Oliver missed Venari.

There was no real other way to put it; in his circling around and around the caves, helping everyone he met, he hadn't had time to visit existing friends.

He'd taken his basket, and spent time picking flowers and plants that he had grown over the last few cycles. He didn't snap the stems, though; he'd carefully plucked them up by the roots. Now he looked them over.

He had the ones that helped with pain--the brilliant red poppies Vivilene had shown him. They made him drowsy when he nibbled them. Then there were the bright white flowers with slender cups for petals, and the tiny sapling of a fruiting tree.

Oliver doubted that Venari ate fruit, but the tree smelled good, anyway.

He had taken a couple of his baubled stones, too--nothing too special, but he thought she might like the thought. Then he'd set out for Eridanus.

Now he was clambering his way up toward Venari's den, huffing a little; the basket was over one hand, and he half-wished he could just shapeshift and fly the rest of the way. But that'd hurt like hell, and he wasn't actually sure the basket was small enough to carry that way, so on he trudged.

At last he'd come within shouting distance of her little cave, and he paused there to catch his breath. He kept politely a ways back as he called out: "Venari-? It's Oliver! ...Are you there?"

When Venari rose up, that third eye opening, Oliver--instinctive, by nature--dropped down a little lower. He watched her, his eyes wide, not unlike a puppy unsure if it were about to be scolded or praised; ear-tufts first flattened back, then half-raised uncertainly.

But then she seemed to... if not approved, to accept, and he gave a dip of his head as he started forward, the feathered tail sweeping as if trying to wag itself. "Hi," he began, voice soft; "I found a stone. Uh--a lot of us did, I think," he amended, setting the basket down while still a few yards off. "It was--pinkish-purple, and yellow? And it was granting wishes. Like-... I knew it was? Even though it didn't say anything," he added, his usual gentle rambling paired with a glance up, scrunched-nosed in thought, to Venari.

He plucked one of the plants out, still in its ball root; she'd preferred the lights, he knew, but he held it up nonetheless. "I brought plants that--do things. That help if you're hurt. And one that's just pretty," he added cheerfully. "Anyway, the--rock? It turned me into an owl," he went on matter-of-factly, eyes back on his basket as he picked the few baubled rocks out. "I wished to help people and--at first it gave me a compass but then it turned me into an owl. It hurts so bad I went back into my rock and--well, I woke up with mine different colors?"

He stepped up, holding up both hands: a baubled rock in one palm, the altered gem on a finger of the other hand. Its green-black was thinly streaked with purple-gold. "Oh--I brought you these, too." For a moment he hesitated, as if worried about something or other, but then he pressed on, peering up at the face between those mandibles. "So-... Are you okay? How have you been?"

Oliver gave a little nod, and looked around. "Where do you want to put them?" he asked, settling the rest of the rooted plants on the grass.

As for the trophies-? "I'm sorry you've been bored. And sorry I haven't visited; it sounds... bad to be forgotten. I didn't forget you," he hastened to reassure her. He'd just-... been in a rock. "I can still become an owl but-... I've only done it once." It was a quiet admission. "It hurts, uh--a lot. But I can fly better and--hear really well? And see better in the dark." He glanced to Venari. "Do you know a lot about magic-? Do you know why that'd--happen, what sort of magic it is?" If it were even magic at all.

"Why's my stone a trophy?" he went on, and managed to refrain from apologizing for all the questions. That'd probably just annoy her, he guessed, though really he wasn't sure. "What kind of trophies do you collect?" It was an idle question, a friendly and companionable one. He didn't have any trophies. Not that he knew of, at least. Oliver wasn't really the "trophy-collecting" sort but Venari-... well.

In retrospect he feared to wonder what sort of trophies she did collect. And though he didn't say it, he did think it: I'm sort of glad she hasn't had any contracts.


It meant no one had died.

Well-... not by her hands, or--mandibles, at least.

He peered at her little path, and smiled. As she began to speak, he crouched and began to dig little holes. "They dull pain and make you sleepy, which... it's good if you're hurt and need to rest, but you don't want to go into your stone." Of course, from what she was saying about the burning eye--which sounded horrific, by the way--Oliver doubted Venari cared all that much for pain.

In fact, as he glanced up, he paused; he realized that she sounded a lot more... wise, a lot more mature than he remembered. Not that she'd ever been childlike, exactly, but--this was advice, and it was good advice, too. Sometimes, Venari had struck him--him, of all people--as naive in some ways; right now, though, she was speaking from experience.

...Huh.

"...Thanks. That sounds like it was painful. I will, then--I'll practice," he answered, trying for a smile, though the very idea of forcing more transformations drove a cold stake of fear through him. He tried to push that away and focus, though, patting dirt atop the second flower's roots, settling it in.

"I'll--sure, I'll look at your trophies? Thanks," he said, though it was just a little subdued. He was interested because she was interested, and in truth it sounded neat, but--there was always the fact that they were Gembounds who had died. Maybe not by Venari's jaws, but death was always sad, to Oliver. Almost as an afterthought, he glanced up at her again. "You can have my stone when I die," he assured her, easily, friendly. He didn't really mind.

Oliver blinked up at the offer, his expression lighting up with joy. Venari was--just so nice. He was reminded of how kind she was, how honestly caring, beneath that... admittedly very hard and spiky exterior. He wondered, for a moment, if he had any better friends and honestly-? He couldn't think of any.

Venari's my best friend, he thought, and he was okay with that. He couldn't remember if he'd thought about it before, and even this thought was fleeting, because he was looking at her stones. "I might practice here," he murmured, eyeing them over, but his mind was already half on them.

It was sad. And beautiful; each stone was genuinely pretty in its own way. The Howlite reminded him a little of the palace in Cepheus, which he'd mostly seen in passing--marbled and shining, stark, if rather sad-looking. The Tourmaline put him in mind of the icicles in the tunnel that twisted up toward Fornax--clear, sharp, pure. The Suglite, though--at first he looked at it and thought it was pretty, yes. Purple, cloudy, like--well, Oliver'd never seen a nebula before; he rather thought it looked like magic.

But it looked... sad, somehow. Well--they all did. But this one most of all, lonely somehow. And that's what they were--weren't they? All the lost stones; to him they didn't seem like trophies.

They seemed lost, alone, and... well, not forgotten. Venari remembered them, at least as stones. But what about the people they'd belonged to? It was like walking through a mausoleum, looking at shelves upon which sat quiet ghosts, ghosts that could never talk or tell their stories but were instead confined to these gems forever.

He reached out, a little sad, as if to touch one, though he stopped just short.

"They seem... sad. I mean--they're beautiful," he hastened to assure Venari, blinking up at her. "But they seem so lonely. I wish I could help them," he added, in a wistful way, gently moving to tap one finger to the suglite.

Venari will probably think that's silly, he thought, and his ear-tufts briefly flattened back. "It's a wonderful collection."