Her dad? Oh wait, he recognized that term. Dad. She said it before and he could remember being confused, wishing to know what it was. She explained that the spooky black dog was her dad. He still didn't know what a dad was, but at least he had an idea now. It must have been a Gembound that... Stalked around... Watching over you. He kind of liked that concept, considering he was a bit of a chicken shit. And he wondered idly if maybe Hasira or Cayenne would be considered his dad, but dismissed it. A dad sounded like it was a special designation and he didn't want to hand it out willy nilly.

Anyways, she suggested they go somewhere else. His curiosity was almost enough to get the better of him, but his self preservation ultimately won out. Maybe he would explore the dam later without White. That way he could preserve his pride, too, in case something bad happened. "Alright, yeah. What's the Spire?" Caravaggio conceded, inching up next to White and waiting for her to take the lead.

@White

White began heading away from the dam and towards the blue light, hobbling with one talon absent-mindedly lifting to scratch her shoulder behind the pinfeather-covered appendage. She looked over her shoulder for Caravaggio as she headed on.

"The Spire is a big rock," the hybrid said. "It's nice to watch and it's my favourite place. You'll like it, I think." She continued on, now on all fours-again, striking up more idle conversation about her parents.

"My dad says I have a mom somewhere but I've never seen her before," she said. She glanced up. The spire wasn't very far away now, especially with the rather quick pace she was going at.

She paused however, when they were still at a good distance away from it. "See it? It's blue and shiny."

@Caravaggio

What was so exciting about a big rock? Caravaggio had seen rocks before, they were just big dusty lumps of hard material, nothing cool about that. In fact, rocks were probably among the more boring things he'd seen in the cave. Rocks, and mud, and lesser Gembounds that didn't talk, and plants, and drawing on the walls that he didn't understand - he could probably go on, but at this point his mental list was beginning to ramble and Caravaggio didn't want to bore himself, because then he'd have to put himself on the list, and it would just keep descending into Hell after that. He blinked and kept up with her, his hoofs clacking the ground gently with each step, his head bobbing, a careful pace. When she brought up her mom, he was considerably more confused. The dad was weird enough for him to wrap his head around, but now a mom? "I don't think I have a dad and a mom." He added, looking to her again. "Why do you have them?"

He thought it was a little unfair. Why couldn't he have a dad and a mom? It sounded like those were good things, protective things. Her dad had come to warn her, steer her away from danger. There wasn't really anybody like that that Caravaggio had, that he liked very much, at least. He liked Cayenne... but again, he found himself reluctant to call her anything but an acquaintance. A guide, even. Caravaggio was distracted when she spoke again, and his eyes flitted out to the distance ahead of them. There, piercing the dark was the glimmering blue crystal jutting up from the heart of the room. "That's the spire?" He answered, looked to her, then back at the spire with a step forward. "What's it do?" The cow added.

Did it talk to them? Did it move? Did it do tricks? He was all the more intrigued and quickened his pace, eager to get there.

@White

White blinked as she sat down in front of the spire, thinking for a moment. "I don't know," came the amazing reply. "Mom and dads like, make people. Maybe your mom and dad are somewhere but you haven't met them yet."

She nodded. It made sense to her - though not really. "That's the spire," she said. "Well, I don't know. It's peaceful here, but dad says people fought over it and a lot of people died."

"I dunno what died means," she added abruptly, slinking down to lie on her chest as she stared up at the glowing blue rock. "I think it's pretty."

@Caravaggio

Moms and dads. Her words would have him assume that he must have been made by a mom and dad too. He didn't know what was required to be a mom and a dad though. When he hatched, there was Cayenne and the elk and the plague horse. Wouldn't they have told him? Maybe he did have a mom and a dad, but they just... abandoned him. The thought abhorred him, and Caravaggio furrowed his brow with considerable disappointment. "I think they'd be a horrible mom and dad if they just left me." He voiced this concern, looking over at his friend. "Maybe I just don't have those things." Caravaggio added. That was a lot better than having neglectful parents. Boy, that would've been quite a blow to the ego...

Thankfully, the cow didn't have much longer to think about it. Her voice drew his attention back to the spire, where he witnessed the great blue crystal looming over them. Caravaggio's pace slowed as he held the crystal in reverence. "Died?" He echoed, but his confusion was matched when she admitted she didn't know what that meant. Caravaggio knew - well, kind of. He had a rudimentary understanding of the concept. But it didn't mean much to him, especially since he hadn't known anybody that died. Whatever, that was in the past; it was all stories, and he cast his eyes around to prove it. No dead bodies, no blood, no dying - just a story. Nodding as though to confirm this, Caravaggio sunk down to his stomach and folded his limbs beneath him. "It is pretty." He agreed, gaze lingering on the spire. Then he looked back at her, decisively skimming over the dog. "Not as pretty as you though." He stated matter-of-factly, and looked back at the spire.

Big, blue, kind of glowy - it had nothing on his desired aesthetic.

@White

White was confused. She was told that moms and dads make you, so what made Caravaggio? The hybrid eyed up her cow-friend, perhaps critically for a moment, before she just decided to ask. "How did you get made?" She knew her dad and some bird-queen had made her- but she wasn't sure how. Perhaps she didn't even know what she meant by the question, or if she even knew what the words themselves meant.

She turned her head back to regard the Spire, as if it were a part of the conversation, too. "Yeah. Died. I dunno what it means,"" she echoed quietly. "I should ask dad about it. What it means." She stretched her canine legs for a moment, the subject clearly not bothering her as much as it probably should, or rather, would if she actually knew the implications of death. She nodded a little to Caravaggio's words, or at least the first part of them, and then immediately froze.

"Uhhh..." was all she managed. She felt weird, heart in her throat and hammering away - she was fairly sure something managed to crawl into her stomach and was trying to get to sleep in there or something. Her ears flicked, pink skin flushing under the pearly feathers. The spire was the prettiest thing she had ever seen - and somebody was telling her that she was prettier than it? Was it a joke?

Yeah. That was it. She started laughing; a nervous little sound that sounded like a mixture between a bird's clucking chortle and a dog's quiet boofing. She glanced back at Caravaggio, practically sweating bullets, to see if he was laughing too. "Ha.. ha, ha... That's.. ha..."

Oh god.

Oh god he might be serious.

Oh god he was serious.

The laughter faded and she stared blankly at the cow friend, quiet for a moment. She cleared her throat and looked back at the spire. "...thanks," she said quietly.

@Caravaggio

How was he supposed to know how he got made? That was among the many phenomena Caravaggio hadn't the fortune of observing. He was a part of it but there was no way he could've known how it began. He didn't have parents to tell him such things. The cow had to bite his tongue and resist giving her a snappy answer reminiscient of his frustration with not knowing; he knew that if he did express his annoyance, she'd probably take it wrong and start crying again, and that was the last thing he wanted. So, Caravaggio only shrugged and looked back at the spire. Another question for another day.

And then he said she was pretty, and he hadn't realized what kind of effect it would have on the dog until she started to nervously laugh. Confused, he turned back to her. His brow furrowed and he wondered what part of his compliment she found funny. She just as quickly fell silent and thanked him. The cow smiled wide and looked back at the spire. "Tell me more about your mom and dad. What are they like?" Other than kind of scary and mysterious, that is.

"My mom was a queen because she has wings," she said. "That's what Fisher said. But she's not around, I haven't seen her ever." She winced somewhat, glancing at Caravaggio. She didn't know what she had done to deserve such abandonment, or how to fix it. It might be an issue forever.

"My dad's nice. Protective. ... kind of really big." The hybrid narrowed her eyes a little. She didn't know much else about her father, really. "He's nice. He has a nice friend, Fisher, who kind of sucks at hunting."

The cow raised his brows and looked back at White. "What's a queen? Does that make you one?" He asked, considering she, you know, had wings. A queen sounded really cool, powerful even, and if White was a queen then Caravaggio considered himself pretty lucky to have made friends with a queen. Even if she wasn't, being the daughter of a queen was pretty cool too, right? For some reason, the word for that stuck in his head - princess. Princess White. Could he be a Prince? "Hunting. Thats what carnivores do." He pointed out, recalling what Hasira had told him. "Hasira told me about carnivores. He said they were lowly because they were inherently violent. He's kind of protective, but I don't think that makes him my dad." The cow followed up. "Your mom and dad sound nice, even if you never met her before. They sound a lot better than Hasira."

"Maybe I'll be one someday, but Fisher says I'm a princess. Of light, I think." She tilted her head. She didn't know exactly what being a queen entailed, but she guessed she was looking forward to it.

Abruptly though, her ears flattened against her skull. "Am I-... violent?" she asked quietly. She didn't want to be violent and destructive - she wanted to be friendly and nice and be the absolute best at friendship. She whimpered a little and lowered her head down to her paws. "Hasira sounds mean."