Aster's suggestion earned a sharp glance from Pride, the idea she'd offered spiking a thin thread of fear through him. He looked back to the water, his brow somewhat tight, as he considered. "...It could be," he agreed, though it was almost an admission. He didn't want to think that it might be a predator, a thing lurking but looking like simple water.

That was... disturbing.

He knew this was one of Aster's favored spots, however--and knew that she'd never been harmed, here. She must know, as he did, that the water was bitterly and unnaturally cold, and so he didn't warn her away from it. Instead, he thought back to the magic, oblivious to any discomfort caused by his chitchat. "And yes... I do not know how the magic chooses which bit of the past to see. It's as you say--it could be a cycle ago or ten thousand. I do not know how to tell."

Idly, he lowered his muzzle to the ground. Pale nose and soft lips nudged at the soil there, and he focused again on his magicka, for a moment--though it might have looked as though he were seeking shoots upon which to graze. He was, instead, acting on impulse--the idea had occurred to him to combine their two topics of conversation. To combine both gemstones--like his armor--and the Eyes. A gift, perhaps, for Aster.

He concentrated, his magicka flickering up, and from the dirt before him rose a small, flat, round disc of gemstone. It was a silver-grey, opaque and shimmering, not at all unlike looking into the Eyes. It was only a few inches across--small enough to carry about--and looked something like a grey Star Sapphire, though with an uneven, water-like shimmer to the 'star.'

Without speaking, he nudged it over to Aster--a clear present for her. He then leaned back, looking out at the Eyes idly.

"You should come and meet the children," he said quietly, impulsively. "Or at least visit Mercurius and I in the garden when they're out travelling." He knew that Aster preferred quiet solitude, but he often missed her company, and wished that she was more present in his life. He'd extended this invitations often, but it didn't stop him from doing so again. "You'd find the grove very peaceful--and I'm sure that Mercy would enjoy meeting you. Perhaps you'd like to hear one of his stories, too. He's very kind."

Pride watched Aster pace the shore of the pools, quiet. If he was concerned, he didn't say it. Instead he waited, patient, for her mind to circle back around to his question--and when she asked one in turn, he responded. "Not far from here. I think the children have come here, a few times; but the grove isn't far at all. Likely you've walked right past it without noticing. It is well-hidden among the greenery."

Pride also made no indication that he was displeased with Aster's lack of manners--or rather, niceties; he wasn't. He didn't mind. It was her way, and he knew that.

And as for the stories--well! A happy expression--a rare display, for the stag--flicked over his face. For a moment he appeared content, even warm.

"Ahh, Mercurius tells all sorts of fanciful tales. Often there's a moral question to them, and other times they're just journeys for the mind. He's taught me to tell stories, and I do it myself, now. I could create one for you, if you wanted. The children don't tell their own, yet, but they'll get there--of that I'm certain. They're both quite keen of mind. Arsu is more the dreamer, though; Azizos is--ahh, more like me, I should think. Logical, I suppose." Half of him hoped that Aster would wish for a story--but the other half perhaps subconsciously knew that listening to him talking was not her favorite pastime. And maybe it wasn't even personal--the dog was hardly a social being, not with anyone.

He hoped, at least, that she would come visit. Perhaps it would do her good.

Pride's ears pushed toward Aster at her mention of "bird," but when she gave absolutely no context for her sudden speech, he didn't push. He waited, but she changed topic entirely. He glanced around half-heartedly for a bird she might have seen before turning his attention, somewhat bewildered, back to her. He listened, for a moment.

"Yes-... ahh. Allow me to give a quite simple example of each." Pride thought, for a moment, determined to truly make this brief. "A moral question, for example--let us say that you discovered that the caves were going to... come to an end, somehow, in a cycle's time. Fire, or collapse--it doesn't matter--but you knew, however unlikely it is, you knew that it was unstoppable. Now, imagine there's a great many Gembound in the caves--many quite happy in their lives, oblivious of their impending deaths, but others fighting with one another or the like. The moral question in this story is, would you tell them they are going to die, and let them prepare, and make amends with those they've been arguing with? Or do you keep it to yourself, hide it from them, but let them enjoy a cycle of bliss?"

It was a story he'd wanted to tell--in a more fleshed-out form, and more fully--but the bare-bones skeleton would do, for now. "And as for a journey... Tales of fantastic, imaginary places. A--an upside-down cave, filled with green water that flows upward. Or a vast, white cave full of strange black orbs, all made of stone, that whisper kindness when you touch them. Or an ancient ruin built from... hmm, from mats of old plant growth, so that it's all grown together, rough and scratching, and in it live four-headed mice. Things that do not exist, do you see? Things, places, situations that stretch the imagination, that take your mind to wondrous places."

The stag tilted his head thoughtfully at her other question. "I do not know--I suppose it varies by storyteller. Some, I craft over weeks of thought, picking up and then discarding ideas, reorganizing them. Others I come up with on the spot, and simply take joy in the flow of the moment." At Aster's agreement to visit, Pride practically leapt with joy. ...Practically. Really, it was just a tensing, and his eyes near lit up. "Ahh, I am so very glad! When would you like to go?"

Luckily for Aster, she was right; he couldn't read minds--well, he could, but he wasn't currently--but if he had been, he'd have told her that yes, Mercy was just about the nicest Gembound he'd ever met.

The stag waited, but eventually he realized that--somehow--the dog was apparently asleep. Or deep in her magic. He stepped over and nudged at her, once, but she did not respond; with a soft snort of friendly amusement he turned and left her to her rest.

He'd be back later, anyway.