Naskarra was born like a spitball. She came to be in the midst of a heavy storm, and tumbled out of her crumbling chrysalis into mud, fully formed and snarling and clawing at her own stone. It was only when she was assured that yes, she had killed her own stone, did she rise on shaky legs. However, coming out fully formed did not mean her muscle memory had fully formed. She stepped awkwardly, and found herself balancing on shards of oilstone. It didn't last long. Naskarra fell over with a screech that was the antithesis of an endearing baby noise, more reminiscent of claws on a chalkboard. It took the dubious little creature another few tries to rise upon its legs. Bright green eyeslits stared wordlessly at the ruins around it.

She found herself surrounded by strange rocks and the vines that grew over them. The rain lit the vines up, and the way they shook as droplets hit them activated her prey drive. As her first course of action, Naskarra found her footing and rushed at the vines with jaws wide open. She took a clump into her jaws, growling and screeching as she tore at them. Instinctual aggression had her plates flashing as she ripped at the plants, somewhat hidden by the liberal coating of mud she'd given herself.

The poor vines could only stand up to such an assault from Naskarra for so long. She ripped at them for only thirty seconds before the vines were ripped from the stone. The nascent valkhound, surprised by her own strength, stumbled for purchase and slipped from her feet to land on her stomach. But, surprisingly, there was no more rage. Slipping and biting and chewing was fun. Vines were fun. Naskarra found a new game, her first game, in whirling the vines she'd torn about like streamers, throwing her entire torso in circles to swing them. "FUN." Came her first word, growled through plants. "FUN! FUN! FUN!" She repeated, continuing to toss the vines and her own body about.

"Heck YEAH, fun!"

The disembodied voice was shrill with enthusiasm. Past that, its owner simply watched Naskarra tearing her way through vines--then it laughed. "Nice! You lookin' for a job? We don't have child labor laws in this place, y'know. Especially not for the big ones." A pause, and what sounded suspiciously like a loud slurp or sip through a straw.

A pink swirly straw, to be precise.

Then a mutter--"Why was I--oh yeah! AHEM."

Spotlights lanced down, igniting the Valkhound in a brilliant golden glow. Trumpets sounded, ringing through the ruins. "CONGRATULAAAATIOOOOONS!" crowed the voice.

A drum thudded heavily.

"The cave's been awakened again for ONE HUNDRED CYCLES, and YOU'RE the lucky--err--lucky Valkhound-winner! I mean, you were born in CYCLE ONE HUNDREEEED past the new awakening!"

(Slurp.)

"I meant to bring a gift." There was a pause, and then the distinct sound of a shrug. As if someone midair, invisible, up above had simply upended a very environmentally-unfriendly bag, a whole tumble of plastic swirly straws--some pink, some gold, but almost three dozen in total--cascaded down around Naskarra.

What a wonderful gift(?).