washed up - Printable Version

In the wet earth, among the small pools and the dirt and limestone, there was blue.

Not the dark blue of the crystal waters, nor the pale blue of the glowing pendants seen far, far above the firmament of the cavern, a dozen small suns; but a single instance of teal. Just underneath the surface of one of the larger ponds - nearly lake-like - there was something of an unfamiliar mineral, smooth and vibrant, artisan in it's appearance. One could mistake it for a shimmering jewel, beached exotic sealife, the egg of some great, forgotten animal. It barely protruded from the ground, melded by gentle erosion, partially concealed by sand and gloomy water.

It was a peculiar fixture, sitting here for time unknown, but it was paid no heed by the fish or the ponds or the waterfall.

Until something came crawling out of it. It was abrupt, and not marked by any struggle - the turquoise was whole, and then a moment later, it was not. A sudden burst. A pop, and a column of bubbles flowing upward. Clouds of vernix like pale smoke. The stone which seemed immovable and polished to absurdity, was, evidently, not a stone, but a cocoon. Fragments floated to the top of the water, rippling the surface, minnows and crayfish fleeing from the sudden movement. A small dark creature crawled to the shore.

---

This was hours ago. Rhona - she does not yet know her name - did little in that time but accustom to the feeling of air flood her lungs, pores agape to the atmosphere. She did not move far from the pond. She was laying, belly touching stone, head on the ground, hiding her face with her paws as if in discomfort; perhaps overwhelmed with the sudden new sense of vision. Cleaned of her neonatal residue by the water, and now dry, the ermine of her small coat warmed her from the chill. It smelled of salt and slight algae. She was very still, save for the subtle rise and fall of her back. In, out. In, out. Dripping water and lapping poolsides tickling the ears.

There was a groan. The little bear would very much prefer to be back in her chrysalis, but all that could be done was to wait and breath, to get used to all of this, whatever it was.

RE: washed up - Jim - Mar 08 2023

The fox would emerge much later.

Hours after the bear broke free from her chrysalis, spiderwebbing cracks across a lump of glittering diamond seemed to shiver in the damp chill, before the whole thing crumbled. It was not so loud as one would expect, only a soft cascading noise as countless gleaming shards collapsed in on themselves.

Jim crawled out of the pile of gemstone, shaking a few clinging shards free from his damp fur. Already, he felt a vague sense of disappointment in this new place. Why was everything so slippery, and poorly-lit, and damp? His nose wrinkled with disapproval, an exasperated look crossing his catlike face.

A groan caught his attention--what was that? A pile of black fluff, moving slightly--or was that just from the slight breeze? Instinctively, he tried to reach out with... something to confirm its identity as something living or dead, but nothing came.

Oh, well. He was a healthy fox kit, with eyes and ears and a keen nose. He would not be helpless, even if this something more failed him. Jim trotted forward, ears cupped forward and alert, cautiously circling the pile of fur to examine it from every angle before getting closer.

"H-hey," he tried, his voice crackling with the stickiness of his chrysalis fluid. "What are you?" It might have been a rhetorical question. He did not really know if he expected a response; he only knew that this pile of fluff had fur, like him, but it was unlike him in other ways. Size, for one, and color--and he couldn't see whether it had a face.

Still, he was curious.

fox credit - dash huang on flickr

@Rhona