MELPOMENE
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain and the sorrows

In her dreams, she heard singing. How lovely it was; indescribable, ethereal. At times like music in a chorus, at others barely a whisper. They were many voices, they were one. The voices of angels, perhaps, or the voices of the dead. It hardly mattered to her in the midst of slumber.

And when their singing turned to screams, they became all the lovelier.

They cried and wailed and begged, and it could be coincidence that this change in tone arose when her sides pressed against warm stone. She became suffocated, imprisoned in this dark and endless song. Let me out! She cried; but though her beak parted, she made no sound, and the song was so loud, smothering everything she could have possibly said. Now, now the song was something awful, and she wanted, demanded that it cease!

And should they not listen to her words, perhaps her mouth should become a weapon. She used all her strength to attack this prison around her, and the sound of the fracture, the sickening crack, was sweeter than music! Again she attacked, again she pried at what, she didn't know, but there, there was this small piece of freedom. Coolness swept in and caressed her, and all she had left to do was continue.

Weep not poor children, for life is this way
Murdering beauty and passions

MELPOMENE
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain and the sorrows

The open wound of her prison was hardly a sliver, and she desperately thrust her beak through it, all the way to her soft cheeks. The wall was so utterly stubborn, though she heard it give way and splinter as she pressed against it.

She was so little, and this struggle was already tiring her. How could she fight when all she knew was slumber and the song! And now, with this weeping wound in the wall, she could hear the song so much clearer! It was just outside, waiting for her, promising secrets just as long as she managed to get free.

With her beak peeking through the wall, she could barely part her mouth. Something within her breast stirred, and a cry burned in her throat.

'Help! Someone!'

Though no words stirred past her mouth, the sound reverberated against a seemingly endless expanse, swallowed only by the bones of the dead.

Weep not poor children, for life is this way
Murdering beauty and passions

Sensitive ears picked up the quiet struggles in the stone. The soft and muffled voice. The weak scratching and pecking at the stone.

Fireheart's head lifted, golden eyes widening a touch, focus filling them. His loping gait--which had been taking him lazily through the bones, as he contemplated this and that--switched direction, and long and slender limbs propelled him toward the sound.

It took him a few moments--a few corrections in his search--to find it: a small stone, barely a crack of gemstone sparkle among the duller rock, and inside a patchy-colored shape. And an echo of its cry--magical?--whispering over the dusty rock.

Ahh... a hatchling.
He stepped up closer, inspecting it briefly before speaking aloud, his voice rich and strong.

"It's quite all right. You needn't panic; you'll be out soon enough." That was the way of things, after all; the child would break itself out, even if he found himself unable to help.

The white wolf leaned forward, choosing a corner of the stone near the bottom, one at least away from its inhabitant's main body, and lifted one large paw to it.

He concentrated.

His paw began to smolder, smoke rising from it; his touch could turn stone to ash. With luck, he would quickly sear a hole through the gemstone: a hole through which the child could emerge.

@Melpomene

MELPOMENE
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain and the sorrows

She startled within her prison when a voice replied to her. Booming, echoing, powerful; so different from the whispered song she'd dreamt of. Did she summon this new voice with whatever had stirred in her heart?

It gave words of comfort, that all would be well soon, and on the heels of those words, there was movement, and then heat. Heat sweltered from her prison and splintering cracks rapidly formed through the small shell.

From an outside perspective, the stone paled, the intense heat leeching the soft blue to an unhealthy white before cracks formed like broken glass across its surface. Inside the prison, the sweltering, comforting warmth became an unbearable hell. With a cry of distress, she flailed and twisted inside, mindlessly craving escape as the song of the outside rose to a desperate crescendo.

With one last shove against the walls of the prison, the shell gave way, and the tiny hatchling went sprawling across the dusty cave floor. She was a puff of black and grey fuzz and flailing limbs, dust and smoldering smoke rising faintly from her. In fear, she chirped and struggled and cried, raising her head to the source of the voice.

Big,
golden,
eyes,
and teeth that could swallow her whole.

A monster, then, had come to save her. She was free, but to what end?

Weep not poor children, for life is this way
Murdering beauty and passions

Fireheart stepped back, peering down, the heat fading from his limbs. The small fuzzball that had emerged was, he thought, undoubtedly a bird; past that he could not tell much of it.

He'd spent time in Eridanus, watching the creatures there, and had seen a great many different creatures. This one was unlike any of them. It had two eyes, for one thing, and its colors were drab, and dark. Fireheart inclined his head politely, and then lowered himself to lie down before the bird.

"Are you all right, then?" he asked, in no hurry to move on just yet. Golden eyes flicked over the creature, checking it for damage; he didn't think it looked harmed, but he wasn't quite sure how one might tell. It was like a ball of fuzzy ashes, as it was.

It might need help; guidance, perhaps. It could accompany me, I suppose, he thought idly. And then he remembered: the others he had met, as well as he himself, had had little command of language at their hatching. Would this one even understand him? He had little way of communicating, bar simple words, and so he had to simply hope so. But to be sure, he spoke more slowly, and clearly: "Safe, yes?"

@Melpomene

MELPOMENE
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain and the sorrows

She found that, once she had locked eyes with the great beast, she could not move. Her mindless chirping petered out, her limbs ceased to haphazardly flail about, and her fluff of a body silently released wisps of heat that were leeching into the bones and dust as she stared back up at it. Something told her to fear that mouth, that maybe if she was still, the threat would leave. But what foolish advice was that when the beast lowered itself to her level! There was no escape from that gaze.

There; it spoke again, uttering further words of comfort. "Safe, yes?" it said. Safe. Was she safe with this monster that was so colossal to her?

"Safe....Am....I safe?"

A subtle warmth came from her chest, and a faint glow peered through her feathery down. The question she asked seemed to come from the bones rather than her little beak.

Once those words sounded, it seemed to break some spell over her - the beast had not moved, had not uttered anything other than comfort, and the whispering song was not afraid of it - it had settled to a very faint hum. She rustled herself, tried to orient herself off the floor - but to her dismay, her little wings (if you could call them that) were frail, and her legs were weak. She tried, flailed further into the dust, made more of those mindless chirping sounds in distress.

"Help - I can't...."said the bones again.

Weep not poor children, for life is this way
Murdering beauty and passions

@Fireheart

The wolf tilted his head sharply, that instinct of canines everywhere when a strange sound hits the ears--and he turned, peering about, pushing to his paws uneasily.

When first he'd heard the call, he'd been at a distance; now it became clear that the sound was not voice alone, but magic, ricocheting softly across Canis' bones. He tensed, some, sharp mind jumping to the possibility that it was some form of grim lure (and how many, though Fireheart was unaware, had had such thoughts as their last!). When no danger immediately presented itself, despite alert ears and narrowed golden eyes, he turned back to the hatchling.

"Was that magic, little one?" he asked, and then--head tilting again as he considered, and again phrased himself simply--"Magic?" She seemed frightened of him--getting over it, now, perhaps; but he dipped his head, half-closing his eyes briefly in that universal 'smile' that a creature offers, to show itself no threat. "I will not hurt you," he confirmed, deep voice gentle--and then his head again lifted, watching the fortresses around them.

Just in case.

Still, no trap was sprung, and at length the white wolf lowered himself down to lie on the ground once more. "Safe," he reiterated. "My name is Fireheart," the wolf went on, speaking slowly, gently. He didn't know how much she might understand, but the only way to learn was to hear speech, he knew.

"If I were going to harm you, I would have done so already." Even as he said it, though, he reflected that this might not be true for all. There were those out there--however cruel few--who enjoyed the torment, the betrayal, the flaring of their own wretched power in the weakness of those weak beneath them.

Never mind; this is not something to explain to a child, he told himself. He did not physically move to aid the bird, purely because to do so might frighten it further. But he offered guidance, as best he could. "Take your time. One foot, and then the other, mm? Slowly. Carefully." His tone he kept encouraging, soothing, but mainly even.

Still, he seemed in no hurry to leave. He seemed, in fact, to simply be here now, a fixture that had always been, guide and perhaps servant to the newly-hatched little bird: as if this had been his responsibility all along, as if he had happened upon something that he'd been meant to personally handle.

@Melpomene

MELPOMENE
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain and the sorrows

Here she was, her beak to the dust, her little legs useless underneath her as she begged for help, and all at once, the great beast moved without warning. Fear shot through her, and before she knew it, her face was hidden under her tiny wing, her body curled up as small as it could, her thoughts utterly frozen and blank in that instant.

She only relaxed when the beast spoke to her again in those soothing tones. She peered up at it between her hazy feathers, watching it lay back down and extend only gentleness. It spoke of magic (this unfurled her from the curiosity it inspired) and safety, and uttered its name.

Fireheart. She struggled to completely unfurl and raise her head from the dust. Something rang true about such a concept, that names were of incredible importance, that this creature alone was Fireheart, and no other held the title. From where did these inklings spring from? How did she know? Did this knowledge come from the whispering song while she had slept?

To be sure, when Fireheart mentioned that it would have harmed her before this point had it wanted to, those whispers softly and eerily laughed, though she did not understand why. What it said made sense to her, and so she attempted to command herself to calm. She would trust Fireheart, she decided, and if it told her to rise, she would try for it.

Her legs were so weak, but it was easier now that they were properly under her. They trembled as she leaned forward, and in an undignified fashion, she pushed up from the ground with her beak to give herself aid. And; there, there! She stood! Ah! Her balance was unsteady! Her fragile toes spread wide, her crooked wings extended themselves, and she stepped to and fro to keep herself aloft, but there she was!

She looked up to Fireheart with utter delight and the sound of a hatchling's laughter, and, purposefully and carefully, she moved one foot in front of the other to walk towards it. "Haha! Look, I-! Look! I'm-!"

She made it all the way to Fireheart, and in a fit of courage, she scrambled up to it, clambering over its paw and towards its fur that radiated a comfortable, musky heat. With further chirping, proud laughter, she looked up to it as she nestled against its fur. Fireheart was right; she didn't need help! She could free herself and walk, though she was infinitely glad for its company.

"Now?" She asked. What should they do now?

Weep not poor children, for life is this way
Murdering beauty and passions

The child bumbled, stumbling, beak tapping the ground to brace itself, wings flailing for balance. Fireheart waited, ears pricking up some, and was surprised to find the formerly-frightened chick gain enough confidence to curl up against him.

He peered down, offering a brief, reassuring nudge to the top of its head, settling in to be, apparently, both pillow and blanket. "Walking," he encouraged her calmly, finishing her sentence with a tone of approval. "Very well done."

And now..? His thought echoed her question, puzzled, for a moment. Was there a next step, then?

"You can rest, if you wish," he offered, with that indifference born not of uncaring, but of an easygoing demeanor. "Do you know your name?" It was asked respectfully, despite the slight age difference--he an adult, if not for very long, and her wholly fresh to this world. He still treated her as an equal, a dignity to him that suggested that he saw the same in her--yet, as if parenthood had gripped him, he lay content with the child in his 'arms' and kept watch for any danger.

He made the small talk; he seemed in no hurry.

@Melpomene

.

Fireheart was so wonderfully warm. Her feathers had ceased to give off steam by this point, and the chill of the caves had begun to settle in. She could feel its voice rumble in her hollow bones as it bowed its great head to tap lightly onto hers (which she very much adored), and in response to its praise, she chirped in delight.

It then asked her name, and this question gave her pause. Fireheart had a name of course, and a very good one at that. Surely she had one as well, as innate to her as this mysterious 'magic' that it had mentioned.

"Mmm...." Just a thought. A sound; but one that sounded like a good beginning. "Mmmm....Mel.....Melki.....Mello....." None of those sounded quite right. Close, but not quite. It was like reaching for a song you hadn't heard yet. ".....Melmo.....Melpo." Melpo - that sounded right.

She nestled further into Fireheart's fur, chirping in a pleasant manner, feeling satisfied. She'd awoken, walked, and found her name, even if it didn't sound complete yet. "Melpo." She said with finality.

She closed her eyes for just a moment (for Fireheart had said they could rest), and she caught upon the quiet song of the bones below. Still with her eyes closed, she asked, "Fireheart...Hear? Hear song? Quiet....whispering bones." Surely Fireheart knew why they sang.

When I speak.

When I whisper.

@Fireheart