ORIGIN

The sound of cracking rock had drawn him--it was familiar to him, though by far unusual enough to at once catch his attention. He was uncertain, at first, that he'd heard correctly: he could see nothing, and at first, hear nothing. But then the tiny sounds--squeaks? Something that jarred some primitive, latent instinct in him--and splashes, reached him.

He found his pace picking up, a determination spearing him onward more quickly. He knew this was a child, ahead, logically, but something about its sound...

It took him a bit of time to find, and were it not for the sounds he might never have found it: it was small, and it was in the middle of the damn swamp. But he could hear it scrabbling around, in there, whatever child it might be. He caught a brief glimpse of white, and then he grunted. He'd have to be very, very careful not to harm whoever lay within.

"Hold still," he rumbled, though he hardly expected the neonate to comprehend his words. "I will not hurt you."

He settled massive jaws cautiously around the stone, and then applied light pressure. Then a little more... he felt it giving, and as soon as he heard a crack and felt the give, he pulled away again.

"Pull yourself out now," he suggested, trying to nudge away the broken shards of chrysalis stone.

Dragon had gone fairly still, watching the child tumble forth: a familiar sight, and one he'd only seen in his own memories. Was I once that small-? he marvelled, and mulled, for a moment, over the fact that once he'd wished to be as large as Aquarian.

...He still did, really, but it didn't seem that he would get there.

After a moment, Dragon realized that he'd slipped into a sort of trance: even more motionless than he had been, and completely silent, allowing the hatchling to rest its head on his snout. Instinct, he supposed, but then he'd always had that; despite his potential suspicion or even hostility toward others, and his intense combat capabilities, he had always aided the children born in the swamp, and carried them to safety. After giving this one a moment to rest, he gently pulled free, with a grunt to warn it in advance.

If it thought he was its mother, it had another thing coming: the voice that rumbled forth was bass and contentedly growly.

"I am Dragon, little one. You are safe with me; do you know your name?"

Well, it had not spoken--and he'd watched, closely, to see if it would--but after a moment it did shake its head. This little one, then, was able to think, at least.

A faint, warm sense hit the alligator--the fatherly instinct, yes, but now a vague possessiveness and care, as if something in his brain had switched on and decided 'this is my child.' It wasn't; and he could've just as easily decided to eat it, if he were that sort of creature (which he wasn't), but now it was in his care and he would look out for it.

Dragon dipped his boat-like snout down, and in the way one might pick something up upon the tip of their broad old leather shoe, he scooped his nose up beneeath the child again. It was an attempt to tumble it gently atop his head, and he spoke as he did so.

"Well, you will find one, Little One. For now, I will find you food." When he'd hatched he'd probably been hungry; he would never know, because when he'd hatched he'd immediately gotten into a fight with Aquarian (realistically: he'd attacked Aquarian's ankle while other Gembound fought to survive him). This baby didn't seem liable to attack, so food it was.

He turned, with a lurch--assuming he got the baby up there safely--and began the slow high-walking plod back through the mud toward the deeper water. A swell of magicka and heat blossomed in him: his feet began to smolder and hiss with every plunge into the water, and his tail and snout grew warm. He was careful to concentrate most of the heat away from his nose: but he liked a nice 'sun'-bath as much as anyone. Maybe this kid would appreciate it.

He was half thinking of the food pile--trying to remember if he had anything actually edible for the child; he usually ate, himself, whatever proved to have stones and dumped the rest at the Heart's edge for his 'father.' He was, otherwise, thinking of the child itself: why was it patched with white? This somehow seemed... off, to him, though he could not have said why, and he found himself wondering then if all creatures like him varied in color! He wondered if there were pure white alligators, or blue ones-! And why he'd never seen another like himself, before this. (And had he accidentally granted this one life, in passing, and forgotten-?)

Then the baby was speaking, and for a moment he was surprised to hear its tiny voice. Light, female (he thought) and so small, and he was jarringly reminded of how his hatchling voice had been a tiny screeching squeak.

Time had passed, huh?

Its endearing nature only snared him further, and he let out a quiet, indulgent chuckle. "I am warm, yes," he agreed good-naturedly, even as he pushed his scarred body into one of the shallower water channels. Black, ridged back briefly dipped below the surface and then emerged, snout held high to keep the young one safe. His tail slowly began to swish to and fro, propelling them along. He was, once again, a Boat.

"I am warm because of magic. My magic is fire; you will have magic, too, but I don't know what kind." He heard her saying 'me,' and he was pretty sure from her angle that she was looking at the water--it was kind of hard to see her so close. "Your reflection-? Yes, that's you." He hoped she understood that it was a reflection, not another alligator in the water, but he wasn't sure how to explain that without further complicating things. "I think you are an alligator, like I am. You will look like me, some day--but with white on you," he noted.

Heavy body slipped through the water, and he added, thoughtful, "You can swim, too, if you want. Like I am." Again, he didn't want to complicate--but he had his reasons for suggesting it; the water had been his escape in youth, many times, from larger predators. The sooner she learned to take refuge in it, the safer she would be, particularly with white steaks and patches that stood out so brightly in the swamp. He'd been well-camouflaged, and still nearly met his end several times. He'd protect her, yes, but he couldn't always be there, so it would be best to teach her sooner rather than later how to survive on her own.

He slowed, waiting, watching closely, as the little one swam about in the murk. His attention, his eyes and senses and even his magic, held tight vigil; if even a large fish had come, Dragon would have killed it before it could get near her.

As it was she returned safely, clambering aboard and after a moment, he continued their slow journey.

"... Drrr'gon? What here? What... what is here?"

He contemplated, for a moment. He assumed that she was asking not what was in the water, but where they were; what the name of this place was, and after a moment, still sweeping in a slow glide so that the bank slipped by to their right (all tangles of reeds and leaves in the mud) he spoke.

"This cave is called Cetus. There are many other caves, but this one is my home. We--my family, the Children of Rot--live here, Little One. Our father, Aquarian, lives in the deepest water here." Well, it was an accidental partial answer to what she'd perhaps actually meant: a sea serpent lived in there, somewhere.

Ahead, a something loomed now out of the mist: some eight feet tall, broad, and as they drew closer, rankly malodorous. Dragon, as an alligator, ate rancid and rotten flesh often enough that it only smelled like food, to him; but to, for example, a human nose it would have been atrocious, putrescent.

"We will find you food, in this," he informed the hatchling, as he angled through the water toward the thing on the shore's edge. "But never rest on it, or in it. This is our offering to our Father, and now and then, he eats it; he would not even see you, and he would eat you, too."

It was slowly-stated, but he was still unsure how much she would understand.

The offering pile was rotten, at the bottom: a melting core of weeks-old meat and fish. Toward the top it was more fresh, some days or only hours old: cave deer, Whitelings, spiders, and more. These were the Gemless--those who did not dissolve into black. While Dragon (and those Children who helped keep the pile full) ate what had gems, the rest went to their Father, who would--rarely, now and then--erupt from the water, swallowing down the offering before sinking back away again into the black depths.

"Find something you like, in this; the top holds fresher meals," he offered, as he shunted up against the shore, grounding like a black canoe.