The walls of the tunnel were surprisingly varied. Here there were cracks in the dusty brown; there simply a mottled, bumpy surface covered in centuries' worth of water-dripped rock. There lay hints of a vine that had once crept over the walls, leaving its indent behind long after its own death.

And here was a strange and rough patch that, when the hanging light orbs flickered and blinked, shimmered beneath the caked brown dirt.

The patch lay perhaps three feet up, and was a foot or two wide--not very large. And it was mostly covered in the grime and the dust of the tunnel, so the inhabitants could be forgiven for having missed it. For having walked right by. But now, something within stirred.

There was a thump, and some of the dust fell away; the dull, gleaming orange surface of the carnelian gem chrysalis was more exposed, now.

And another thump.

Inside, a pup was wriggling.

She was a ball of fiery rage, tinged with claustrophobic fear: she had no idea who she was, or what she was doing here--indeed, how she had gotten here. She only knew that she was trapped, and she wanted out.

The dingo puppy wriggled, thrashing and then lying still, panting, in her crystalline prison.

At length, she gathered herself and tried again. She hadn't rested enough since her last attempt, really, but fear and fire drove her to kick out, the flat bottoms of her hind legs from hock to paw slamming repeatedly against the stone. She could barely breathe; her sides heaved against the stone with each gasp.

And suddenly, it cracked.

The pup snarled, pinprick tiny needle teeth bared as she snatched at the shards of carnelian, biting them and tearing them aside. Then she collapsed forward, a heap of soft tawny fur on the ground below, lifting her head to stare defiantly at this new world around her.

A world that she greeted with a growl.

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She watched the walls, entranced. The carvings had occupied her mind ever since she saw them, memorizing each and every symbol, carefully trying to figure out what they all meant, what it implied and what it's purpose was to be there, in the exact spot that it was. She wondered how long it had been there, how many people had seen it and--

Thump.

She froze.

Thump

The owl's head turned to the sound, eyes wide. The source of the sound had been an orange rock, thrashing and jerking in an attempt to escape. She'd seen it before. She slowly got closer once it fell still, hesitant. Her talons barely touched the ground in an attempt to stifle the quiet clicks her nails would create, slowly crouching down.

Click. Clack. Crack!

The child within the stone broke out, attacking it's own prision as it burst out - fluids and all - into the tunnel. It startled the owl, who threw up her wings while she backed off, wide-eyed at the agressive little puff-ball.

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There were evenly-spaced ledges in the rock, and strange markings on the wall, and--

And a pale grey fluffy thing, staring at her. She froze. Was it hunting her? Was it dangerous? She bared her tiny needle-teeth, and let out another growl, her tiny puppy hackles bristling on end to match the spiny carnelian gem at the back of her neck.

Her feet scrambled beneath her and she scooted back until her rump hit the wall, pale paws standing among the broken stone pieces of her chrysalis.

Not even a minute out of the wall, and the dingo was already filled with adrenaline, facing down the first potential thread to her young life.

She waited to see what it would do.

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A threat?

The owl puffed herself up, albeit a little nervously. If she were going to be attacked, she knew she'd have to defend herself (and was fairly sure her talons would be good for that), but she hadn't done so before and she didn't feel particularly ready too.

She backed off slightly, still puffed up.

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Feral stared, for a moment; the thing backed off and suddenly poofed, fluffing out quite abruptly and making the dingo jump and flinch slightly in startlement.

But then--nothing happened. Her nose worked, trying to identify the whatever-this-was, but she didn't recognize it. Well, of course she didn't; she had nothing to compare it to. She'd hatched mere moments ago. She'd never smelled anything before, aside from the interior of her chrysalis, and her own tawny fur.

At length the young dingo stretched her neck as far as it would go, leaning forward without wanting to move a paw, her ears pricked fully forward and her pale amber-grey eyes (still with hints of puppy blue) locked on the fluffthing. She kept sniffing, loudly.

It smelled... soft, a little musty, somehow, not altogether pleasant to her. It was alien, different. There was something else, and she leaned forward, creeping one slow footstep forward, then another, testing to see if the thing would allow her close, to smell it. She kept her eyes fixed on it, suspicious, the entire time--ready to spring back and away.

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The owl stopped, feathers still ruffled. She'd probably also smell the dingo and give a brief monologue in her own head about it, but unfortunately, she can't smell anything. Instead she asked in a soft voice, "What?"

A very vague question, yes, but one that made sense to her. And probably only her. She still kept herself somewhat ready for an attack, though she realised by now that acting aggressive will probably get her killed.

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The dingo nearly had her head beneath the owl, sniffing intently, when it suddenly made a sound. Feral leapt backward, scrambling toward the wall, again blinking and baring all of her teeth--hackles on end once more.

The owl was watching her, almost expectantly, but she didn't know what its vocalizations meant. At the very least, it hadn't fled, nor attacked. She dropped her lip, raising her head slightly, curiosity again taking precedence.

She stalked around--slightly to one side--to sniff at Willow again, then hesitated, and took a few prancing steps back. At length she let out a soft, growling whine of frustration, yipping it into the air--and then she sat, staring intently at Willow. Her oversized ears were pricked forward once more, her amber eyes staring intently.

Feral just waited, waiting to see what it would do. What it was. What it was for.

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She tilted her head, and then tensed down. Her head swiveled around briefly before she spotted a rat, looking back at the dingo. "Stay here," came the soft voice.

And then she was off, with an urgent click-clack-click of her claws, chasing after the rat. She figured the pup would be hungry and although she wasn't sure, hopefully he'd prefer to eat the rats that dwelled in the cave.

She chased the rat down into a corner and flung her talons at it in an attempt to catch it, and with a splatter of blood she found the thing in her claws. At first, it writhed until she held onto it tighter, until it fell completely still. She let go and picked it up in her mouth before she ran back to the dingo, dropping it down in front of her.

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"When I speak"
When I think,

The dingo pup pricked up ears and nearly launched off after the owl as she scurried off, predatory instinct gripping her even this young. But something about her didn't say "fleeing," and she paused, wavering slightly on clumsy young legs that stood half-crossed, watching Willow hop after the rat.

Suddenly the owl was running back toward her, eyes locked on the dingo pup, and Feral scrambled backward a step or two. But all the bird did was drop something small with a quiet, soft thud at her feet.

She leaned down, sniffing it, eyes lingering warily on Willow at first. It smelled like fur, and it smelled like something hot, and metallic, and altogether appetizing. Uncertain, the dingo extended her tongue for a brief lick, and found that the taste was to her liking.

Her stomach rumbled.

She pawed at it, tilting her head to one side so that oversized ears half-flopped away, then leaned down with pinprick-teeth bared and began to pick and chew at the poor little beast's corpse.

Flesh. Meat. Blood. Bones. Organs.

The more she ate the hungrier she grew; after a moment she chewed on the fur and spat it back out, leaving feet and tail behind. She lifted her head to peer at Willow, licking bloodied little jaws, expectantly. She didn't know what the bird was, or what the rat had been--only that the bird was now a food source. Feral's primitive mind immediately classed her as not-to-be-eaten, and she slowly sat, staring at her.

What would happen now?

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The owl watched and stayed for only a moment longer after the dingo finished her meal. She seemingly decided that her work here was done as she turned around and began wandering back to the carvings, watching them carefully.

She settled herself down peacefully as she gazed at the wall, beak grinding together contentedly.

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