Amongst the bed of mosses, flowering with unseen sprouts, the chrysalis lay nested. Off the bare-beaten path, it rested - partially enrapt by ferns and creeping tendrils. Pale quartz spires cut sharply forth but the plantlife seemed undeterred. In the vastness of the surroundings, it was overshadowed; but something small within stirred. But a handful of fur with sharply pointed face, it began to uncurl itself. Clawed fingers stretched. Dark eyes opened; so too did needle-filled mouth. The little opossum looked up at the pale haze of it's sanctuary and HISSED.

Off the crystalline walls, it echoed back. The beastie was not satisfied. Experimentally she tried to righten herself, to get feet to sit more comfortable; but it was not to be. Fur prickled. Nails reached toward the fissures of light that leaked inside (where the chrysalis had worn thin) - and scratched! fss fss fss. Nose followed, poking through the hole made. Damp air, heavy with the scent of … earth. Teeth parted - deep inhale taken.

This was what the little creature desired. Out became a concept first - she wanted out. Using all that nature had afforded her, she was hell-bent to emerge; by tiny tooth and claw. Soon, she wriggled free of the quartz chamber; fingers cutting around the jagged spires that created offshoots from it.

Perched precariously along the side of the once-place, dark spots of eyes took in what could be spied. Vegetation. Hands reached to grasp, to touch, to seize! - a nearby fern. Soon, body clumsily followed. Tail attempted to wrap itself about the leaves and -

- no sooner had limbs left the remnants of the chrysalis did Morn fall. The fern sagged, taking her with it. Landing heavily in the soil, the opossum blinked. On back - staring up - at the wide all. Little swindler of life.

Firmament espied; although the little beastie knew not the importance of the canopy above. Shifting, the small thing wriggled there in the soil, attempting once more to righten self. Then; new sound was heard. First instinct was merely to freeze in place. (Back arched, fur prickling!) Dark eyes turning to try and catch sight of whatever newness had happened upon her. Morn did not have to search for long, wide eyes soon beholding - a creature. Source of the strangeness; the scent, the noise, the cadence of walking! Speaking. A greeting!

"Giga?" Own voice was soft, nearly lost there in the flora that abounded. Morn looked at the bird, drawn in by the glimmer of the gemstone beak that adorned her. Raising self experimentally on back legs (off-balance, too) - hands grasped the air as though attempting to feel about the vulture. As though the air could mayhap offer something more.

Settling self back onto fours, the smallest opossum tottered just a touch nearer. Their sizes were in contrast, but it did not discourage the young one from getting a closer look. Pointed face sniffed, whiskers twitching as eyes continued to behold.

The colors of Giga's beak - her eyes! - reminded the opossum of the flowers hiding in the underbrush; this was good, it was decided. "Giga." Morn said it more firmly this time, as though understanding.

Own hands rested experimentally on self; a precarious posture raised up on hinds with little claws resting against breast. "Morn!" This was known.

Life was simple; wonderful. A contentment found the little beastie, an certain ease at the warmth of the other. There was no fear, only mute wonderment. For, yes, Giga was the most marvelous thing in all creation to Morn. (Fingers could not yet be placed on it; but the fairy vulture balmed worldliness, wisdom, experience, and comfort - only one of these things did the the small opossum seize so completely.) Eagerly taking the words, the praise, fur ruffled; pointed teeth mirroring the smile with lopsided grin.

As soon as Giga hunkered closer to the soils, Morn seized opportunity to near all the closer. With curious new hands and wide dark eyes, she tentatively reached out. Fingers brushed the soft of feathers. A great sensation! Morn squeaked with quiet delight, nearly chattering at the discovery. The words, the inquiry, the question that was poised echoed through mind as small hands explored tentative. Each smallest variation of touch enraptured the new soul.

Who? Mind puzzled as hands strayed and pointed nose brushed a feather. Giga smelled earthen, of lichens; different from those fungi that hid in the underbrush surrounding them. Giga smelled of a hundred places, things, and possibilities that Morn could not yet assign meaning, purpose. Eyes looked back up in those of green; the shimmering of beak; the impossible greatness of the older one.

"Here." The opossum hummed in response. She was here. That is who she was. A hand reached up to place itself softly, gently (as though she could be rough at her size), on beak.

Abstracts were not lost. Instead, they were merely hidden within the simplicity of the little beast. Already questions were being formed, perhaps prompted by the words that fell so silken onto the air. Morn was beginning to cherish these notes; to string them together (assign them greater meaning)! In contrast to the sounds that had balmed the chrysalis, the clear notes of Giga were hymnal. Beak was smooth, firm beneath probing touch. Eyes glittered to behold how the light caught her feathers from each direction.

What did the handful of fur want? Hunger had not yet dawned upon her, neither did fatigue. These basic things seemed accounted for and Morn nearly puzzled to place such concepts. Hands retreated small distance, stroking over the feathers once more (oh, soft) before coming to rest back on the ground. Then, she sat, staring up simply at Giga. Head tilted, just, ears flickering and nose twitching.

"More," yes, that seemed right. Head turned, looking up at the canopy of twisting, living things above and around at the hidden lichens, ferns, and smooth stones that hid amongst the glen. But eyes returned to look up at Giga. Hands were restless for touch, and perhaps the gravity of what Morn had said did not occur to her.

But the little one wished for more for more words, more sensations, more scents and flowers and understanding. Giga was a welcome addition to the moments of life that had therefore unraveled. Giga was the pinnacle of all in the moment; and Morn smiled. Showed little pinprick teeth. Happiness.