ORIGIN

Dragon considered Hera's words, then turned, jaws snapping open. ...Nothing came. The alligator growled, a low and rumbling hiss, and he shook himself like a dog--as best such a rigid-bodied creature could--and looked back to her, mouth slowly closing again.

"I would make fire, but it seems it does not want to listen," he explained, irritably. "Still! That begs the question. Do you want to stay in Cetus, or somewhere... brighter, for the moment? I can arrange something with the Bonebound, I'm sure. It's brighter there. Or you can light somewhere here, in the swamp. There is magic to do that! Constant lights." Eve, the crow, had done that with aplomb; her baubled stones still hung, here and there, along the branches of Cetus' trees.

"Perhaps it is a fear that will fade in time, but if it does not, then it does not, and it will not matter overmuch. You can bring your own light." Another long pause, and then a second tick in favor of a visit to the Bonebound occurred to him. "There is someone you can speak to about it, if you need to. I don't have the answers, and I don't know if she does, but the Bonebound's seer was afraid of darkness for a very long time. She was pulled into it. She might tell you how she coped, if it doesn't fade," Dragon suggested.

"As for the rest, I think it may be time to plan further for our survival. To make sure that we can lock ourselves here in Cetus, if we must--and survive. To make it defensible. To make sure we'll want for nothing. I will have to call a meeting, after I've considered it; thank you for the information, despite its cost." His rumble was solemn, though truthful, his dark eyes distant now with thought.

The alligator rumbled his assent. "It would always be good to assume it," he answered wisely, and then: "I think it would be good to block off a part of Cetus. Hidden. We will need Lessers for food, and plants for those who eat it. Some way to hide us--rocks or trees... to truly make it defensible. I will need to look around and consider. It would be difficult--a great deal of work--and most of the Children now are lazy creatures, half-feral. We will see if there are enough of us."

Dragon considered, for a moment.

"Go to brighter caves for now, if you wish it. I will call a meeting in a couple weeks' time: and then, those that are left can respond--or not. But I will begin this work on my own if there is no response."

It would be the work of many cycles--but it wasn't like Dragon was doing much else at the moment.

In Dragon's defense, he had not called the Children weak. He had called them lazy and half-feral, and so they were; Phlegethon and Hunger, his own children, chief among those. Lazy was not a bad thing; there was no point in expending unnecessary energy (and why would they? Just to run around, and waste it?). But half-feral was difficult to... organize, or mobilize. Hunger hardly understood language, and Phlegethon was hardly any better.

At her rhyming agreement and immediate cringe, Dragon broke into hearty laughter. "It is cheerful, at least," he told her--a sort of encouragement toward joy after the shit she'd been through. Any cheer should be clung to, in his eyes. "Keep a hold on that."

Her own plan, brief as it was, was laid out then and the old alligator nodded. "Go, then; and good luck," he told her. She dropped, winging away, and in that time he turned and snapped at the air; a puff of magicka arose into a wisp, a turquoise flash of ignis fatuus, a mischievous little light. He sent this after Hera: light accompaniment, a little reassurance (and an acknowledgment, at least, of his attention and care for family) as far as he could maintain it--likely near enough to the exit, and whatever lay beyond for her.