He already felt immense relief when Mercurius admitted to have simply imagined up the story. On its heels came a strange sense of betrayal--his first--a slightly surreal sensation accompanied by the thought Why'd he let me get scared over his story? But then Mercurius was saying that some of it was based on things he'd heard. Arsu--in the way of a stubborn, curious child--persisted.

"Was that story theirs or just parts? Which parts?" The sense of betrayal--faint as it was--was already forgotten, though perhaps to be remembered in the future. For now he sneezed, then laughed, at the plant's kiss. "How did you do that?!" he asked, excitedly, and then pushed up.

He pranced around it, eyes sparkling with interest. He did not know the spell his father had used, and so--in his efforts to duplicate it--he only knew to push more magicka into the plant, with the shape of the one spell he did know. That magic made plants sprout: now, pushing more into it, it suddenly blossomed. Green parted for a red--with hues of pink and orange--to push out as a bud, which then flowered into a symmetrical, beautiful cluster of spines. It was some sort of jungle flower, exotic and sweet-smelling, and he blinked and looked up to Mercurius with awe.

"I--I did that?" he asked, and he was uncertain--perhaps he'd done nothing, and his father had done it instead?

Arsu listened, quiet, that faint shadow of betrayal flickering over his thoughts again. It wasn't strong enough, though, to surface past his curiosity just yet--it lingered, like a shark half-hidden beneath the sea, ready to come out when his thoughts, later, strayed too close.

For now he tilted his head. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. "I know there are other caves, but what are they like? Perhaps--a real story, instead of a fanciful one?" he asked, a little hopefully.

At Mercurius' praise he felt pride--but it was faint, distant. He did not hold his father's depth of warm emotion, though it was there--he enjoyed nurturing the plant life, but like Pride, some part of him was always aloof. Perhaps even moreso than with the stag. It might have been down to Arsu's mind always lingering in a slightly parallel world of fantasy, in a sense; his thought were never quite all "here," and so, perhaps, neither were his feelings. His love for his father was there, and real, but slightly distant, almost as though it belonged to someone else.

So did that disappointment, or betrayal.

The curiosity, though--with all of his enthusiasm--was real (if still fainter than one might expect). Though Arsu wasn't a highly emotional Gembound, it was clear that he wanted, truly, to know of the other caves. And indeed his mind was already wandering, lingering back on all his memories of the fantastic (and likely fake, he knew--but he'd known that much all along) places of his father's stories. But what was really out there..?

He lowered his head, nudging the glowing flower--and then lay down beside it, as if deciding it would now be his companion. Rapt eyes lingered on it, as if his attention had so easily been taken.

Arsu listened, gradually closing his eyes.

Orion. He'd heard of it. Father--Pride--had spoken many times of taking them to meet Charity, their unknown sibling, but it had never come to pass. He got the impression that something about Charity made Pride unhappy--or at the very least, distant and thoughtful--and he'd been afraid to press it further.

But he hadn't been there.

Nor had he been anywhere else, really--he'd never had the urge to. Yet now, curiosity gripped him, and he felt a powerful yearning for adventure. More than that, he craved knowledge, and this, perhaps, was more Pride's influence than that of the white lion by his side.

"Tell me about all the caves," he decided, eyes opening again and peering up at Mercurius with intensity. Gone was the distant, brooding gaze of a few moments ago; his mercurial spirit (perhaps the lion's influence more than Pride's, this time) was flickering high. Childlike, intent, he peered up at his father hopefully.

"What do they look like? Who lives there? Are any of them dangerous? --Are any as nice as Eridanus--as home?"

He did not forget that this was meant to be a magic lesson, and in an attempt to forestall any argument, he focused for a moment--almost absently--on his magicka. His white coat took on that shimmering white glow, and he waited, hopefully expectant, for all sorts of stories.

Arsu listened raptly, his eyes growing ever-wider. The mention of dragons fascinated him deeply, though he could not have said quite why, and the tale of the ice-bird, too, brought with it great awe. He wanted, suddenly and more than anything, to travel the caves, and to see these sights. His heart felt filled to bursting with this new desire.

Pale gaze lingered on Mercurius' expert illusions, and he remained silent until the very end. But his mind was weaving imagery on top of what Mercurius was showing him. He was imagining the misty depths of Cetus; he pictured a boiling furnace deep beneath Fornax' sea. The phrase Mercurius used regarding Canis' bones--belonging to many and to none, both confused and interested him, but his mind forgot the turn of words (which, for a moment, he'd planned to ask about) at the astonishing description of Monoceros and its storm.

When at last the white lion's tales came to a closer, Arsu spoke. His voice was soft, yet earnest, and filled with longing.

"...I wish to travel, Father," he said. "I wish to see these swamps with my own eye--and the ice-bird, and the dragons. I wish to see what makes the difference between a place full of life, light and fire--and dry, with bones, as you have shown. I wish to ask the ancients, and to see what I believe of their words, for my own."

He pushed up from where he'd lay down, looking around, as if seeing the caves in a whole new light.

"Let me find my brother, and Pride, and when I have said farewell I will journey. But I will return--with your permission, with your blessing?" he asked, glancing to Mercurius. One foreleg, hesitating, waited midair. It was clear that his imagination had been captured--he wanted, right now, to set off. It was strange, in a sense, this always dreaming young creature, suddenly so headstrong and wilfully bent on a new path. But so he was, and he peered at Mercurius, waiting for the permission that he knew would come.

Arsu felt a flood of warmth--of gratitude. As easy-going as Mercurius was, and as much as Arsu had expected permission, he had still worried just a little that his father would protest. Perhaps out of worry, or perhaps a request for a delay of some kind. So when he received nothing but encouragement, he was gladdened.

"Thank you, Father," he said at once, hopping forward. He felt the thrill of the magicka--the warmth, the strength it induced--and his gratitude, and love for his parent, grew just a little. He leaned forward to offer an affectionate kiss goodbye, to the lion's pale cheek, before glancing off toward the glade.

"I will say goodbye to Azizos, and to Pride, before I go. Perhaps Azizos will want to come with me--I don't know--but if he does I'll make sure he says goodbye first, as well." Arsu dipped his head, the slender silver tines glinting in the dim light.

"I hope that I will not be gone for very long--but I will bring back stories, when I return," he promised him. Then, with a flick of his tail, he turned. There was surprising speed and grace in his movement as he bounded away, near-soundless, into the bushes and off.

He would speak to Pride; he would speak to Azizos, and then he would begin his journey.

Excitement--and a little trickle of fear--thrilled through him; but Mercurius' warmth lingered, and with the lion's blessing, his courage did not falter. He would go, and he would explore, and he would return the better for it.

A thought struck Arsu--I am very lucky, to have the parents that I do. And he paused, then--already well on his way back to the glade--and turned. This, he felt with strong intuition, was something that should be said.

And so, less than a minute after he'd leapt away into the forest, Arsu reemerged--his head poking out of the foliage to peer back at Mercurius one more time. "Before I go, I wished to say--thank you. I am lucky--and glad--to have you as a father." He gave the lion a kind smile, as best his bestial face could manage, before dashing off into the woodland once again.