The question had her shoulders sagging.

The chrysalis wasn't in sight, yet*, and the necessity of an honest answer crumbled down those tentative walls she'd been so carefully building over the last few minutes.

She sighed, softly, and looked to Aure; but there was relief, release, in answering truthfully. "I don't need to be all right with it--let's get that clear, kiddo," she answered, amused; and then, more seriously, "I just wish you'd spoken to me first." It was quietly-said, and there was nothing venomous in it; it was a simple answer and a very honest one. And then, an honest follow-up: "I'll get over it, Aure. It's just a bit of a shock."

A pause, staring out at the cairn. Thinking.

"There should be some kind of ritual. A first reading, you know? For a kid, before they're hatched." Absent, thoughtful; but she glanced almost fondly, then, at the wisp that orbitted close by.

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Giggle offered Aure a brief, darkly-amused look.

"Maybe not, but I will." 'Get over it,' that was. "I know you, Aure, you didn't decide 'hey, let's leave Mom out of this.' It was spur of the moment. I get it. You didn't mean anything nasty, I know you didn't and you don't need to worry that I think that. You're a good son." Firmly-stated. Though... some of his insecurities were showing, weren't they-? On the one hand, it was good that he cared about the feelings of others. On the other, she didn't want him second-guessing himself all the time. And it wasn't just because "mother knows best, he can't be that way;" it was because she'd seen that stress, that worry, consume his father. Consume Aza'zel. "Don't ever feel bad if you didn't do something wrong," she offered, at last, before approaching the chrysalis.

She reached her magic out, a tentative brush, a sense, as she stepped up close to it. And there, she paused, sudden realization rushing over her with the influx of the knowledge that this magic imparted.

"It has Aza'zel's magic," she said, slowly, as it dawned on her. She could sense it in the stone--the first time she'd ever felt that--a low, throbbing power like a storm to be unleashed. "It's alive. And it's got his stone, too." She paused, musing. If Aure was half-Aza'zel, and Eythan was half-Aza'zel, did that make this child... what, also half? Three-quarters? The old hyena couldn't puzzle it out and anyway, she knew that inheritance was an odd thing. But both parents were shades of creams and browns, feathered, with Aza'zel's beak. Most likely, she knew, so would the child be.

Would it look just like him..? Would it have his stone, his magic, and his voice? What if it was a girl--a daughter-Aza'zel?

Giggle slowly sat down, staring at the stone, imagining a... reimagining, really, of her old friend. "It'll have a lot of him in it," she said, at last, quietly--and for a moment, she was lost in her own thoughts, and memories.

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Where her son's thoughts went, hers could not.

"What will it be like" opened the door to memories she didn't want to imagine. 'Would the child be happy' brought back memories of smiles Aure had never really known. Likes, dislikes-... They'd always be compared to another now gone. She'd take the kid as they came; that wasn't even on the table. But it was healthy. There was magic, in this stone, and that was enough for her.

Giggle felt... weary. She had every intention of finding Eythan, at some point--to listen in on his thoughts. But her suspicions, her worries, the ragged frantic wondering of the last few chaotic moments, had left her mind rather wandering.

Some old wounds, it seemed, would never truly heal.

She exhaled.

"I'll ask," was all she said, and turned back toward the bone pit, too lost in her own mind to even glance at her son.

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She led the way to the bone pit, the rhythm of her slow, steady plod interrupted only by her turning, peering, her expression relaxing into something a little more warm, at the sight of the light.

Her son, even in his silence, was a kind creature.

"Those are good lights. You're getting good, with your magic," she told him, tone approving and grateful all at once. She turned back, then, and paced to the pit's edge, and considered.

"You know, I don't think I ever did a reading for you, before you hatched?" Giggle pondered for a moment, but no memories swam up from the admittedly murky depths of her mind. "I mean it--we should create a new tradition, here and now, with this one. What should we call it, do you think-? Just... 'the First Throw?' It sounds--simple," she added, and then laughed, raucous and hoarse.

"What should I ask, do you think?" she then added, wading chest-deep into the pit, into where Aza'zel's keel lay from the last time she'd recently cast it. She paused to look back, then, humorously. "Pick the question carefully, it's about to become a ritual."

No pressure or anything, Aure.

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Giggle offered something like a grin, from where she stood, half-surrounded by the bones of the dead.

"A good question, though you've gotta be dramatic with it. You know," she added, and then stood a little more upright, trying to send out one of those spooky, magic-infused cackles she'd so come to love. It came, if not quite as dramatic as she'd hoped. And then, in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice: "OH, BONES, WE GATHER HERE FOR THE FIRST READING OF A CHILD-..."

And then, another smirk and good-natured laughter before she actually turned back to the keel, more serious now.

"It's a good question, though. Bones, then: this child, who has yet to hatch; whose stone lies now guarded by Aza'zel's remains--Bones, what is in store for this one?"

Dutifully-repeated. She picked up the keel, and trotted up to her ledge, and repeated the question again, in a murmur: focused, now, on the bone pit below.

And then she sent it tumbling.

The way it fell, at first, was alarming--and then, profoundly relieving. She was startled, in fact, at the omens here, at how harmoniously an initial discordance in the impact resolved itself into neat patterns, and she huffed in amused, pleased surprise.

She lifted dark eyes to Aure, and spoke.

"This child will inherit a problem. Be it physical--or not; be it from the parents, a fear perhaps--maybe Aza'zel's, and the one his line shares--or something that happens before it hatches. But it can be worked through. Beyond that the bones fall with good, harmless order. I see joy for this child, and a sense of community. It will contribute, I think, to the Bonebound. And beyond that, in turn!--I see rich rewards. It gives, and is given back. This is good. These are good omens."

She paused, then, realizing that this ceremony should have some sort of close, and winked at Aure before adding: "For this child, the bones have spoken.

And she turned, to come back down to her son.

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