When Scarborough found the world, he found it dark, and dank, and gloomy.

Canis was not the warmest of places, literally or metaphorically-- fresh from the chrysalis, tired and wet and gasping, it made for an overwhelming place to hatch. Having managed to flop directly into a puddle probably didn't help either; the chill water leeched into already damp puppy-fur, making the newest addition to Origin shiver in the low light. The world was still resolving itself before Scarsborough's many eyes; sight came slowly as all four red orbs adjusted to the light in front of him, turning shapeless shadows into distorted shapes, the room of curiosities revealing itself to fresh eyes.

The first thing he saw was the teeth of a giant skull; his chrysalis had formed among the alien bones littering canis' floor, and he'd hatched in front of a particularly fearsome skull. Upon realizing what it was, Scarsborough jerked back, all four eyes wide, pushing himself up onto his forelegs for the first time. Tired as he was, they were strong enough to hold him, strong enough to give him a look down the long bone-muzzle, down into empty sockets that nevertheless seemed to look at him.

That was a frightening first thing to see.

But it wasn't alive, even if it seemed to be. He shuddered, nervous, and tried to back up further, away from the skull's "line of sight", so he could see around where he was. This proved hard; already, his trunk was bulky and uncooperative-- backing up to a certain point only unbalanced him, making him functionally trip over his own tail, little back-wings flapping wildly in surprise as his very-very-fresh sense of balance failed him. He fell over backwards, onto his back, cringing as the movement dislodged a few messy bones among the strata. Those bones clattered among others, shifting and falling over, pushed by his abrupt accidental movement; the noise was deafeningly loud and startling to such young ears. Surely, others had heard that. Surely, others would know that he was here, that he had hatched, that there was another new gembound in the world.

He gulped at the thought, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as he tried to work his way through the problem of movement; he wasn't sure if it would be good, if others did hear him. He wasn't sure they would be friendly, or what they would be at all, and that was not a comfortable thought. At the very least, he wanted his front legs back underneath him, whenever someone did find him here.

How long had it been? He still had trouble believing it.

He wondered why, today of all days, he especially missed Bevy. In reality, Bones hadn't known the bird (or rather, birds. He was still slightly confused on that part) very well; but regardlesss, he still owed her more than he could give to her.

Well, more than he could give to her now. You can't give much to the dead, after all.

Bones had found himself sitting in front of the wall where he had drawn the bird who saved his legs cycles ago. The paint was no longer scarlet and pristine; now it was faded and slightly brown. He had wondered what he should do about it - it was the only dead gembound painted on the wall. The rest of them were still alive.

He felt his heart wince as he caught sight of the painting of the three-headed dog. He loved his brother. He tried his best to forgive him - but hell, he had nothing to forgive Kerberos for. So many more gembounds held such hatred, but they didn't have to, and Kerberos sure as hell didn't deserve that. It only mattered if Bevy forgave him.

And well, she was dead.

The dog felt frustration take over him as he leaned over and picked up a femur bone between his jaws. Surely the Lorekeeper had advice about these sorts of things; though possible outcomes of what she might say were only swirling in his head. It's nothing for you to worry about. Don't involve yourself in it. Don't get worked up.

But, regardless, Bones was already padding towards the West Wall, wondering briefly if he should bring food along with him for the old wolf-mutant, when the splashing of water caught his attention. Huge ears flickered and rotated as the dog moved his head, wide-eyed to look around.

He caught a flash of white fur. "Kerberos?" came his immediate assumption as the dog began making his way over with a slight limp in his back legs. The sight of red feathers send alarm through his spine. "Bev-..."

But, of course, it was neither. Bones barely had time to register the bewilderment replacing the feeling of alarm as the creature fell onto a pile of bones, cringing at the sound of clattering as he began to weakly make his way over towards the hybrid, placing the femur bone down carefully as he sniffed the hybrid.

It was neither Bevy nor Kerberos. But it was a mix of both. Slowly, it clicked, and Bones sat down. He didn't know much about revival or reproduction, but from what he had seen from his aunts; it was most definitely a thing. It made sense to him, he supposed, that Kerberos would try to make life from death.

But it did mean that Bevy's stone was gone forever, now.

"Uh... hello," the dog began, carefully making an attempt to groom Scarborough's scarlet crest. "Are you alright?"

@Scarborough

There would come a time when Scarborough wrestled with similar demons as those Bones considered, looking at the wall-- likely, there would even be a time where Scarborough himself looked at the same wall and recognized the painted features of both of his parents as they appeared on himself. That would be a day with many heavy questions that the little hybrid would likely foist on the shoulders of his fellow bonebound, but it would also be a day in the future. For now, Scarborough's concerns were much more immediate: standing, moving, making sense of the world, in that order.

But hatching was tiring work-- Chrysalises were made of stone, and required quite a bit of force to break free of-- and after some mostly-aimless flailing Scarborough was content to simply lay there, panting, staring blankly at a shrouded ceiling so far above him. It meant he remained on his back for a bit, but it also ended the cacophonous rattle of dislodged bone against other dislodged bone, so loud in his ears.

The scent of someone on the wind-- the approaching african wild dog-- didn't catch Scarboroughs' attention; in a world where all scents were new, it was hard for him to filter out which were worth paying attention to. The other's voice, though, as he called out words that to Scarborough were nonsense-- Kerberos, Be-- did register, though. He arched backwards, pressing his head against the ground to see the source of the noise, and saw Bones place his femur bone down, walk over to him. In one movement both more effective and more automatic than any of his flailing had been, Scarborough flopped to the side, managing to get both his legs under him, even if his back-end remained twisted.

Of course, it was when he wasn't thinking about getting the right way around, that he did it automatically. Scarborough scowled, and squirmed, partially at that realization but mostly in that automatic way that anything baby reacted to anything bath-like. He stopped his squirming a second later when he realized that the grooming was actually enjoyable; those puppy feathers had gotten all disarrayed in his squirming, and Bones' tongue was putting them to rights. "Hi." he responded, getting a good look at his surroundings for the first time-- the presence of a nice adult proved soothing, and let him absorb Canis as a coherent thing instead of a random chaotic eyesore composed of bones and shadows and rattling noises. "I think so. This place is confusing." he admitted, and then looked up at Bones, all four red eyes taking in the stranger. "I'm Scarborough." he said, offering forth the one thing he did know, somehow. He was Scarborough, this room was confusing and covered in bones, and it felt good to have someone groom your crest-- the truths of the world, as understood by a young hybrid hatching in Canis.

For a moment, Bones watched the hybrid calm down and finally speak. The dog nodded slightly and lowered himself down onto his haunches, eyeing the creature over. "Canis is alright," he said. "There are more confusing places to get lost in."

Bones got a good look at Scarborough now; it was dog-shaped, like Kerberos, but it had no back legs. Oversized ears flickered thoughtfully for a moment; rather briefly considering what an interesting creature he would be to draw. For that, however, he'd have to hunt.

The hybrid was probably hungry, too- but he'd have to learn how to actually move himself first. Bones' pink tongue grazed his jowls briefly before he lifted himself back up to his paws, nudging the scarlet wings where Bones assumed back legs should be.

It wasn't normal. That definitely wasn't a thing that was supposed to happen, but the painted dog tried not to let the concern flash in his eyes for too long. Instead, he seemed to consider as he listened to the hybrid. "Scarborough, huh?" a smile crossed the dog's muzzle. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Bones."

Briefly, the dog turned his head and stared out across Canis for a moment. Part of him wanted to howl for Kerberos, but the other part of him didn't want to scare the four-eyed hybrid. His tail flicked left and right, thoughtfully, before he turned back around. "How are you feeling?" the dog stuck his nose into Scarborough's pelt as he spoke, nuzzling and licking the fluids from his fur. "Not hurting? Are you hungry?"

@Scarborough

That there were places more confusing than Canis to get lost in was not comforting; Scarborough cast all four of his eyes across the sea of bones, pondering this impossibility. Canis was at least moderately straitforward, if.. well. literally covered in bones. Which would be an issue, when he needed to start moving; solid ground would be an issue, but neither of these facts had yet presented themselves to him, and that was a bridge he would cross when he came to it. "And this is Canis." he said mostly to himself; knowing that, at least, was a good thing. That these places had names, like he did. If they had names, they were understandable, and not so... overwhelming.

Bones, having already presented himself as a friendly individual, was much less overwhelming than the potential vastness of Origin cave, so Scarborough looked at him and smiled widely across his blocky muzzle. "Bones." he repeated with a nod-- not aware enough of politeness to frame that with the rest of the sentence, but meaning it all the same.

Bones' inspection of his back wings didn't raise any flags for him, not yet-- he'd realized that Bones didn't have back wings, but the world took all kinds. It wasn't until later, when he tried to move properly, would he realize how detrimental it would be, to have the build and body of a canine/polar bear, which was never meant to undulate as a snake does, and still need to drag himself on the ground.

But for now, the novel concept of sensation was something far more interesting to be considered. Hunger. Yes! It had been echoing vaguely in the back of his mind since he'd broken the Chrysalis shell, but Bones' words had unlocked the brutish feeling, made it suddenly the focus of his attention. "Not hurting, no." he could say with some confidence (it had been painful, in rolling over, when he'd had his wing momentarily trapped beneath him, but that had been temporary and quickly remedied), "But I /am/ hungry, yes!" and it was clear from his tone of voice that he found this mildly surprising, as it was not a sensation that he could remember from.. prior to his hatching, what little of that he'd been aware of. He lowered his head to sniff around the broken remnants of his Chrysalis; that was where he'd found what functioned as food, automatic as it was, inside the shell, but it was no longer appetizing now that he was free. What was? And how would he go about getting it? Scar hesitated, before asking his next question, knowing vaguely and instinctively that some serious attempt to acquire food was needed and also knowing, despite not really confronting it yet, that his issues with movement thusfar were perhaps going to make this challenging. "Is food.. hard to get?" He didn't relish the prospect of going far, but he shifted around somewhat nonetheless, flailing his way into a position where it would be possible to move forward, and even dragging himself forward a few inches. He tried, vaguely, once or twice, to put his weight on his back-wings as if they were legs, which didn't work; he went crashing to the ground after a few shaky seconds, cringing both at the impact of his bulky self on the stone ground and the way it made his wings feel. That wouldn't work, no, so he looked hopefully at Bones; perhaps the older gembound would know a way of handling this food situation that was closer at hand.

@bones