Oliver was still a young thing, but he was growing up fast. He was thin and scraggly, but the naked points along the back of his gangly arms had at least grown tufts of soft feathers. His long and tufted ears lifted as he heard a voice calling for him.

He looked up, a peaceful joy emanating from him.

"Mom?" he called back, quiet and pleasant.

He loved this place: the darkness of the swamp fit him, a comfortable hiding place. He never seemed to get into danger, here--somehow--and there was nothing he loved more than clambering up the trees and sitting in the lower branches, daydreaming as he gazed out into the mists.

Right now, though, he was down on the ground; he'd been picking at a bit of exposed root he'd found, something juicy and sweet. He'd found that he could eat almost anything; he liked to catch and eat fish, and mice--though he felt a little bad for them--but just as often, he could be found munching fruits, vegetables, roots... anything, really. Except teh grass--the swamp reeds. That was coarse, unpalatable, and he'd spit that back out and not tried it again.

Well, maybe once.

Well... maybe a few times, but just to see if other clumps of grass would tasted any better!

"I'm over here, Mom!"

Oliver used one of his wing-paw-hands to draw a stone close, focusing on it. He felt the joyful magic bubble up in him, just as Mom had shown him. It flared up with a brilliant glow, illuminating the mists all around him so that Eve could find him more easily. She'd find a proud, pleased little pup, scraggly and thin but not undernourished--merely light-boned, lightly-built. One happy, safe crow-dog, waiting for his mother.

Oliver sat beside the bright stone, puffing out his feathers a little with joy as his mother praised his work. It was shiny now, and she was happy--this was good.

Her words, however, were not good, and a moment after he'd ruffled up, he was wilting.

"...Dangerous? Tal'at? Is he okay? What happened?"

Earnest blue eyes peered up at Eve, the little crow-dog shuffling to tuck his four gangly legs beneath his body. He didn't really know fear--or he never had, anyway. He had never been frightened by the dark of the swamp, the things lurking in its depths, or the eerie shrieks of the Hallowed Callers in the trees. This, though... Tal'at, injured? Dangerous? Something about his mother's calm seemed almost forced, to him, and he hunkered down even further, hoping it wasn't anything too serious.

"Where are we going?" he asked, in a near-whisper. "To the big tree?"

Oliver had never left Cetus, and had no concept of things that might lie outside it. To his mind, "leaving" meant that they'd be going halfway across the cave.

If he'd known his mother wanted to take him from the familiar, comforting darkness and mists, he might have rebelled, a little, but as it stood he just looked around at the small patch of swamp he assumed he'd have to leave behind, and looked up, nodding at her.

"Can I keep my rock...?" he asked quietly, clutching the little glowing stone in his taloned foreclaws.