Pride lay quiet, chewing his cud.

Somewhere deep in his gut, he had a parasite--resting, he supposed; it hadn't used magic in some time. But it was not, for once, his only company. Mercurius was here--the great white lion, far more beautiful than the concept of "gut parasite." The garden around him was company of a sort, if... inanimate; the well-tended bushes, ferns and leaves, the grasses and flowers, and the hanging ivy all formed a secluded hidden thicket, bushy and green and safe from the world. It was quiet, here, the birdsong of Eridanus fainter, though still melodic and beautiful--and Pride often rested here, alone with his thoughts.

But today he was not alone.

The chrysalises--one moonstone, one diamond--had been thinning, of late. He and Mercurius had been waiting for them to hatch. Pride felt--for the first time--a pressing, constant nervousness, an anxiety that perhaps something would go wrong. Would a child hatch monstrous, full of fang and claw, lopsided and in agony, or mindlessly fierce? Would one hatch sickly and small, with twisted limb and stunted mind?

Quiet, he shifted in place, pushing these thoughts away. His friend was beside him, and the world was at peace; surely the children would be safe... Wouldn't they?

"...Do you think they will be healthy?" he asked at last, his voice quietly fluting. Silver eyes glanced to the lion, worry shrouded within.

@Mercurius

Mercurius had spent this past week or so fortifying the garden, shrouding it ever-further in undergrowth and lichens and anything he could muster. He worked on it in bursts, casting until he physically could not anymore. The lion trusted in these children, should they emerge while he happened to be away, yet he wished for them to find solitude and comfort in their earliest moments. The chrysalises, glimmering diamond and moonstone, were nearly half-buried in the most delicious grasses he could remember.

Through his empathy, Mercurius could sense his companion's worry and nervousness. In that same vein, a slight anxiety gripped him as well. The shells were thinning, and movement could be heard from within the Gembound cradles. For the first time in this cycle, the lion wondered about the children and how they would manifest. He prayed --- to what or whom, he did not know --- that they would not be vicious carnivores, not tyrannical stag kings, not demon-bears. Mercurius did not desire to bring monsters into this world. There were enough, already.

Of course, this nervousness would manifest in only subtle ways, masked by a veneer of curious excitement. Of course, he did feel excited, but it did not win over anxiety. Mercurius's nervousness and fears would manifest through his work in fortifying the garden, as he had. It would show through his incessant pacing, his careful checking of each and every plant so that it didn't have any harmful qualities to them. He wanted to be a doting father and guide for the children.

Mercy started a little when spoken to, startled from his thoughts. His head turned toward Pride, resting carefully and quietly by the chrysalises. Composing himself, the lion plodded toward the white stag, smiling warmly, "there is no reason they shouldn't be. You are, after all, the most handsome in all the caves."

@Pride

Pride snorted, successfully distracted at least into gentle amusement. Some vague part of him was also unnerved--handsome? Did the lion hold some interest in him that went beyond warm friendship? This bothered him, made him uneasy, and he had to ask himself--why would he mind if he did? He did--but he wasn't sure why.

But now was not the time for these thoughts; they were here, now, for their unhatched young ones. Pride rallied himself, turning his attention back to the conversation, and the situation.

"I do not wish to curse them by going on about how we are both the most beautiful things in the caves, Mercurius, but yes--you are ethereal. You have a ghostly beauty about you, though the distinctive presence of a majestic Gembound of flesh and bone. It is them I am worried about." He nodded down to the gemstones, for a moment silent before continuing.

"We must teach them, yes? Teach them of magic, and the elders; teach them how to survive, how to talk, how to recognize danger..." Perhaps tellingly, he said nothing of learning right from wrong, or being generous--to him, these things were logically innate, and he would not have thought about ever needing to teach them. He was, instead, worrying now--what if they were carnivores? Certainly Mercurius was, but the lion subsisted so much on plants that Pride had nearly forgotten this. What if they ate cave deer..? As half-deer? As his children?

He tried not to shudder, and tried to turn his mind from the negative thoughts.

Surely they would be beautiful. Surely they would be kind. Surely, they would be perfect.

@Mercurius

Ah, perhaps now wasn't the time for jokes and messing about. Mercurius noted the hesitation in his companion's motions, his words. He did not wish to lead Pride on or astray; the lion still, deep down, held a kind fondness for his missing partner, Faelan. They had reached for one another, sharing tender moments with one another. But the golden beast was missing, now. Perhaps gone for good, but Mercurius forced himself to be optimistic and positive, believing that the lion was simply sleeping away, somewhere.

The pale beast shrugged it off, averting his gaze, "I'm sorry. I do not mean to lead you by the heart." A soft sigh rumbled from his throat, masking his hesitation. "I don't want you to… think too fondly of me." Mercurius didn't mean to come off as so harsh, but he just wanted to make it clear. "This is no time for jokes, sorry," he apologized again, trailing silvery eyes to the gemstones. Another scraping sound came from the glimmering moonstone. Perhaps that one would burst into the world first. Hopefully it wouldn't be a violent emergence, feral and primeval with hunger.

Again, Mercurius shook away the thought. His mane, however scarce it was, rustled as he twisted his neck. It would be the third time he shook his head in the past hour. Far too many to not be considered a nervous wreck. Moonlit eyes finally made their way to Pride, wide and slightly bewildered; shook, if you will. Regaining his voice, he blinked. "We must. We must strive to teach them kindness and benevolence, how to defend themselves with words and with actions. The Caves don't need any more cruelty."

They truly did not.

@Pride

Pride shook his head likewise, gently. He spared a glance for his friend, nearly at once forgetting his strange uneasiness.

"No, they do not. We will teach them." He was clearly in total agreement, even if he himself had not at first mentioned kindness, or steadiness of temper. "I do not know what you mean by leading me by the heart? I do not know, too, why you would not want me to think too fondly of you. If you are thinking of yourself as lesser because of some mysteriously sordid past, you needn't worry." Pride thought, perhaps, that Mercurius was putting himself down; his tone was warm humor, though not at the lion's sake.

He looked quietly back at the stones, and for a long few moments, he was silent. Then, in an almost entranced, quiet voice, he began to speak.

"Once upon a time, two stones lay side-by-side in a shade-lit, gentle garden. The wind rustled the leaves overhead, and the birdsong was but distant in its cradle of moss and ferns. One stone glinted, translucent, almost blue in its ethereal shine--pure diamond. The other shimmered, a play of colors over its shining milk-white surface: a moonstone too beautiful for this world." He paused, a faint smile playing over his expression--as best a stag could manage, anyway. "...Where do you think their stories will lead them, Mercurius?"

The diamond, with its translucent glinting surface, had quite thinned. The small, white, huddled fawn-cub within lay silent, still, none of the movement of a living being giving its presence away. Yet now the surface was but a membrane, the interplay of glimmering pastels barely hiding the furred body within.

He came to only slowly--came to a drowsy, content awareness of voices outside, of comfort, of warmth. He could hear birdsong, and he was content to lay, for a time, the shifting shadows of the leaves overhead providing a pleasantly languid atmosphere. It was only after a long few moments--in which he came to recognize these voices, to find them reassuring, and pleasant--that he began, instead of comfortable, to feel cramped. His legs were just a little too tight against his body. The thin stone, which would have cracked and tumbled him out had it been upright, had been, instead, planted in the dirt: and so he felt his body pressing upward, and against it.

He flexed, a little, trying to breathe, and found that it had a little give, there. He was already calm in his realization that he was... him, a separate creature from the universe around him; he was already certain that the world close around him held no threat. This was in no small part to the care of both his stone-giver, and life-giver, even prior to his hatching. So he felt no fear in his pressing, in his flexing, each time he breathed--using his natural inhales, and the inflation of his ribs, to push against the thinning stone.

He began to feel a relief from the pressure, then--and with it a dull, faint crack. At length the stone broke--not shattering, but cracking along faint lines, and then falling a few inches to the side. The young one did not push up and climb out. He couldn't fit, not yet, but at least the stone was open, and his long, slender white neck raised up. Silvery eyes, lit with a faint moonstone shimmer, peered upward. There were not yet the grey nubs of antlers, and the diamond horn on his forehead was barely a blunted twist. Deerlike ears seemed oversized, and the fur around his neck was not yet even approaching a mane. He looked like a fawn, yet with a lion's grace to his gaze, and his muzzle. He peered up, blinking placidly, taking in--for the first time--the sights of Mercurius and Pride.

"Arsu," he told them, softly.

@Mercurius

Mercurius smiled softly, but it didn't seem too genuine, for his eyes didn't follow the motion. Moonset eyes fell back down to his paws, placed carefully beneath him. They pricked with anticipation, wanting to pace and pace. For a moment, he contemplated casting magic upon himself to literally root him to the ground. Pacing would do no one any good. "They will be good children," he reassured, affirmed. Mercy could not see any alternative. The glimmering chrysalises could only give way for purity, given the state of them both. The pale lion wouldn't let them acquire any of his negative characteristics, if he had any choice about it. Encourage and reward goodness, ignore and teach against badness. Mercurius didn't believe in punishment. Well, perhaps for anyone but himself — old habits died hard.

"Ah, no… I just don't want you to think of me as a lover," he cut himself off at his bluntness, blinking at it before continuing, "I give my compliments as a — I hope — deer friend." The lion rumbled softly at his unintentional pun.

He fell silent, though, when Pride began to speak, murmuring out a gently spun tale of the stones and the life they harbored. The pale deer spoke of the garden, their home, and the beauty of the shells. Then, he asked Mercurius, wondering about their journey and their path. Finally managing to rock back onto his haunches — and to quell his uneasiness and persistent pacing — the pale beast nodded toward them. "I don't know where their stories will lead them. I cannot see the future," he laughed softly, mirthful as he could be, "but I hope that they will find little struggle in their lives, but grow to be thankful and kind. They may become menders, or storytellers. Defenders or warlords." He paused, hoping quietly that they would not become the latter. "Or, perhaps, they will simply just become." Mercy did not want to impose a destiny upon them, to whisper of a particular fate for them. Opportunity gave great rewards. Confinement? No.

As if on cue, the glimmering diamond split to reveal a rather small, adorable face crowned in one snubbed horn. Mercurius took to his feet, instinct rising. Maternal instinct, of all things. Careful to not frighten the child, he leaned down and purred a brief welcome: "welcome, Arsu." The name was said with confidence as he leaned down beside the fawn-cub, beginning to lick the top of his head. It was an age-old instinct to spur breathing and to provide warmth. To Pride, it may appear as if the lion was (uncharacteristically) trying to eat the child.

Children spend their first moments in life drifting aimlessly in a concoction of amniotic fluid and pure magic, feeding the stone which they were bound to. They existed in a perpetual sensation of floating until they could no longer. This child, now, no longer could simply float. Its heart beat now, and breath came softly and still, it would not emerge. Like a sleeping fawn — as it half-was, at least — it lay, asleep. Thoughts came and went, fluttering by like the butterflies he had yet to discover. Ah, he. But, like his brother, he did not struggle, did not seek to escape. There was a comfortable, companionable warmth enveloping him, soft birdsong and voices shuddering against his flattened ears. The voices were pleasant against the backdrop of his mind.

He would remain within his shell, undisturbed.

@Pride

At Mercy's reassurance that he had not spoken as a "lover," Pride laughed. He felt warm reassurance, and the laughter was almost feminine, a husky sound, his voice (as always, indistinguishable as strictly male or female) musical.

"You are not," he responded with soft mirth, "lion."

The first stone was cracking. Pride's attention veered sharply, his breath stilling, eyes widening. He crowded in, too, leaning in to sniff at the youth, pulling back a bit as Mercurius took charge. Only for the briefest of instants did he worry that the lion might hurt the child--though his fear was more a what is he doing? Does he know how to not hurt it? than any belief that Mercurius would willingly do harm to a newly-hatched.

Pride gave them a little space, feeling only slightly left out by the lion's grooming of the child--he couldn't get in as close as he'd have liked--but that emotion fell away quickly as he found himself watching. Mercurius' expression--soft, warm, parental--as he immediately began to care for the youth was... reassuring. Warming, yes. There were not, Pride reflected, enough words that meant "warm" in the world.

"Arsu," he agreed, softly--and then looked to the other stone.

It remained still.

Worry spiked within him, and he paced over to it, giving it a faint nuzzle over its surface and sniffing softly at it.

What if only one of them hatches? Great sorrow threatened to bloom in his chest at the tragic thought of a child whose destined twin was never born. Who grew without a sibling, unaware that this had never been the intention--with a ghostly, empty place throughout their childhood where a friend should have been.

The stag then roughly checked himself, thrusting this thought away. Surely it was just a little later. They'd given life a few seconds later--maybe it would be hours, or even days, before the second one hatched. He doubted they were on any sort of strict schedule.

It just wasn't ready yet... surely?

Silvery eyes closed as the warm and rasping tongue began to work over his fur. It was reassuring; it felt like home. Arsu's contentment only rose, the feeling of well-being strong. He heard his name, too; recognized it, knew it as him. He'd given it, hadn't he, after all? Quietly he stood on trembling legs, pushing up within the confines of the stone, more shards falling away to either side.

For a moment he stood there, shaking with unused muscles, within the opened chrysalis.

He opened his eyes, wide and young, and surveyed his situation. He had to step out of the broken stone to take a place alongside the far larger, white creatures, which brought him no fear--only happiness. Very carefully, with a studious expression and a very slow, cautious series of movements, he began to lift his leg from the stone. He had every appearance of someone performing a dangerous and highly-calculated maneuver. The leg stepped carefully out, his weight transferring onto it, his limbs still quivering as he then lifted his second out--and the third, and fourth, stepping out hoof by delicate hoof. Soon he stood alongside Mercurius, and shook himself softly--nearly falling over. His tail tried to shake to and fro rapidly, a short series of happy twitches, like a deer's--but it was a long lion's tail, and just sort of flopped a little before hanging quietly behind him.

Instinct drove him as he stepped in closer toward Mercurius, toward the white, comfortably warm shape. He made sound somewhere between a mewl and a bleat, and blinked up at his new parents.

Everything was still a little blurry, but to the newborn, all seemed... perfect.

@Mercurius