How dare this... whatever they are, nearly kill him and then dance! Opie's revenge would be swift and merciless; there could be no alternative. Pride would regret this slight on his gemhood for an endless epoch. The very stones of this cave would shudder in response to it, and whisper, in fear and awe, of the sheer brutality of it. Forever and ever, until the weary collapse of every star, the heat death of the universe.

I could simply... carry you. Food. Rest.

Opie pauses to consider, briefly.

"More food, then sleep," he decides magnanimously-- it's a rather reasonable penance for nearly trying to shatter him, in the joey's humble opinion. Certainly much more favorable than the endless horror Opie would have inflicted upon him otherwise.

Mindful that he's still so... bouncy, Opie takes a very important moment to decide how best to actually climb aboard. His careful and wholly accurate equations had ended in catastrophe — he'd nearly been broken! — so that was clearly right out. Perhaps he needed to just... not think about it? Like the stupid shards. That sounded about right.

He gives his ear a one last, quick scratch-- to relax his overly mathematical mind, of course. Then, with a snuffle, he leaps forward;

bounces;

and lands on the stag's back in a parabolic arch so utterly flawless it would make Archimedes of Syracuse weep tears of blood.

Stunned, Opie remains completely still for several long, heavy beats. Then-- "HA!" he screeches, rapturously pleased with himself.

Gravity can eat his tail!

@Pride

Pride peered as the opossum sailed, somehow seeming to do so in slow motion in his mind, nailing a perfect landing on his back. "You mastered that quickly," he praised, his tone warm. "Now be careful; it will wear off any time."

He turned, and began a slow, careful pace back toward the throne; he'd only speed up to a normal walk once he was certain the little creature wouldn't simply fall away.

"Do you have a name, do you know?" Pride asked politely, one ear flattened back toward his passenger. Rider? Whichever it might be; his guest. "I am Pride." He'd said this already, he was pretty sure, but he'd found that with children, repetition was key--and an example, in case the kid didn't know what a "name" was.

"We're going to a little garden. There are plants there, and fruits, but if you eat... other things, like meat, we can catch something if you like?" He turned his head slightly to peer backward (it wasn't awkward looking, at least, given his wide angle of view). The child-... rather looks like a rat, he realized. Unlikely, then, that it'd want to hunt rats, unless it wasn't actually one-? It did look like an Echoing Gray, though, to some extent.

Just-... a very tiny one.

@Opie

"Of course I did!" the joey scoffs, definitively not preening. It's not as though Pride praise would mean anything to him, of course. Even if it was totally and completely warranted in this particular case. It had been the most perfect jump to ever occur in the universe, though; he was sure of it.

A name? Opie blinks, looking slightly dubious-- the word sounded silly and made up. Was Pride slow, or something?

I am.

Oh. "...I know that," he mumbles, tone sullen and defensive. Largely because, no, he actually hadn't known that. Why would he? What a ridiculously dumb word. "Of course I have a-- a name. Are you stupid? Who doesn't have one? It's Opie." He settles into the deer's fur with a decisive snuffle, apparently finding it easy enough to cling on to.

Wait. Does he eat other things, like meat? He'd liked the small yellow fruit a lot-- and he's not totally sure what a meat actually is. If it's supposed to be food, though...

"We can catch something and then go to the garden after," Opie points out slyly, thinking now was as good a time as any to test his limits.

@Pride

Pride suppressed a gentle snort. "No, I am not stupid," he answered; "It is a pleasure to meet you, Opie." He continued moving sedately along through Orion, but spoke with faint, humorous reproach as he did so: "It is a little rude to ask someone if they are stupid; wouldn't it make you angry if I asked you that-?" Pride was fairly certain the answer was 'yes.' In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if just about anything would make him angry, he reflected. "It is good to treat others the way you'd want to be treated. I would want help finding food if I were hungry, so I am doing that for you," he explained, slow and gentle.

Preachy, perhaps--but kids without these lessons could grow from amusing little monsters to horrifying adult ones.

He made his way to the edges of Mercy's garden--the place where the crumbled stones of the old ruins began to meet with overflowing moss and grass. There were often mice and rats here, he knew, ones that slipped into the garden to snatch some food and while he didn't mind that at all, it meant it would be a good place to hunt.

He summoned up a little wisp of light as he walked, sending it into the crevices and beneath the overhangs, his magic taut--he was ready to snap out a different magic to snare a creature, should they find one.

"Quiet, now," he warned in a near-whisper, "I will try and hunt some meat for you."

There was a soft skittering from up ahead, just below--and the wisp illuminated the glint of eyes beneath a stone. Pride froze, ready to strike.

@Opie

Opie bristles-- only to pause, apparently consider something briefly, and and force himself to relax. He'd rather fall off right now than prove the deer right, of all things. "Why would I be angry? I'm not stupid! So why would you even ask me that?" he mumbles instead, directing the retort into Pride's fur; a clever tactic to hide any lingering irritability in his tone.

He takes a moment to consider the rest Pride's lecture carefully, his snout scrunched in deep thought. "So... you want me to find food for you next?" he concludes doubtfully. Why else would they--

This line of thinking dies with a squeak; the strange light had startled him into paying better attention; and the garden (it must be) is very different looking, compared to all that he's known so far. Lush greens drape themselves lazily over the complex structures that crowd around, and the ambient noises are warmer, more alive, with faint rustling and chirruping. He sniffs, and blinks at the menagerie of new, pleasant smells that embrace his senses. The wisp, flitting this way and that, bathes the area in an almost ethereal light as it offers teasing glimpses into tiny secrets. This place, Opie decides, must be filled with magic.

Where's the food? he despairs internally.

Pride hushes him soon enough, though. He shoots them an offended look, (one specifically designed to peel bark off a tree), but heeds the warning-- for now. His desire to try meat is stronger than the one to pick a fight or bite them, though he does save the thought for later.

Opie stills when he hears the noise too, and feels his heartbeat quicken at the flash of... something, not too far away from them. Eager as he is to eat, some instinct tells him to hold on tight, and so he does, carefully nestling into the deer's fur and watching close.

@Pride

Opie's acidic nature did little to dampen Pride's patience. "I can find food for us both," he reassured Opie. His attention, too, was focused (as it must be) on prey. Hunting was not new to him--he'd been thinking, only minutes ago, of the broken-legged dog for whom he'd had to hunt and this was simply an unpleasant revisiting of that, a necessity, as it so often was. Some of his children had been carnivorous, as well, for that matter.

The trick, he'd found, was to make it painless, quick, as much as possible. It would also be good to use our shared magic, Pride thought, though he mistakenly attributed a number of types of magic to the same element--"magic of the mind," as he thought of it. So while this lesson might have some useful generalities, it wasn't actually the sort Opie could learn quite as easily. The wisp continued to bob, suddenly directionless, as Pride released it and snagged out with his other magic.

A big rat--some two feet long, plus the tail, and deep gray in tone--was yanked out swiftly from beneath the rocks; Pride lifted it without a touch or even movement, tense with focus. He then dashed it on the rocks, a sharp, quick strike that left it briefly twitching, and then dead.

"...That should do," he murmured, tone a bit subdued. He then glanced back, to see how Opie would react. "These are Lessers; they cannot speak and think, like you and I. They tend to serve as food for those who can. We don't eat one another," he clarified--an important lesson, and one he assumed most adults taught most children as soon as they could.

But would Opie take this in stride--or prove traumatized? Or something in between, or something else entirely? Pride didn't know the child well enough to predict, so he waited, carefully still, to see.

@Opie

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

mild descriptions of gore

The joey blinks, and then casts speculative glances between Pride and the thoroughly deceased... Lesser. Maybe, he decides, he wouldn't try to bite them for the annoying lecture after all. Not very hard, at least-- a thank you for catching him such a big meal, and everything. That was only fair.

Opie leans around the deer's massive neck, nostrils flaring to catch the first whiff of dead rat. It was strangely salty, very warm, a little metallic-- and not unpleasant at all. Definitely different from the small fruit he'd been given before, but equally as appetizing. Well, if you ask him; Pride seemed solemn and reluctant, and even gave him another serious speech. Which suited Opie just fine, quite frankly, because it likely meant he would just get to eat the whole thing himself.

If he could eat it all, anyway. But he's very eager to try.

Opie half climbs, half falls off Pride's shoulders-- landing on the ground with an indignant little squeak. "Stupid gravity," he mutters resentfully, having forgotten that it had turned back on somewhere between here and where they'd started.

It's likely, though, that this is the least amount of irritation he's had in his whole short life. Apparently the appeal for food is also stronger than the one to rage against the mechanics that form the very universe itself. He merely shakes some dust from his pelt and scampers off towards the limp rodent with a tiny, huffing sniffle.

The corpse looks as unappealing as it smells fantastic-- which is to say very, because Opie's stomach growls the closer he gets to it. But its mouth is open, tongue lolling unattractively out, and the creature is weirdly crooked and ooozing blood; probably from getting slammed into the rocks, if he had to guess. Gross.

Delicious! screams his nose. He's much hungrier than he is opposed to the idea of eating something that looks disgusting, anyway. Opie only pauses to give it a last sniff, before biting down on the still-warm flesh and chewing contemplatively-- like the banana, he's fairly certain he's meant to enjoy this slowly. Like a good groom or dream.

Oh, good. It tastes like it smells.

(Mostly. Hair, he decides, isn't worth the trouble-- apparently it gets stuck in one's molars. But it's easy enough to work around once he's torn into everything a bit, so he won't complain. Much.)

Opie takes another moment to gnash meat between his teeth. And then he delivers his judgement: "This is my new favorite thing, and I'm going to eat all of it," he declares, despite the fact that the rat is probably three times his size and twice his weight.

@Pride

Any deep, solemn concern Pride had that he'd traumatized the child was washed away with relief as Opie hustled (well, first fell, then hustled) toward the meal with nothing but eagerness. Or--was that greed?

Apparently, he was going to eat it all. Pride gave a brief, good-natured laugh. "Good luck," he offered. "I do not eat meat; you can have as much of it as you like."

Pride lowered himself to the ground, folding long limbs beneath him and settling on his chest and stomach. He chewed his cud idly as he first watched Opie start in on the meat--and then he turned his gaze away, keeping half-absent watch for any form of danger.

It did occur to him that maybe the greedy, aggressive child at once fixing on meat and blood were maybe not good signs, but he dismissed that as mild paranoia; after all, carnivores were just... carnivores. It was in their nature, nothing sinister.

He glanced around, ears sweeping this way and that, and let out a relatively contented exhale; never mind that the background noise was the young opossum chewing on a carcass.

"So, do you like it?" he asked, at length, turning to watch Opie sidelong. It was a question given with faint amusement; the child had already, after all, declared it his "new favorite thing." "Just be careful when hunting alone; they hunt, too, and they hunt in groups." This warning was lightly, gently given. There might've been carefree Gembound in the cave who'd have given Opie nothing but encouragement and enthusiasm; Pride always fretted that he was a bit of a wet blanket in comparison, but really, he couldn't help but offer these perfectly valid warnings.

He'd just hate to imagine what would happen should a child run into a rat pack not knowing. But--maybe he could make it interesting-? If the magic cooperates, he thought drily; this element never seemed to do so.

It did, though, to his delight, and so rather than a wet blanket, he settled in excitedly to teach a fun little lesson, instead. "This is magic--I will show you some of the dangerous things," he offered. "They aren't real, don't worry." Dinner, with a show!

He formed images, in the air--life-sized, and far enough from Opie that they hopefully wouldn't frighten him, but lifelike and bright. A pack of coal-eyed black pitch rats lurking behind nearby boulders changed into huge, jagged-fanged Dragonbats flitting overhead. Part of the stone itself seemed to detach to become one of the fat, camouflaged, predatory Lurker snakes, slithering across the floor. "Some of the creatures are very dangerous," he said, "like these. But some-" and now the magic became glittering schools of violet Orion's Scale fish, shoaling through the air "-are harmless, and make for good food, or just something pretty to look at." He kept the magic up a moment longer--the magic imagery became flitting Fairyfly butterflies, a dashing short-tailed Kooru, a reptilian Kite sailing up above.

Then he let the magic fade, glancing back to Opie.

@Opie

The light-hearted nature of Pride's tone makes something inside Opie bristle. It was almost like the deer didn't believe him, or something-- an unforgiveable offense of the highest sort. But his mouth is full; or he only remembers the decision he'd made ten seconds ago; so he mumbles a defiant, "I'm go'nna have it all," around a chunk of rat meat instead of anything appropriately drastic.

Proving them wrong will be the better revenge anyway, he rationalizes.

He's off to a good start. The amount of headway he's made is, quite frankly, terrifying. The trick to it, he realizes, is to enjoy the artistry of eating over the satisfaction of filling his stomach. Easy enough, really, especially once he digs all the good bits out of all the annoying fur. Besides, the nebulae of flavors is infinitely more rewarding than quitting-- like some sort of pathetic quitter, of which Opie is neither, thank you very much.

Pride interrupts-- another lecture he can barely understand, ugh. Opie sighs quietly to himself, mourning his now lost concentration. Oh, he still eats, of course, but it's just not the same.

This one is... different, though. There's visuals, not just long, droning words, which is a decided improvement. They shift and change in a way that's, admittedly, somewhat compelling to look at. Pride, he muses, should stick to these images instead of boring sermons. Apparently they aren't even real, and they still manage to hold his attention better.

Opie mulls over this development with the appropriate gravity, along with another bite of dead rodent. If he tilts his head a certain way, he supposes that some of the illusions look a little alarming. Perhaps even frightening. And the rest do look harmless and pretty enough. Though he's still not sure what any of this has to do with anything that actually matters. Like finding new, interesting things to kill and then eat.

He considers his response very, very carefully before giving it. "...I should find a way to pick them up and smash them before biting them?" he tries warily, giving Pride a little squint.

@Pride

Pride gave a short, good-natured laugh. "Yes," he agreed. "And that is your magic. Alternatively, you can pick something up and throw it at them," he added, once again conflating "mind magic" elements, as he often did.

He turned, and a short distance away, a rock--not a pebble, not a boulder, but something a little larger than a brick--lifted into the air. It hovered over toward Pride, and he nodded to it. "Like this," he explained, and then gave the slightest gesture of his nose. The stone went flying, clattering off another nearby boulder, crashing off and to the ground with a bit of dust and spark. It wasn't anything very dramatic, but it was clear that it could cause some damage to even a large Pitch Rat.

"And you don't need to be big to have powerful magic," he told Opie, glancing at the opossum child. Granted, he had no idea how big the kid might get, but it still seemed important to teach. "With some practice you can learn to hunt, and protect yourself easily, within a cycle or two."

@Opie