ORIGIN

Sensitive ears picked up the quiet struggles in the stone. The soft and muffled voice. The weak scratching and pecking at the stone.

Fireheart's head lifted, golden eyes widening a touch, focus filling them. His loping gait--which had been taking him lazily through the bones, as he contemplated this and that--switched direction, and long and slender limbs propelled him toward the sound.

It took him a few moments--a few corrections in his search--to find it: a small stone, barely a crack of gemstone sparkle among the duller rock, and inside a patchy-colored shape. And an echo of its cry--magical?--whispering over the dusty rock.

Ahh... a hatchling.
He stepped up closer, inspecting it briefly before speaking aloud, his voice rich and strong.

"It's quite all right. You needn't panic; you'll be out soon enough." That was the way of things, after all; the child would break itself out, even if he found himself unable to help.

The white wolf leaned forward, choosing a corner of the stone near the bottom, one at least away from its inhabitant's main body, and lifted one large paw to it.

He concentrated.

His paw began to smolder, smoke rising from it; his touch could turn stone to ash. With luck, he would quickly sear a hole through the gemstone: a hole through which the child could emerge.

Fireheart stepped back, peering down, the heat fading from his limbs. The small fuzzball that had emerged was, he thought, undoubtedly a bird; past that he could not tell much of it.

He'd spent time in Eridanus, watching the creatures there, and had seen a great many different creatures. This one was unlike any of them. It had two eyes, for one thing, and its colors were drab, and dark. Fireheart inclined his head politely, and then lowered himself to lie down before the bird.

"Are you all right, then?" he asked, in no hurry to move on just yet. Golden eyes flicked over the creature, checking it for damage; he didn't think it looked harmed, but he wasn't quite sure how one might tell. It was like a ball of fuzzy ashes, as it was.

It might need help; guidance, perhaps. It could accompany me, I suppose, he thought idly. And then he remembered: the others he had met, as well as he himself, had had little command of language at their hatching. Would this one even understand him? He had little way of communicating, bar simple words, and so he had to simply hope so. But to be sure, he spoke more slowly, and clearly: "Safe, yes?"

The wolf tilted his head sharply, that instinct of canines everywhere when a strange sound hits the ears--and he turned, peering about, pushing to his paws uneasily.

When first he'd heard the call, he'd been at a distance; now it became clear that the sound was not voice alone, but magic, ricocheting softly across Canis' bones. He tensed, some, sharp mind jumping to the possibility that it was some form of grim lure (and how many, though Fireheart was unaware, had had such thoughts as their last!). When no danger immediately presented itself, despite alert ears and narrowed golden eyes, he turned back to the hatchling.

"Was that magic, little one?" he asked, and then--head tilting again as he considered, and again phrased himself simply--"Magic?" She seemed frightened of him--getting over it, now, perhaps; but he dipped his head, half-closing his eyes briefly in that universal 'smile' that a creature offers, to show itself no threat. "I will not hurt you," he confirmed, deep voice gentle--and then his head again lifted, watching the fortresses around them.

Just in case.

Still, no trap was sprung, and at length the white wolf lowered himself down to lie on the ground once more. "Safe," he reiterated. "My name is Fireheart," the wolf went on, speaking slowly, gently. He didn't know how much she might understand, but the only way to learn was to hear speech, he knew.

"If I were going to harm you, I would have done so already." Even as he said it, though, he reflected that this might not be true for all. There were those out there--however cruel few--who enjoyed the torment, the betrayal, the flaring of their own wretched power in the weakness of those weak beneath them.

Never mind; this is not something to explain to a child, he told himself. He did not physically move to aid the bird, purely because to do so might frighten it further. But he offered guidance, as best he could. "Take your time. One foot, and then the other, mm? Slowly. Carefully." His tone he kept encouraging, soothing, but mainly even.

Still, he seemed in no hurry to leave. He seemed, in fact, to simply be here now, a fixture that had always been, guide and perhaps servant to the newly-hatched little bird: as if this had been his responsibility all along, as if he had happened upon something that he'd been meant to personally handle.

The child bumbled, stumbling, beak tapping the ground to brace itself, wings flailing for balance. Fireheart waited, ears pricking up some, and was surprised to find the formerly-frightened chick gain enough confidence to curl up against him.

He peered down, offering a brief, reassuring nudge to the top of its head, settling in to be, apparently, both pillow and blanket. "Walking," he encouraged her calmly, finishing her sentence with a tone of approval. "Very well done."

And now..? His thought echoed her question, puzzled, for a moment. Was there a next step, then?

"You can rest, if you wish," he offered, with that indifference born not of uncaring, but of an easygoing demeanor. "Do you know your name?" It was asked respectfully, despite the slight age difference--he an adult, if not for very long, and her wholly fresh to this world. He still treated her as an equal, a dignity to him that suggested that he saw the same in her--yet, as if parenthood had gripped him, he lay content with the child in his 'arms' and kept watch for any danger.

He made the small talk; he seemed in no hurry.