ORIGIN

Pride settled down beside her, and before he could begin any story at all, Mischief swept out from the underbrush. The arctic hare wasted no time in attempting to clamber into the new child's lap--remembering, perhaps, her time with Azizos and Arsu, when they were young.

She was small, but very, very soft, and showed no fear of Vivilene. Hopefully, the child would not eat her.

"Ah--don't be afraid, that is Mischief. My familiar," Pride hastened to explain.

He then shook himself, a little, and looked up and around, imagining a story he could tell.

He wanted something fantastical, something she could lose herself in, but something, too, that might give a child without a voice some hope. It could not be too similar, though, or it would only be insulting.

...Blind, then-?

"Perhaps I might tell you the story of the Blind Mother-?" he offered, turning to peer at Vivilene.

As he spoke, the shimmering image of a pale grey fox appeared between them, seeming to sparkle and dance in place, light glittering over its pelt. Pale, sightless blue eyes seemed to smile, and Pride tilted his head, trying to gauge Vivilene's reaction.

Pride watched, face relaxing into something like a deer smile, as Mischief and Vivilene each made a new friend. He was glad to see it; he didn't give the hare, if he was honest, anywhere near the care or activity she deserved. She more often pushed him into getting up to wander, to explore.

Ahh, but to the story, then. It wasn't lost on him that if Vivilene were indeed using magic to communicate, she might be growing weary, by now; it was his turn, then, to talk.

The stag lifted his head, looking into the canopy, and began with a big, fat lie.

"I will tell to you the story of the Blind Mother as it was told to me."

This was the lie, for no one had told him this story, and he was making him up himself and honestly, he wasn't very good at these things but maybe it would... help, or be bonding time, or-... that's what adults did, wasn't it? Looked after the kids, told them stories. Mercurius had been better at it all, but Pride had done his best, and he threw himself into it now.

The shimmering, silvery fox seemed to dance with the ripples of light, and Pride began to speak in a low, calm voice, the soothing tone that he remembered used to put his sons (Her father! he reminded himself, still in shock) to sleep. "Long ago, when the first creatures were awakening throughout the caves, there was a time of great confusion." The image shifted, a dozen sparkling shapes--faint, indistinct with the weakness of the magic but depicting, well enough, various Gembound--falling down all around them.

Pride took a moment to focus, to try and strengthen the magic further. It held steady, neither weakening nor strengthening, for now.

"They hatched from a hundred different stones: all different shapes, and colors. And they themselves, not one was alike; a hundred different shapes and colors, too, of Gembound--and sizes. From stag to mouse, and wolf to bird, each one was unique."

Around them, as he spoke, came shimmering images: a little weak, a little translucent, but visible nonetheless. The gleam of emerald, the sparkle of diamond, the sheen of ruby and obsidian, a sheet of soothing sapphire and from them hatched shining, ethereal Gembound of a dozen different shapes. They were drawn from those Pride had known: a slender black dog, a small weasel, a fat-bodied lizard, a grinning hyena, and more. These tumbled out, scattering and fading around in a slow, silent dance, and last came the gray fox.

"But one of them knew none of this, for she was born without the gift of sight," Pride went on. "She could not see the colors of the stones, or the shapes of those around her; she could only hear their voices, and she called out, asking for them to stop, to wait for her, to tell her who they were, and where it was that they were going."

The image paused there, for a beat, on the gray fox alone as the rest scattered away: each leaving to explore their new world, no doubt, while the blind fox was left behind.

Not... the most uplifting start; but Pride had plans for where to take this.

A glance, now and then, told him that Vivilene was still held rapt.

And Mischief, warm in her arms, lay contentedly still; he found feel the hare's almost smug satisfaction in 'conquering' a new playmate for herself, or at least a new companion. Apparently, leaping into someone's arms, and being accepted, was worth being proud of.

Pride tried to hide his amusement, and kept his attention on the story.

"In those days, the children were all new: full of wonder and excitement and curiosity. So eager were they to see the world around them that they forgot to stop and help the fox along." His voice took on a faint note of sorrow, here, the shimmering image of the fox one all alone. "She got by, if only barely; she could not see but she learned, alone and lonely, to care for herself. To find food, and water; to take shelter against the storms." The image shifted, then, a small silvery fox lying curled in a den, shimmering rain pelting down around it. Pride felt the magic slipping and adjusted his concentration, trying to strengthen the images.

"The fox grew older, and wiser. Sometimes wondered if she would always be alone. But one day, she heard someone whimpering in the long grass. She went out, calling: 'Who is that, out there? Are you all right?'"

Now came a small creature: a red lizard, with horns and a furred mane, slinking sadly along, its posture hunched. The sparkling fox seemed to hesitate, and then slipped out with swift, graceful movements to search--blue-eyed and blind--for the red lizard. When the two images found one another they touched noses, pausing in a shimmer of light that even Mischief watched with interest. "The red lizard spoke. 'Oh... I am sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.'"

Now, the fox recognized the lizard; it was one of the many who had left her behind, when she was young. She wondered, for a moment, if she ought to be angry; but the stranger was too sad for her to find anger for. Instead, she felt pity for it, and invited it into her den.

"It's all right. Please, come in, and join me where it's warm, and tell me what's wrong."

Red lizard and light-wreathed fox curled together, the images close and dancing, lights playing all around them for Vivilene's benefit. Even Pride seemed to watch his own creations raptly, or perhaps it was his focus on the magic.

"'I am lonely,' the stranger at last admitted, after the fox kept him company, for awhile. 'I live among all the others, but I feel as though they're all happy, and I am not.'"

"The fox listened, quiet, and then promised the lizard that he was not alone. She told him that she was blind; she asked him to describe the world for her. And the more he told her, the more she thanked him, and the happier the lizard became. Eventually, he didn't feel so lonely anymore, and he left."

"In time, the blind fox met others like him. Sometimes they would simply wander past, and she spoke to them when they sounded sad, and offered them a place to stay." Images flickered by: a violet creature covered in feathers, a green bird with a long, gray train of tailfeathers, and more, all fantastic, all colorful. Pride, now and then, glanced at Vivilene. "The fox came to realize that many of them were lonely--and they each thought they were the only ones. But she, because she could not see, had always been alone and understood them well, each and every one. In time they came to know her as a caring figure and came to her, one after the other, day after day, seeking company and bringing stories of new sights the fox couldn't see. And she always offered them kind words, and thanks for the stories that they told her; in time she felt that they were all like children, alone at times, and in need of company, and reassurance."

Pride paused, and drew the story to a close, the images a dancing family of hundreds of colorful shapes--small, not detailed for all their number, but coming and going in a rainbow flood, with the fox at the center of them all. "They came to know her as the Blind Mother: once alone, yes, but understanding them all better than anyone could, and offering kindness despite her own troubles. They came to all depend upon her: on her kindness, and her willingness to listen; on her patience and her insight. She was their strength, and their sanctuary. And they all became her family, in time; they all loved her; and she loved them, and they all lived happily ever after."

The white stag held his breath and glanced to Vivilene, hoping he had not misstepped somewhere, or misspoken. He hoped this seemed a good story to her, and not a sad one--but he'd have to wait and see. If she were anything like his own children, she'd have a dozen questions--but he didn't really know what she was like.

The questions that bombarded him were--unexpected. He'd expected questions, of course, but there were many, and they weren't quite the ones he'd imagined--something, really (he thought wryly) he should be used to by now. Kids were kids, after all. One would ask questions another wouldn't even think of.

Pride took a breath, and attempted to address them in a relatively orderly fashion.

"Many of us feel lonely," he explained to Vivilene, "sometimes, even when we're around others all the time. Some feel like they're alone in their thoughts, in their minds. They had company, but sometimes, we are sad for what seems like no reason at all, and that's okay," he added. Certainly he'd had his own long periods of existential dread and wistful near-depression. Self-doubt was a hell of a thing, but he didn't want to lay all of that on the child. "But that's exactly how they helped her, you see; and how she helped them. When we share our problems--when we talk about them, and listen to one another--it makes us feel less alone. It's important to recognize that others often feel lonely, too. And... I think that if she didn't want to hear about things she couldn't see, she'd have told them. This fox liked very much to imagine all the things she would never see for herself."

Oh-... she didn't grasp that it was fiction. Hell, Pride thought; to admit now that it had been merely make-believe might undo the lessons it offered, whereas extending a lie would break the child's trust.

He opted for going vague. "If it did happen, it was long ago; it was a story that was told to me by a friend. I don't know if it's a true one; there's many stories about fantastic places, and creatures--about purple grass, and golden trees with pink leaves on their trees... If you'd ever like to hear any of them, you're free to ask me?" As he said all this, he brought about colorful light-shows of the objects in question, the pink leaves shimmering as they shifted on the glistening trunks. He hoped it'd distract Vivilene from questioning the veracity of the tale further, but with kids, again... who knew.

Pride hummed to assure Vivilene that yes, he was sure, though he wasn't sure what he was sure about, exactly. There were many options he'd given. Best to just... say 'yes,' with the sound. He then moved on to the topic of sadness.

"Well, as I say, it can seem like it's for no reason at all. More likely there is a reason... but we are not always the best at working out our own thoughts, our own feelings. Sometimes, we need something we did not even realize, at the time--company, or food, or even just light." Pride paused, letting this sink in, and then continued. "I do not mean 'it's okay' to imply that it should be ignored. But you should never worry that being sad means something is wrong with you, compared to other Gembound--no one should. We all get that way, from time to time. Perhaps rather than 'okay,' I should say, it doesn't mean that the sad Gembound is somehow different."

"And yes--I am sure. It is a noble thing, to wish to help others. Do you know, yet, how you would like to do so?"

At her question on purple grass, he laughed softly, his voice flutingly melodic. "Hmm, I don't know--how do you imagine that it tastes?"