Not far from the entrance of the great cavern a tree stubbornly grows from a small cliff face. Large hard roots hang down embedded into rock. Nestled in between twisting roots is a single stone stuck fast to the ground. Not rough, but not completely smooth, the stone isn't immediately obvious. Deep green blends into the surrounding foliage and fades into the mist with patches of dull pink cutting across the surface.

Inside the small chest of a chick takes deep steady breaths even though there is no air to breath inside its hard shell. They lie as still as possible in a tight a ball as they can manage. The chick has been been growing more and more aware and conscious, but has not moved for could have been as long as since the beginning of time itself or as short as a few seconds. Still they take even breaths. Eventually small talons tap anxiously against the bottom and there is an ache in their back.

One more deep breath of nothing and the chick suddenly stretches out as far as they can without ever opening their eyes. The rock give groans, cracks, and then gives way. Heavy damp air covers the chick. Caster is all they think at first. Caster knows that they should open their eyes, knows they can, but instead they flop over on their black, sinking just a bit as the damp ground gives under their slight weight, kick their feet into the air. They make crackling and humming noises.

The soft sounds had attracted his attention, much as a mouse or a rat might let him know there was prey to be had.

But this wasn't the sound of a mouse, or a rat, no; it was a quiet cracking, and a hum, something very alien to him.

The crow-dog crept almost bat-like down the roots of the tree, his feathered ears pricking up at the sound, his blue eyes bright with interest. Feathers and fur rustled as he slid downward, and around, eyeing over the source of the sound.

It was a patch of ground: green, a patch of pink, the browns of the swamp. Yet there was the faintest glint of stone, there--mist-wetted rock, with what seemed to be a hole in it. And there it was: a tiny baby, a bird, lying on its back, its eyes squeezed closed.

A newborn?

Oliver slipped closer, wet black nose nudging at the edge of the rock. There was something in there. No, someone--Czernobog had explained, as best the big black boar could, that those who hatched from stones were People, not Food.

Mostly.

"Hello?" he asked, gently.

@Caster

Never hearing the other creature approach, the small bird doesn’t stop calling until they hear a voice. A voice that sounds close by. The sounds stop, and the bird is still again still laying on their back. Turning their head towards the sound they open one eye.

Caster’s first sight is that of a dark furry face. A face that looks quite large from Castor’s perspective. They stare as intently as a newly born bird can with only one eye open. Then they open the other, and flick their gaze all around. There isn’t much that they can see past the fog hanging in the air. The one that spoke had relatively large feathered wings. Caster’s extended a bit; they had those. The other also had a furred snout. Caster clicked their beak a bit; they didn’t have that.

Rolling over onto their belly Caster pushed themselves up to their feet. They hummed and made low noises before very slowly saying, “Big” in a wobbly voice. Caster’s eyes shifted side to side now looking anywhere of the other’s face. “Hello?” They said copying the tone of the other.

Not looking directly at them Caster takes two shaky steps forward before hunching down on the ground.


@Oliver

Oliver peered down at the tiny bird, and his little feathered tail briefly wagged. He crept forward, sniffing over it a bit too closely--wet nose gently nudging, here and there, his tufted ears flattening back.

It was, as Czernobog would say, a "baaaaaaaaby."

"Hello, baby-one," Oliver offered, his voice a quiet, almost croaking woof.

It occurred to him that the baby had probably just hatched--and immediately he was a little awed at getting to see a hatching Gembound for the first time. He felt honored, in fact, and lowered his head to lay it on the ground before the baby bird. This made talking a little more difficult, and awkward, but Oliver didn't seem to mind. The feathers along the back of his forelegs jutted awkwardly into the air behind his elbows, but otherwise, he laid flat.

"Are you... new? Do you need help? ...Do you have a name?" he asked. He wasn't sure what to do in the case of finding a baby Gembound, but he was a kind soul, so he offered what he could.

@Caster