ORIGIN

The crack had not been difficult to miss, even over the gentle hiss of the breakers--a hiss that had, in the past days, helped Sergei take the first steps toward healing. It was a peaceful sound, a familiar one; and the crack was a break in it, as much as in the chrysalis itself.

It was also not far off--unsurprising, perhaps, given the small amount of land mass in Fornax. The bear-beast looked up, the small eyes under their massive brows peering in silence over the shoreline; he saw nothing. He debated, for a moment, going back to work, but the wariness that bred in him now narrowed those eyes, and pushed him to his feet. Dangerous, leaving an unknown thing to perhaps draw closer.

A new fist tightened around the long stretch of driftwood he'd smoothed into a spear haft. The chrysoprase crystal at its tip had been chipped and then wedged into its end, into a notch he'd cut with the blade itself--but nothing held it there bar a few twists of dried seagrass, as yet. Still, he clung to it with almost fear, as if this spear was all that stood between he and potential death. And--in a sense--it was. The Hive could infect him again, by touch. He had little magic to defend himself and so this ten foot pole was precisely what he'd be handling the world with from here on out.

The bear trudged, on hind legs, to the water's edge where he paused, searching the water with his gaze. At first, nothing--the spark and shimmer of light on sea--and then, there: a small, wet thing, furred and struggling. Sergei blinked, and stepped into the wet sand at the water's edge, feeling the welcome chill of water envelop his paws. "Come farther. Or the water will take back."

Carefully, he turned his spear, holding out the hilt to scoop up the tiny tamarin.

He could have reached down and picked it up, but-... Who was to say it wasn't Hive? Stupid, to be afraid of tiny thing, he told himself--but he wasn't shamed enough to actually draw closer.

He wasn't even sure it wasn't a Lesser, but he'd never seen anything quite like it: so for now he offered it the spear-haft, and encouragement, in his deep and rumbling voice. "Hold wood," he told it, slowly, loudly, "and I bring in."

And so he would--assuming it gripped on; he prepared to pull the child in, farther along the shore, to lift it safely away from the ever-encroaching surf and deposit it, if it held the haft, safely onto the dry stones higher up.

The instant the baby scrambled toward him, Sergei--aghast, and with the terror of the Hive and physical touch still whispering in his veins--flung his hand, dropping his spear and flicking outward powerfully. It was an instinctive reaction--one possibly dangerous to the child, but one based, too, from frightening experience.

It nearly made it to him--and he didn't fling it away; perhaps it simply fell, alongside the spear, in a far-less-dangerous maneuver. Either way the big bear scrambled backward, bellowing a loud warning: "NO!"

flashes of dirt, the misty forest falling away, mud coming up to choke him, to claim him-

"Do NOT touch!" Sergei choked out in fear, the closest to crying that he'd ever been. He nearly dropped back to all fours, so powerful was his aversion, and his instinct, but at the last moment--having backpedalled several yards--he stopped himself.

Breaths heaving he searched, wide-eyed and fearful--fearful for the child, fearful of the child--to see where it had fallen.

Sergei felt his heart wrench as the tiny thing impacted the ground, and a grimace twisted his features. Thankfully, it seemed mostly unharmed, and he relaxed a little, exhaling in relief--

...until it started toward him again. Suddenly, it's questioning 'No?' and movement, combined, seemed somehow threatening--demonic--as if it were questioning him, challenging him, but surely-... Surely it was just a child?

the link, cut--Mother? Mother?!

Sergei backed up, shaking his head once, twice, hard.

"No," he repeated, in a quiet rumble. "Stop." He held up one hand, paw-pad first, the scything claws pointed upward--a signal to stop. "I am... dangerous, to touch," he added--a lie, spur of the moment, and one of his very first. Shame rose in him but he did not correct himself, instead stepping backwards as much as was needed to try and keep distance between them.

"Are you--child? You came from rock, yes?"

Or was it some kind of tiny, terrible demon-?

Sergei blinked, thinking slowly, even watching slowly, his head gradually moving a fraction in one direction, then the other. A soft, rumbling huff escaped him. His thoughts were not aggressive--indeed, they were almost gentle, aware that the thing was tiny, and not wishing to cause it harm. That being said, it still made him nervous, because he'd never seen anything like it bar, perhaps Howl, and it looked impish and demonic and he still wasn't entirely sure it wasn't some sneaky envoy of Mother.

The bear glanced around, also slowly--then looked back to Gremlin. He did not know what it had in mind, of course; he only knew that it tugged at the spear. The spearhead it would find firmly lodged in that wedge cut into its haft, and possibly larger than the child, regardless--some seven or eight inches of bladed crystal--but Sergei had no idea it was aiming to get it free. If it did, if it could run, perhaps it could scramble off with it--and Sergei was hardly likely to try and touch the creature to get it back.

But he knew none of these things, instead looking down sadly. He wanted to offer it something--some peace offering, some... form of comfort, guidance, if it were a child; but he was not the smartest of creatures. He liked food--he knew that much.

Perhaps the child, too, might want food-?

"Are you hungry?" he asked, (also slowly) even as Gremlin was scurrying for the spearhead. "Do you want fish? To eat?"

Sergei hesitated, feeling the thump of his heart in his chest, the tiny creature's chittering up at him... unsettling. But he did not want to just leave it here; it would die, he thought, young and small and inexperienced. ...It was young, right-?

The big bear hesitated, and then lumbered forward, on two legs, before bending awkwardly down (he wasn't use to this yet, and nearly toppled, especially given his heavy weight) to pluck at the end of the spear.

"Let it go, I get food. For us. Back," he added, in a sedate, gentle rumble.