ORIGIN

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Steady was the music of this realm. Each droplet fell from above to the tranquil, lily-covered pond below. It was shallow, no more than half a meter in depth, but nonetheless full of life. The typical fish, weeds, flowers, and one particularly atypical thing.

Sparkling from the bottom of the small, fetid pool was an ovular object with no earthly business being there. It shined azure from what streams of light weren't choked out by toxically brown water. Unlike the surface which boiled and rippled, this egg as it were, was trapped in stillness. It was as if it captured the tranquility around it.

Then, without warning, its slumber ended.

A crack shook the encasement. Bubbles erupted from its dark interior. The young beast inside was disturbed. It moved, but this resulted in breaking apart the shell even more. The broken chrysalis began to float to try to even out its weight. The unborn twisted by the movement of gravity before plopping out the bottom of its former home without so much as a goodbye.

Ice filled the hatchling's mouth, lungs, and fur. It was suddenly keenly aware of the inability to breathe. It was by instinct alone that the fox managed to learn to clumsily move from its back to its paws. From there, it--or he, perhaps, was able to stand up on tippy-toes and choke air into him once more.

The quiet, melodic chiming of falling droplets was, at first, the only sound to fill the thick, humid air of the area. Water struck water, and earth, and stone.

And then, water struck gemstone.

The chrysalis, a bright salmon color with various shades and tints decorating it in the form of stripes, was nestled nearby one of the many dirty pools littering the floor of the area. Rivulets rolled across its surface, clean water sliding down its smooth surface to form a small puddle beneath the gemstone that was steadily growing in the direction of the larger body of water. It was perfectly still, a picturesque moment of time seemingly geared to repeat itself over and over in a beautiful cycle.

This cycle's end, though, came in the most amazing of forms.

In the form of movement. Of life, stored away in the safe confines of the gemstone's hardy exterior, beginning to stir. The shell of precious stone, once seemingly impervious to all that might bring harm upon it, gave way with only some resistance beneath the insistent pushing and shoving of the newly hatched canine as his head thrust itself from the gaping, crumbling hole of what had once been a perfectly smooth sanctuary.

Though his chrysalis was now broken open to give way to his gangly body, the water did not stop in its gradual assault as the cold, wet droplets now pattered down to strike against his head. Salmon eyes cringed, both at the harshness of the sudden light and the sudden shock of the temperature difference. Shivering slightly, he retreated somewhat to hide in the remnants of his chrysalis despite the fact that the walls were still steadily crumbling as he wriggled about.

There was a moment where he had the briefest of chances to catch up somewhat with his sudden consciousness and the unfamiliar world around him, but soon the nearest pond erupted in a burst of bubbles and disturbance that had his head twisting to stare with wide, curious eyes and a cautiously twitching nose. A creature, odd to him as all things were at the moment, breached the surface with a seemingly desperate desire to gulp down the oxygen that he so easily inhaled.

It took a moment, sure, but Wayland did indeed recognize the fact that something was wrong here. If only, perhaps, because he was comparing this creature's struggles to Wayland's own brief experiences with life and noting that something didn't quite match up. Over-large paws carried him clumsily, and the puppy had to pause and teeter slowly as he sought to balance himself before he ended up joining the orange-red thing in the dirty water. Eventually, though, he crept to the edge and stared with wide eyes as he absorbed what information he could, trying to figure out how exactly he could make a difference here.

In the end, with a helpless whine, one paw stretched forward in an attempt to gently boop the struggling canid on its head.

"Speech." | 'Thoughts.'

Image

The touch filled the newborn's head with warmth, for the split second it occurred. The unintended force behind the other neonate's touch sent the fox inverse. Water was once again choking him. How cruel life was; he didn't even comprehend death, yet he faced it now. His arm was so different, so heavy. Sinking further, he opened his eyes to the sting of aqua as instincts tried desperately to keep him alive.

There.

He wasn't too far from the bank. In fact, it was almost laughable how close the slope was. His small, immature stature was dwarfed in comparison to the other candid and he was suffering for it. A strange and unfamiliar sensation filled him. A determination far from just instinct. Though his arm weighed against him, he used what strength he had to swing it forward. It stuck in the sandy, dirty bank like a grapple hook. The fox gritted his teeth as he tried to summon the strength again to, this time, vault himself farther up the surface near the dog's feet.

He could barely do so. However, his muzzle met surface and he breathed once more. A small, whimpering push brought his whole head out of the water and into the damp sand before his birthmate. He panted in exhaustion, but triumph.

Monico

Wayland

Monico