ORIGIN

Booker hummed absently in response to his friend's words, focus divided between Khloros, the tiny newborn, and Magdalena. After all, the white dog had been the second living thing the numbat had met, so he was rather attached, to say the least. "Your friends? They're in her, too?" The idea did make some semblance of sense - after all, if the black foal's friends used the wounds in his hide as a vector, perhaps the reason Magdalena was so frequently ill was because she had no such output? "Maybe they can't get out like yours can, Khlor," he murmured.

He jumped a bit at the gentle nudge of a snout, and turned to focus on Delphine, smiling gently at the foal, tiny paws petting at her nose. "She'll be alright, promise. We'll take good care of 'er, yeah? She's got all of us, and you, too." The words held a bit more confidence than Booker himself did, and he huffed out a nervous breath, moving a paw from the foal to the white dog's side, relieved to feel it moving up and down with every breath. "Sounds like she's just a little ill and tired. Rest will be good for her," he assured, already glancing about to look for any helpful supplies.

Still, he couldn't do much at the moment but sit and wait, trying to offer what little comfort he could to the foal.

Khloros made his decision and curled up, folding long and spindly legs beneath him to nestle against the white dog. He didn't say anything, as he did this, just pressed dirty black coat to pristine white and offered what little warmth he could give. Then he lay there, reaching his long neck so that he could gently snuffle the dog.

He turned and blinked wide eyes to Delphine, then, watching her wordlessly. She was fascinating, to him, and captivated his attention. It was as if she was something better, something more than he was, something he should have been--and rather than be envious, he was awed.

Silent and placid, Khloros remained passive to the goings-on around him--just laying there, for now, and waiting to see what would happen. He wished he could further help with Magdalena's sickness--but all he could do was add to it. And that, of course, would not help at all.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

Booker's small voice brought calm unto the filly as her gaze drifted to Magda, concern flashing briefly along emerald eyes. She knew there was nothing she could do and that very helplessness rooted her beside the fallen Gembound, opposite where Khloros lay. Delphine folded her limbs beneath her, head turning to nudge the sickly foal along his muzzle. It was a gesture of appreciation for his guardedness, one she had pressed onto Booker just earlier. It would be to her fault to care so easily for those who she'd only just met but such was an ailment attributed not to age but to her character. Even as the colorful bird approached, Delphine found herself unable to fight the nicker and toss of her head. She was eager to answer to his inquiry but even more so that the two of them should join their small group.

'Adeyemi.'

"Del-" Her name curled along the tip of her tongue, struggling to break free of its mortal bounds. "Delphine." The answer was instinctive, an innate knowledge that unfurled as a seedling bursting forth from the earth, a small stem only just beginning its passage into life. She glanced to Booker and with a gentle snort, she repeated herself. "Delphine." Then, her head craned, settling just beside where Khloros had lain his own so that she could utter once more, "Delphine." Why she had thought it imperative to reiterate herself was lost on her only that she wanted them to know who she was as if in any moment, they would forget the young Gembound who'd tumbled forth within the cradles of Polaris.

She did not wish to be forgotten.

( @Willow )

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The owl looked vaguely alarmed as her colourful companion started hobbling forward and she was quick to follow, sharp talons clacking against Polaris' cave floor. She was quiet, shifting on the place almost nervously as she stopped behind Adeyemi.

Where are people finding their names from? she wondered to herself. She turned her head to peer at Adeyemi, then Delphine.

She fluffed herself up and nestled down with a sigh.

Adeyemi cooed, proud despite himself, settling down next to the owlet with a twinkle in his eye. "Delphine. Yes, yes, a name fit for power. Very nice." An approving nod, and a gentle rustle of colorful wings. "You shall grow to be very commanding, yes," the turaco added, eyeing the green horns that adorned the foal's head. They were sharp, and shined in the dim light of Polaris, looking quite a bit like his own talons.

Indeed, the foal's curiosity and need to be involved in everything that was happening was just a bit endearing, and Adeyemi found himself relaxing, leaning a bit into his companion's side with a click of his beak. His gaze rose to settle on the downed dog, huffing. "Are we quite sure that the beast is alright? She looks rather... incredibly ill."

Booker huffed, attention torn between keeping an eye on Magdalena's breathing patterns and the pair of strange feathered beasts, who kept coming closer and closer. They still hadn't acted in aggression, but that didn't mean they were friendly, and so the numbat simply ignored them, patting Khloros' leg absently before doing the same to Delphine, a mindless act of affection and comfort.

Still, the brighter chick's words broke him out of the daze, and Booker shot him a discomforted glance, ears flicking back. "She'll be fine," he mumbled back, more for himself than in response to the turaco's words. "And once she is, we can all move somewhere a bit more comfortable," he added with a small smile, patting Delphine's flank gently.

The sickly foal looked to Booker, and offered him a gentle nudge in return for his pat, but his brow was slightly furrowed with worry. He then turned, and nudged Delphine, too, murmuring.

"Delphine," he repeated softly.

More than that, however, he did not speak. He didn't have the words to speak much further, and anyway, the words of the others were fascinating. They were teaching him much. He did his best to remember each word, to commit it to memory and to analyze it, trying to keep it all organized in his mind so that he could learn to speak as they did.

Until then, he simply lay against the white dog, opposite Delphine--letting the others do the talking, and indeed, the action. He looked over the pale owl, who followed the bright, talkative bird--who reminded him a bit of Booker. Talkative, but authoritative, intelligent. A nervous glance, too, to the lion.

He wasn't sure where everyone had come from, but it wasn't unwelcome--he just still felt nervous.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

A foggy darkness. The entirety of existence was whirling; smoke, diffused light, blackness. The dreams of the blind were surreal without the essence of vision. Only vaguely shifting shapes and words spoken in the distance, the predisposed knowledge of some scene beginning midway through its delivery. Sensations were stronger in the absence of sight; the ground in the dream composed of something soft and feathery, like grass beneath her paw pads, and the smell of dirt dominated her nasal cavity; but also someone else. She could tell she was following them. But who? The distanced voices were mere murmurs that she could not comprehend, and all she knew was to follow her paws, blindly churning and pushing her further, further into what she didn't know.

A subtle atmospheric hum. The air felt to swirl around her with staleness and fresh crisp cold all at the same time, there was warmth, like breathing, breathing on her spine. The voices became louder, still indiscernible. Voices that she thought belonged to ones she knew. Charming and smooth, the fox, and powerful, the rhino, but these disembodied voices carried naught names, only feelings. They spread before her and she yearned to deviate, but she was bound by the path she followed, stepping in those of the one ahead of her, chained. Conscious will drove her to plunge towards the Fire, a heat flickering beyond her empty eyes; she broke away, pursuing the voice that stretched ahead of her, just out of reach, just out of comprehension. She was getting closer. The warmth was stronger. It was a vividness in her barely firing optic nerves. It was a heat biting at her skin.

It engulfed her.

Magdalena jerked awake. Blind eyes peeled open as she gasped for a breath, filling her lungs with the sweet, stale air of the cave. There was no heat biting at her skin, but it did crawl in from her sides, gentle and comforting. Some part of her assumed that it was Nemesis. She did nothing but lay still, clamoring to remember where she was and what had just happened.

Pride swelled upon receiving Adeyemi's approval as Delphine allowed herself a grandiose sweep of her crown, ears piqued in a semblance of hubris. In spite of her frail countenance, the shadows of majesty ghosted her movements, bringing her muzzle down to where Booker sat, offering gentle ministrations in the form of comfort. She nuzzled the smaller creature.

'Delphine.'

Her gaze shot to Khloros and she nickered once more, acknowledging and perhaps appraising the sound of her name from his lips. It was one she thought she could grow acquainted to though the thought was too soon dashed from her mind when Magdalena awakened with a start, jolting the filly to attention. Relief flooded the tension from her body as the young Gembound craned her neck and pressed her nose against the dog's neck. A soft nudge so as not to startle her.

"M-Magda." Her voice was but a whisper that curled along the white wisps of the Gembound's coat, unfurling in a small huff before Delphine pulled away. She did not know of her state but to see her friend conscious was a reprieve in and of itself. Hesitation urged the young filly to turn to Booker again as if he'd been marked the scholar among them, the rock within their small group despite his size.

( @Willow )