sounds that made up the quiet dog's presence. It was hard, over the roar of the rain, but at length she drew closer to him.

"Where?" she lamented softly. She was ready to follow, by vague shadows and by sound, but she wasn't sure where they were going. She wasn't sure where she was, for that matter; everything was new to her. But the stranger sounded kind, and she latched onto that, her only lifeline in the cold, wet dark.

She would follow him, for now--wherever it was that he might lead her.