Oliver didn't smile in that crazed, exaggerated way like the other dog - there were hardly any teeth bared to infuriate it. Just a plain Duchenne smile. Alpha noted it down noncommittally. The only part of that it could imitate was the half-squint of eyes, but it doubted that was convincing in any way. It was hard to fake a smile.

The crow-dog's voice was almost out of its own range of hearing, it was so quiet. Alpha grimaced (as much as its stiff face could, of course) and gritted its teeth. Everything looped back to the Trial; the first step into this downward spiral. The orthoclase'd acknowledged as much, because how out-of-character was it for it to mourn what could have been? After a single bit of contact shared between them? A spar nonetheless.

Here, Oliver was rubbing the wound raw. His wound? Their wound? The Black Dog guardian that'd gone in was strikingly similar to him. He hadn't survived either. Rage burbled up like a malignant disease, suddenly reminded of all the insignificant pieces of flesh and rock that'd managed to crawl through the dark by deciding to be the few outliers to selflessness. Quills rose, but for once it didn't hesitate to ask, "doesn't it make you angry?"

Like that was a normal response to grief. A healthy coping mechanism.

He had a lot to work on in a short amount of time.

Alpha grimaced - if it was being made unhappy by something, what was it? He couldn't answer that for it. There was no way he had an answer for it. Oliver was notably not happy, now, and he didn't have to explain the cues for it to pick them up: distantly mournful. It exhaled, growling lowly and pacing around the hybrid. How much time was it supposed to take for it to not be so bitter? Hollowly angry?

Somehow, it didn't even flinch at the sudden conjuration of pumpkin and its offering. The orthoclase sniffed before leaning in to snap it up in its jaws. It made a horrifying crru-crack! as it gave underneath Alpha's jaws. Every chunk that hadn't fallen out of its mouth on the initial bite was spat out. Too gooey and slimy, but a nice stress ball in the moment.

Had a wound heal wrong? Oliver was looking right at it. Feelings weren't tangible. They couldn't be hurt or broken. ... no - could... they... ? How -

"I hope that makes sense." "It doesn't," Alpha grunted before another thought even passed through its overworked conscious: talk about just anything... It kept its voice low, slowing in its pacing again, "is it -" What'd been the word that stag used? "... sosh-uh -" The word trailed off into a throaty hiss. The orthoclase paced another few steps, and took a second stab at it, "like socializing?"

@Oliver

A grimace.

Quiet.

The rise of quills. And then-... a breakthrough.

'Doesn't it make you angry?'

Oliver's eyes widened a touch, because with the instinct of the empathetic (and not, exactly, his intellect) he recognized the problem. It was like a light going on; a door opening. It's angry. It's angry someone died. And-... Sudden memory: Vargas, looming--'Are you under control?' or whatever the Master had asked-... Is it not allowed to be angry-?

Oliver stared, almost awed by this revelation. Orthoclase-Alpha was pacing, growling; the instant crush of pumpkin in its jaws was clear enough reinforcement of the assessment. Granted, there was probably more than that--possibly a lot more; but Oliver had something to work with, now.

He was up and moving, gently sweeping past the Orthoclase to the trees a bit beyond, and focusing on a smaller oak-like trunk, then. Without a word, he pressed black claw-hands to its rough bark, concentrating, magicka flickering up and then flaring: he'd try to grow it, to broaden it, to harden that bark to make it something the Orthoclase could hit. Could tear at, could rend and throw its weight into, could take the damage--at least for a little while.

Oliver then backed up again, studying it, checking to see how effective he had been. Thick: broad, heavy, wide-barked. Perfect. And then he looked to Orthoclase-Alpha. Its second question threw him off, some, and he blinked up at it--"-Socializing? Um, I guess. But socializing can mean lots of things. Just... hanging out with friends, or talking, or meeting strangers. This is more... for you." The last was kind, almost gentle, and he gestured to the tree, turning his attention toward it as he backed away.

"You asked... if I'm angry. I'm not--Dad knew he was going in and he warned us he might die. Someone-... some fortune-teller told him he would, but... I'm still sad about it. But if you're mad, that's okay. You're allowed to be mad. Maybe... you're not happy 'cause you're bottling up the anger?"

A pause, a breath: this was it. If it accepted, or didn't-...

"Maybe we should try something?" he suggested, gently. "You can... talk about what makes you mad. About why you're angry. And... you can beat up that tree, meanwhile. I think if you let it out it'll help, a little? Maybe. Like-... smashing that pumpkin, just now," he tried to explain.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

The crow-dog didn't respond right away; instead, he moved towards a tree and propped himself up on it. It swelled beneath his grip, fibers crackling and popping as their growth was accelerated. Very akin to the sound of bones breaking. Alpha shifted just a bit, caution sending a wave of prickling through its quills. Settled into its new Place of Standing, it curled its claws into the sod again. This flush of anger suppressed by weariness'd pass soon enough. It had control over itself until it crested the threshold. Best not to get there again.

"... socializing can mean lots of things. Just... hanging out with friends," (I don't have those.) "or talking," (I think I don't like to.) "or meeting strangers." (Once, then I never see them again.) "This is more... for you." Oh -

Just like that, the orthoclase coiled up tight again. It stiffly raised and held its head up, quills pricking. Pride came in from distant memory again, and his helping a friend out of obligation or to feel good or something as its thoughts went. Then, a snarling flurry of feral copies of some black-winged beast and James's voice whinnying above it, begging for its aid. It hadn't offered it. It wasn't stupid - or foolhardy? - enough to rush into what was so clearly an inescapably dangerous situation.

In conclusion, from prior and unrelated incidents, Oliver had an ulterior motive for helping or not helping it.

He kept talking about the Trial, his father - and Alpha decided then and there that he wasn't helping it.

Its entire body bristled, and it lurched back into motion to cross the new distance between them (ignoring the cat-scratch tree he'd made just for it.) A mere foot again, the monstrous hybrid lifted an arm with the intent of snaring Oliver between the relatively short, blunt spikes along its forearm and pinning him to the ground. Alpha growled incoherently regardless of landing the pin, teeth baring in that trademark grin.

Alpha crouched low and close to the crow-dog and hissed, "you knew he was going in." Where's the filter? "You knew he would die." Hooked talons carved deep gouges into the grass. "I didn't." It growled. "I didn't tell he - rrh" It made a noxious gurgling as it cut itsellf off. "I didn't tell it. It came on he - it's own and died." A nasty little thought came to mind (a sort of we've got his stone and you can't have it, idiot) but it didn't act on it. "I have nothing to do with it. It had nothing to do with me." They couldn't find her stone, but they recovered an oilslicked heart and the halberd it once carried in its hands. Every other piece'd been left behind, and it hadn't had the chance to go into Hydra in search of sentiment. She hadn't been anything to it but its stone-giver.

They couldn't even find her, but this dog whose child knew? Easily located. The orthoclase was too pissed to think, too tired to fight.

It exhaled sharply, and eased up on its arm, giving Oliver the room to squirm free - if he was even beneath its arm. A weary sigh rocked through its frame. Before speaking, Alpha made sure it was hovering close enough for the little hybrid to see its teeth and smell its breath, nearly rotten with meat and grapefruit-smell. It ground out in deep, guttural grunt, "if you say anything to anyone, I'll rip you to shreds." Judging from the sound of sod being broken up, that was a promise. It tossed the clump of grass back where it'd been, and started to leave. "I have work to do," it grunted dully.

@Oliver

Oliver was compassionate, and he wasn't the brightest of Gembound but he also wasn't stupid. Not... entirely. So he didn't press the "is this why you are mad?" bit when Orthoclase-Alpha abruptly pinned him down. He didn't fight back, either; just went sort of limp, submissively attentive.

It had to talk. He... hoped it wouldn't hurt him. He was still covered in caking blood from the wounds it had inflicted on Nemesis; he didn't want to get more of those, thank you very much. And with his small size, he'd not survive them. It occurred to him, vaguely, that his father had mentioned the offensive potential for his magic--but he didn't want to jump to that, certainly not. And anyway his wounds weren't that bad, right now... and the Orthoclase wasn't actually attacking him.

Okay-... okay, focus-...

It was upset that it hadn't known. Hadn't expected whoever-it-was (a she-? that it doesn't want to talk about?) to go inside. What did 'it had nothing to do with me' mean? He waited, pinned beneath its bulk and though he was certainly afraid, he was thoughtful too. Struggling to think.

He was also trying to conjure a pumpkin to offer up.

When the threat came, his brow knotted--as if he were hurt not by the fear, but the implication that he'd tell. "I said I wouldn't tell anybody--I won't. You don't need to make threats," he said softly. "If you go, you can... always come back. And beat up a tree or-... talk."

But-... the pain was there. Not his--Alpha's. It looked as though it would leave--it was moving to leave--but he asked it something, anyway. It wasn't a desperate last-chance question--no bait thrown out on a hooked line. It was genuine, but... he knew, too, that it was a risk. If Alpha left without answering, it might stew, upset, for awhile.

"...Who was she?" he asked, softly, taking that risk.

He was curling back upright, too, coming to his feet. And just to be safe, he rolled the pumpkin Orthoclase's way.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

How something someone so keen on putting his tail between his legs had survived so long in these Caves was beyond the orthoclase. He barely even squirmed beneath its arm, just laid there and looked only vaguely worried and hurt. Alpha gnashed its teeth. It hadn't even slammed as hard as it could have, with sore arms and shoulders. But, ah - "I said I wouldn't tell anybody." No need to make threats. It nearly scoffed.

Instead, the Overseer stated in a bassy rumble, "I have no reason to believe you." Brutal, straightforward honesty; it had no reason but blind faith, and it was a predator too reliant on sight to trust the turn of a corner. It padded further away, toxic eyes set dead-ahead on exit until Oliver spoke again.

It came to a halt, a hind leg lifted mid-stride. The limb came back down again. Who was she? Mother, sparring partner, happenstance. A one-time thing. Close enough that others noticed. It was obvious enough and apparently already known. Alpha glanced over its shoulder, murmuring, "my stone-giver."

Beat. It twisted further over its shoulder, gazing at the crow-dog wearily. "I don't have time to 'talk about it'." Even if it'd wanted to - which it consciously and patently didn't. Not this time. In classic Alpha fashion, the monstrous hybrid'd put an (unwarranted) offer for help up on the shelf and leave it to gather dust. It was completely subconscious: a sort of hiding and running from confronting the monsters that clung to its shadow and every dark nook near it, sharpening their incisors and drawing claws across the earth.

If the solution wasn't instantaneous, it wasn't worth trying (right now, ever, whenever.) Its Master was bound to be getting impatient, already, it needed to rest and take its turn paying close mind to the chrysalises, et cetera et cetera always with the et ceteras.

Its eyes meandered down to the pumpkin, but it didn't even give the squash a halfhearted shove before turning back to leave.

@Oliver

'I have no reason to believe you.' Oliver thought about this, briefly, and came to the conclusion that this was utterly and entirely fair. He didn't know the experiences Orthoclase-Alpha had had, but they were relative strangers. "Okay," he agreed, and then--after a pause--"but threatening others might make them not like you, later." Just in case nobody had ever told it. "It's okay, though."

So the dead one had been its--stone-giver, one parent? Oliver sank down, a little, at this; it was sad. A mother, sort of, then-? And now it was saying that it did not have time. Oliver wasn't sure if this were true, or if it was an excuse, but he took it at face value and nodded.

"I'm sorry. If you ever do... want to talk about her, if you have time, I'll be here." He paused, ruffling out his feathers and fur and shaking himself, fixing all the mushed-down parts from where the Orthoclase had pinned him. "Or... you should find someone to talk to, if not me. When you have--bad feelings it's like poison, in you. And if you keep them in they'll poison you more." It wasn't the most scientific explanation, and was softly called after the Orthoclase as it made to leave. "But you can always come here, if you want to."

The offer was there, and without forcing anything that was the best that he could do. He didn't know Orthoclase-Alpha enough to manipulate it, to play on its fears or doubts to force it to get help--nor would he have been the type, bar gentle redirection of its worries. That wasn't Oliver's way. But the... sanctuary that he offered, and the safety of his little grove in turn, had both been offered out with open arms. At least Orthoclase-Alpha now knew they were there; if it became overwhelmed again, maybe it would even come back, one day.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Alpha grunted. It didn't need to be liked, surrounded - now or later. The strongest made it furthest. All it had to do was the bare minimum to keep others ambivalent towards it. Announcing its intentions before giving chase was the only lesson it'd truly picked up from Pride before stagnating into this little trainwreck wearing its hide.

The orthoclase grunted again. It never wanted to talk. There wasn't a point to it when every little bit of repressed emotion could be transmuted into rage and exhausting incoherence. That burned hotter and faster, and left it duller than this low simmer did. There wasn't ever any time to throw all of the fuel onto the flame, though - and enough time to let it reduce to ashes. One would think it'd have realized how unsustainable and inefficient that was by now.

Maybe, it would come back someday. Maybe, it'd never think of this place again except as just another part of Canis's landscape - no matter how much the greenery stood out. Whatever the case, it paused for just a moment, glanced over its shoulder, and skulked away. No promises. No assurances. Nothing. Just uncertain, weary silence in forced-smooth quills and overly long, stiff strides.

exit alpha, unless stopped
@Oliver

Oliver sagged, a little, in the face of Orthoclase's departure.

It wasn't anything about his own fear, or relief; it was sympathy. The creature--despite its monstrous size, despite its scars and alien appearance--looked... defeated. Half-sagging, as if carrying some weight that Oliver couldn't see, that perhaps Orthoclase-Alpha itself couldn't see.

He frowned, a little, watching it move off with a slow, stiff stride, weariness etched in every step that it took. Oliver's ear-tufts flattened back, and he sighed, gently.

"I hope you come back," he murmured, but it would be too quietly for Orthoclase-Alpha to hear: just a quiet sort of prayer directed at the beast, one absent and sad on its grieving behalf.

He pushed up and shook out his feathers and fur, and went back to the tree that he'd grown; and quietly he began to apologize for his intentions. They'd been good, but at least the tree wasn't ruined, now... He cast a glance, after a moment, in the direction that Orthoclase-Alpha had taken. But it had gone; and there was only empty space remaining.

Somehow, despite the absence of the implied threat it posed, the grove seemed lonelier with it gone.

exit Oliver (and @orthoclase-alpha for no real reason)