I'm afraid of heights (or maybe just falling to my death)

The dog's chrysalis was a perfect match for Orion's darkness and starry-sky aesthetic, if not its dust. It had started out a perfect inky-black, impeccably smooth to the point that it reflected the dim orb-light, but slender epidote tendrils had crept over it in places, growing clusters of green-black crystals on its surface. If the black jade had been the infinite night sky, then perhaps the epidote was a faint nebula or the reflection of green leaves on the surface of water at night.

When the chrysalis cracked and the dog inside was unceremoniously deposited onto the rock slab outside, her first thought was not about how beautiful the rock she emerged from had been.

She blinked open her eyes and shook shards of gemstone from her fur, then abruptly froze.

It was so high up.

Beyond the edge of the rock that was so close too close, the ground simply dipped away. Broken stone structures glinted far, far below. Feverfew's head spun as her stare fixated on the ground below. Such a great distance--what would happen to her if she fell? What if the wind blew her, and she slipped? What if the rock beneath her paws simply gave way and crumbled like the rock that had once contained her, and she broke every bone in her body on the jagged ruins below?

It would hurt, she was sure.

"Help," she croaked, spine stiff with fear. Then, louder. "HELP! Help me!"

F E V E R F E W
Will you stay with me?

The creature to answer the puppy's call was, at the very least, winged.

It was not, however, sentient: black wings on a black body sailed in, flapping, and then little feet gripped the broken chrysalis. Far too many eyes, dark in color, peered curiously at the child.

At least the Flying Pitch Rat seemed to mean no harm; indeed it looked curious as it perched there, studying the pup and then sniffing around the chrysalis itself. Perhaps some sort of maternal instinct--driven by Parthenium's cries--had drawn it in, for now it scuttled a little closer, making soft sounds of chirping that might have been reassurance.

Her cries were answered, though not quite in the form she might have expected. Feverfew cried out in fear, hunching close to the rock as the bat swooped down and peered at her with too many haphazardly-placed eyes. She held very still as it scuttled around the shards of her chrysalis, the fur on her back puffing up at the pitter-patter of the bat's little feet and the twitch of its wet nose.

Perhaps the puppy was reassured by the bat's little chirps, though, or perhaps she was simply scared of moving too much and falling to her death, for she did not flinch back as it crept closer, though her eyes did grow very wide. "Hey," she whispered, huge brown eyes fixated on the bat's misshapen face. "Hey, you-- are you--?" Feverfew's voice faltered, but she bravely tried again: "Are you here to help me?"

She hesitated, her stare turning pleading, and added very quietly: "Please don't leave me here."

The bat, of course, did not understand a word of it; but maybe tone and body language were clear enough. After a moment of blank staring (with very little behind those Lesser eyes), the Flying Pitch Rat edged closer, and attempted to begin grooming the newborn child--starting with the crown of Feverfew's head.

Many Gembound had the luck to encounter someone sentient upon their hatching: a guide or a mentor, a parental figure, or a brand new friend. This child was now seemingly half-adopted by a Lesser; who knew where that might lead them?

OOC: Parthenium has accidentally been adopted by a maternal (or paternal?) Flying Pitch Rat. Their player is free to roleplay this creature themselves, or they are of course welcome to continue to request a Game Master roleplay their character's new parent, or a mixture of the two! This critter, like most of its kind, is relatively shy and unaggressive, generally living in a small and social colony of its own kind.