ORIGIN

Pride picked his way along the rock, following scent and magic in an attempt to find one of his wayward children. His magic was... well, it was uncooperative today. To put it mildly. He'd reached out his magic senses to try to find the child, and wound up with a backlash, a sense like someone driving a red-hot poker between his eyes and, lower, through his gemstone.

Unpleasant.

After several moments of grimacing and panting, of waiting for the pain to pass, he'd moved on: but he couldn't see a thing, magically. Ahh, well; back to good old hunting-by-scent. His ears flicked back, pinning briefly as the last waves of fading pain subsided.

He'd spent time with Ember. That one was attentive, quiet, but there was something stubborn in him. It was almost a standoffish streak, or... resentful, maybe. He was reserved, and seemed to hold some form of grudge that Pride couldn't break past. It was nothing severe: the child was friendly and dutifully obedient and all of that. But none of the offered games or kind words elicited anything like warmth in response, and that... bothered him. Upon reflection, though, it wasn't particularly surprising; Dread was not known for his kind streak, and Fireheart had shown very little emotion. He'd had courage, selflessness, but not exactly affection.

Then there was Temperance. The kid was broody, gloomy. Sour. If he was kept active--distracted--his mood improved, but for the most part his default was dark. It was perplexing--Nassir had been a sad one, but it had been down to poor experience, and there was no heart warmer than that which had lain beneath that quiet black veneer. Neither child had had a bad experience, so far as Pride knew, so why were they both so... down? Mercy was nothing but kind, loving, supportive. Pride was supportive, too, and he hoped equally as kind, but the kids just weren't responding to it. He ran over lists of things he'd tried, and things he had yet to: storytelling, training, games. What would bring them out of their unnatural melancholies?

It was a sad thing for the white stag to have to deal with. He had enough of his own terrible memories and worries; too many came to him only for support, and never to support him. He missed Nassir's quiet acceptance, the leopard's soft words of concern and advice. He had, it seemed, been replaced by another dependant. Pride didn't resent it, but it was... tiring.

Ahh, well. He took a breath, steeling himself to the task ahead.

"Temperance?" he called out, hooves clicking along the stone. The scent was here, but not very strong; perhaps the child was somewhere close by. "Are you there?"

Ahh, there he was. Pride veered over, and then came to an easygoing halt as the child approached, sat, curled his tail up. The stag flicked an ear, affection at seeing his child changing to confusion as he noted the body language: miserable, guilty. What had happened-?

"Ahh--what's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

There was little more to say until he had an answer; he could not plan without knowing.

Pride tilted his head a little, studying Temperance for a moment. His voice was gentle as he spoke. "Honesty's important between family, you know? We can't help each other if we hide things from each other. You never need to keep anything a secret from me. But... I'll also respect your boundaries. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

He gave the cub a moment to think about that (cub? well, not a fawn; he certainly took after Nassir more than himself, by far--a little ganglier, maybe...).

Then he answered the question: "I came to see if you wanted to do something. Anything, really. Learn a little magic, hear a story. Just talk." He paused, then, to wait.

His ears flicked, and he added--as an afterthought--"And by the way, you never know if someone can help until you ask." He didn't notice the miniature bloodbath behind the stone; his full attention--troubled attention, though he didn't show as much--was on his child.

"If that's what you want," Pride responded, a sort of mental shrug and agreeable enough. He wouldn't push, or peek, either, though the cub's mood concerned him.

At the outburst of complaint, though, he laughed. It was clearly not a mocking laugh: on the contrary it was reassuring, amused, self-deprecating. "Oh, no no. My magic is not controlled, Temperance. Caves, I wish it was. It fails to come, or lashes back at me, quite often. That being said, different magics work different ways." He stepped forward, curving around the cub to come up alongside him, facing the same direction: then he concentrated. "This magic often backfires for me, but let's see..."

It didn't, and a moment later a glimmer of light appeared before them. It began to take different shapes--colors--as Pride spoke. At first, it was only an inconstant, swirling ball of silver and gold potential, as-yet unformed by his will. "They're all fairly fickle, I think. Most of your stability will come with time, and practice. But when different magics fail or backfire, they have widely-varying effects." The ball of light became a tiny, glowing carpet of plants. Flowers, ferns, on a bed of grass and moss. It was only a foot or so across where it sat before them, but as Pride went on, one of the little flowers wilted and died. "If you're trying to grow plants, for example, well--that's not going to serve you as well in battle as other things will, but on the flip side, if it backfires the worst that might happen is the poor thing dies."

It shifted, then: became flame, licking in silence along the stone. "Fire can be devastating, and its use strong, fast-acting. But if that backfires-? You can burn yourself quite badly." Last it became rocks: lifting up, flinging, one engulfing in bright light, another in swirling black, and so on. "Our magic is energy itself, the fabric of the universe--mind magic, too. Maybe the essence of things, in its purity. It can be dramatically powerful, but if it backfires it can hurt us just like fire." He let the illusion drop, and turned to the cub. "When I was very young I knew a black pup, by the name of Aster. She shared our magic, too, and one of the first things she did was nearly lose her leg to a backfiring blast. I had to hunt for her, for awhile; that's why I can help teach you to hunt. You need to always be careful, when practicing, and make sure myself or Mercy are close. But it's certainly not unique to you, Temperance. It's a problem every Gembound has to go through, and really the only cure is practice. Even then, you'll still have times when the magic fails or reacts more strongly--in certain places, like near the Spire, or if you're very tired, and so forth. It's never perfect, really." As much as he tried.

"But given that the best way is practice; what is it you're having trouble with? What is it that's backfiring on you?" he asked, patiently, turning again to face the child.

To say that Pride was taken aback would be an understatement. He at once wondered where he'd gone wrong; he and Mercy had both provided nothing but kindness and support, guidance, to both children.

He was suddenly struck with strong self-doubt. And though he couldn't know it, it was wholly undeserved; the stag had been a good father. But for whatever reason, this child had developed a self-loathing and anger so deep--out of nowhere, really--that it had built a wall between them.

Pride simply stood, for a moment, baffled. There was always a little moodiness around half-adult age, but this-? He had no experience with such violent temperaments, other than those in the caves who wound up killing others. Did this cub somehow carry some... taint, like that-? Was there some hidden magic that twisted some Gembound into killing machines? I hope not, he thought fervently. Ahh--and he was broadcasting everything to Mercy. Unwanted, but there it was. Mercy, he thought toward the lion, I think we have a problem. I'll try to handle it, for now. Any advice? He didn't have to explain; he knew the lion would've seen it all.

"So practice it," Pride answered, and tried to keep the same confidence in his tone. He wasn't angry with his child--how could he be? But he was... frightened, for him. Worried. Temperance looked miserable, and he simply had no idea where all of this was coming from: the brooding moodiness, the grumpy demeanor.

Pride stepped over, offering the cub a gentle nudge. "Practice it, but don't frustrate yourself. It comes with time, Temperance; it isn't the sort of thing you can force. It does get frustrating. It will get frustrating. But it's how you handle that that matters, all right? Listen; I have noticed that you often seem unhappy. Is there a reason for that?" Communication, as he'd said, was key; maybe there was something the cub just hadn't mentioned.