Opie preens-- because, of course, his judgement was one hundred percent accurate. It has nothing to do with Pride's approval, at all, and the very notion that it could is horrendously offensive. Though, he concedes, it may have something to do with his dead rat, which is about halfway devoured and still incredibly delicious. It's a bit hard to tell, really.

Wait. "You don't think I'm big?" Opie whines, thoroughly offended at the accusation. "I'm big! I'm huge!" If he wasn't, he rationalizes, how had he broken his chrysalis? So he must be big, and Pride must either be blind, or wrong, or a lying liar who lies. That was just logic.

He snuffles at the deer, still feeling indignant. He could be both-- powerful and big. Pride had said 'don't need,' which meant the two weren't mutually exclusive. "And I bet I can pick up something and throw it too!" he scoffs, his fur bristling. He'd thrown lots of stones around earlier; just one would be nothing. Maybe he just will,, even. So, there!

Opie looks around for an appropriate mark-- which turns out to be a pebble several feet away. Too easy. The joey crouches and wiggles his rump, giving it a look of immense concentration. He's determined to throw it so far and so perfectly that it won't land for several thousand years, when both he and Pride have returned to stardust.

It's only when he gets frustrated at the vast amount of nothing happening that he feels it: the same biting power from before, when he'd thrown the shards. Squeaking in excitement, he tries to hold onto it again, until it explodes outwards in a burst of kinetic energy;

bang!; crunch!;

only to manage to apply force to his own face, screeching with a kind of existential terror and pain that allows a place to be haunted by demons. Blood begins to drip from his abused, pink nostrils, and Opie may or may not be hissing in tongues to express the true range of intense emotion he's feeling at this exact moment.

@Pride

The poor joey's rage at being called... not big was doubly amusing and, Pride was loathe to realize, a little worrying. Not the 'morality' thing again, but rather, he felt bad for having insulted the poor kid. The child likely had no idea how big was big, or small, and he tried to offer a little comfort: "Strength, courage, magic--size does not matter to those th-"

Then, Opie had magically punched himself in the face.

This brought the stag to his feet in a hurried clatter of hooves on stone, and he hastened over to Opie with his head dipped low. "Are you all right?" he asked, worriedly, because he had seen this particular brand of magic backfire, before, and quite badly. There was deep concern in his tone, his eyes quickly searching the child, and finding--at the same time his sensitive nostrils caught the odor--blood.

Worry flattened his ears back, and he offered Opie a gentle nudge--one which, he realized too late, might be repaid with a bite. He wasn't sure--ahh, well. "-Would you like me to try and make it better?" he asked, his words a little rushed, because he wanted to just do it, but--it seemed right to ask, first, before making the attempt.

@Opie

Opie's screaming peaks at a frequency which could break the sound barrier-- so, really, it's understandable that he doesn't hear Pride at all.

He does feel the deer gently poke his flank, though. It nearly scares the piss out of him, and Opie whirls around with a truly pathetic little, strangling hiss. The immediate urge to annihilate every one of Pride's molecules is all-consuming. Unfortunately, he happens to be small and bleeding at the moment, so the probability of that occurrence is soul-crushingly low. His reaction defaults to the next best thing-- unleashing another wave of pent-up energy in a truly comical fit of rage and desperation, with no clear motive or direction.

"'Would I—?'" he splutters, thoroughly outraged. Apparently, he's so offended that he hasn't noticed he's having some sort of magical spasm. But then, Pride clearly doesn't care that Opie's dying in front of him-- he might only have minutes left, and here they are, definitively being useless about the whole thing. "Yes, stupid! Hurts! Fix it! Fix it!" he squeals, tiny body vibrating so intensely that him not-toppling over almost defies the laws of physics.

@Pride

Pride blinked in some surprise.

Some faint, distant part of him wondered if he should gently chide the child--to instill in Opie, in these formative few moments, something about... oh, politeness, kindness, being a decent person, whatever.

The rest of him was aware enough that this was essentially a toddler who'd just gotten hurt, so he barely registered the first few instincts and simply pulled back, flinching (ears pinning) against first the foul-smelling wind of carrion-breathed hiss, and second the unaimed blast of magic.

And as he'd said, Opie's size didn't matter; the edges of the burst caught him, knocking his forelimbs out from under him, and he stumbled and very nearly fell. Had it been directed it might've just knocked him flying; as it was he blinked and winced. "Be careful," he warned. Opie'd just hurt himself with that magic, and he was already throwing it around in anger.

It wasn't a very good sign.

He took a breath nonetheless, stepping forward again, and braced himself. The trickle of magic--a gift from Tenzin, and still thrilled through with the ice phoenix's cool touch--turned into a gentle surge. Pride felt himself weaken just a touch, a sense of almost illness--fatigue, soreness--threading through him. But the child's wounds had hardly been major.

Still, the exhaustion would come soon after, he knew: the price of the magic that would now attempt to knit Opie's injuries, to stem the bleeding and soothe the pain. "...We will both be very tired, afterward," Pride warned, in a murmur, before indeed (and this time, deliberately) lowering himself to his knees. Then he dropped his haunches, too, eyes drooping and ears sagging as the magic faded, as his breath slowed, feeling as though he'd never wanted anything so badly in his life as a nap.

That magic had been... stronger, than he'd intended. Maybe the fact that Opie was just a poor kid had helped to sharpen it.

@Opie

Oh, I'll show you 'careful', you stupid—!

Opie experiences an utterly surreal moment of being doused with cool, soothing magicka while in the process of going supernova. The sensation is so improbable that it leaves him feeling completely disoriented. He actually has to sit, for a few seconds, unless he wants to topple over completely-- which, frankly, he'd rather die than do again today.

The opossum yawns. Probably, he'd exhausted himself when he'd hurt his snout, but his subsequent (and totally justified) fit had kept him awake. Now, thoroughly drained of adrenaline, fear, and rage, he's... sleepy-- moreso than he's experienced in his admittedly short life. His vision has gone all muzzy, and there's an oddly pleasant sensation of weight bearing down on all his limbs. No more pain.

Opie blinks. Flexes a toe, just to check. Yes.

He squints his eyes at Pride, a little. It's not out of any kind of malice-- he needs to in order to see them properly. And it still takes several seconds to realize that the deer is laying down himself, looking almost catatonic.

Huh. They're tired too; apparently.

Opie half-crawls, half-skitters over to them, letting out an occasional snuffle. It's the gentlest sound he's made since emerging, but also probably the loudest-- the world has gone suspiciously quiet all of the sudden. Later, probably, he'll muster up the energy to be properly dubious about it, but not now. Later, maybe. He's too tired to bother.

It takes him a few tries to scrabble his way up Pride's body, (and he mumbles irritable nothings the entire time), but he might make it. Eventually. Assuming the deer doesn't try to throw him off, Opie inches along carefully, until he finds the perfect spot-- the soft, silky fur between their shoulder blades. Ah. He'd curl up almost immediately, muttering a defiant, "'m'sleepin' here," as he did so.

A beat would pass. Perhaps two. And then he would rasp his tongue several times along Pride's coat, like an embarrassed sort of afterthought.

@Pride

Pride laid back his ears, listening as Opie scrambled up into his fur. His eyes were already closing, lids drooping, and he turned and laid his head across his knees, so that his great pointed rack was safely away from his back. He could feel the opossum settling in, and he exhaled, suddenly feeling that spark of warmth, that affection for the child. "Rest well," he offered softly, in response to Opie's declaration of intent.

He hoped the kid didn't take it as an instruction, and try to rebel. There was faint humor in the thought that he might do just that. He wondered at the grooming, but he said nothing.

Pride didn't have much time to consider, though; within minutes his consciousness was fluttering away into sleep, the scent of Opie's blood nearly forgotten in favor of the little patch of warmth at his back.

exit Pride? I think?! LMK otherwise! If you want future threads just hit me up... He'll be around for Opie whenever!

@Opie

Bone-tired, Opie can't be bothered to groom more than what's proximally available to him. Lifting his head is a bitter argument with his body. But when he's done the fur is clean and soft, and he nuzzles his chin into it with a heavy sort of contentment. Worth it, he decides.

Opie snorts quietly. He had always rested well, until those dumb rocks had woken him up. His brutal vengeance had satisfied his anger, but not the existential confusion and pain that came with it. He knows, instinctively, that things will never be the same again. It's the kind of ache that yawns in the deepest parts of his body. Even the healing magicka hadn't been able to fix it-- able to touch it at all.

He takes a moment to briefly despair.

But the deer's back is oh so very, very comfortable, and his stomach is full from the food that Pride had given him. Huh. How about that?

Something in him settles.

And, so quiet that it only just barely breathes, Opie mumbles, "y'too," before drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

. : ext opie