A tiny chrysalis sits undisturbed among the rubble, almost like a pebble at the bottom of a stream. It is almost the size of a pebble too - easy to miss, easy to forget. Maybe that was why the snow could hide it so well, like a seed waiting for the springtime; the ice and snow of the tunnel surrounded it, chilling it to the core. The little pebble-egg gave a shudder, a twitch, and then a deafened, "Peep-?" The chrysalis shuddered again, not because of the sound (probably because of the cold) and like a true baby bird, a chunk was chipped away from the inside-out, and the tiny beak poked out. "Peeeep?"

The little babe was exhausted. It had worked its way through the shell bit by bit, pecking and poking, until the hole around its beak had expanded and exposed its little fluffy head. The chrysalis sat in the snow, and the bird sat in the chrysalis - immobilized and freezing - seemingly to wait for something. It rested. It watched as time ticked by, eyeing the shadows with blurry new vision, until it drifted off to sleep.

When it woke hours later, the creature was groggier than before. It let out a small yawn-peep and seemed to brighten up, only to remember its predicament and begin chipping away at the shell once more. When it stopped this next time, the little bird could wiggle part of its torso free - and managed to wedge one of its small fluffy wings out from the egg, only to be stuck in that awkward position afterwards. Oh well, progress was progress.

The bird let out a pitiful new, "Peeeeep," as if to call for help, but midway through the sound it tapered in to silence. The creature was cold, hungry, and stuck; with each eager wiggle came a soft sigh, and subtle defeat, while the snow and ice around them barely stirred. But the creature was new and had no understanding of failure yet, not true failure. It didn't like the pinch of its shoulder against the stone, but wasn't about to give in quite yet.

"Pip-pip," the bird chirruped, as if to empower itself. More like pep-pep, since it was suddenly filled with vigor, and began to wiggle as if to pry itself free with the exposed wing. The creature flailed and shuffled against the stone, flapping and dancing, until the other wing was pulled out of the chrysalis and sat freely on the other side - now all the bird needed to do was get the barrel-shaped egg off from around its belly, and it would be free.

The babe rested for another few minutes, composing itself, and began to flail again. This time when it moved its wings, the little falcon felt warmth; it started in its chest, and eager as the creature was to be rid of the cold, it sought out that warmth - focusing on it, cultivating it, until the warmth spread through its entire tiny body. When next it flapped its little wings, a pulse of air was thrust from them towards the ice and snow. A small wind picked up, serving to dislodge the remaining chrysalis from the ice, to flurry the snow and crack what rooted the egg in place.

How strange - but the falcon only wanted to be warm and safe, free from this cold and the embrace of its chrysalis, so it hurried with its flapping. The shell gave way moments later, cracking and crumbling while the babe used its magic.

As the stone split and the creature was spilled forth, it rolled and tumbled down the incline - resting only when it collided with a chunk of ice rising from the floor. The collision knocked the sense right out of the hatchling, who was for a brief moment stupefied and stunned. It fell backwards and rested there, making a tiny snow-angel, until the cold numbed the half-developed muscles across their back; then, pulled out of the doldrums of the cold quite suddenly, the falcon woke with a start. Beady eyes looked around the cave, mystified by the brightness of the world - it was only bright because of the snow, really. The ice and snow reflected the paltry light from down the corridor, and caught the bird's attention. It was enough to rouse him, to get him to flip over and waddle a few awkward steps forward; using their wings as counter-balance, the babe made slow and steady work of the tunnel. He sought out the light at the end, pip-pipping every so often in case someone, somewhere, could hear him.

[exit]