A silence that dragged on, then: quiet sadness in the thought-voice. Aethereal felt a stab of worry - had she disappointed Mother somehow? But no, the next emotions that came through the link were the same warm love and reassurance as before. She could still become a part of this family, and this could still be her home. That, too, was reassuring: the knowledge that Mother would continue to care for her, would not abandon her even if she was different from what Mother had expected.

Mother's words came and went, but the clicking was constant. It was not coming from the Cleaner that had approached it - at least, Aethereal didn't think so. It sounded different enough from the original clicking sound it had made. She followed it, pausing occasionally at first to make sure she was following it correctly but becoming more confident as she walked further.

The air pressure around her increased slightly, but it was barely enough to be noticeable to Aethereal. The change was nowhere near the intensity of that first crushing grip on her neck. Perhaps it was random chance that her magic's backlash was weaker, or perhaps it really was Mother's protection. Aethereal certainly didn't know, but she tried her best to project a feeling of gratitude, in case it was Mother's doing.

When she had walked for a while, she thought as loudly as she could while still listening for the soft clicking: "Am I coming closer to you? Can you hear me better now?"

Through winding tunnels the rasping led--down one path, and another branch, and another fork, deeper and deeper into the frosted earth. At last the sounds halted, and faint odors of something else came from just to Aethereal's left, and up ahead.

"...and goes," Mother was replying, but it was still very patchy indeed. "...will grow stronger with time. This place... used as long as you need. -- ...will serve you here. We will love you. We are family."

It was difficult to make it all out, but the odor, at least, might give Aethereal something to aim for.

It was a den: a den deep within the ice, scratched and excavated carefully out to suit Aethereal as best the Cleaners could. The ice was smoothed, the floor of it made up of a slightly bowl-shaped surface with a ledge, like a shelf, at the far end--as if for small objects, or the like. Atop this lay a slab of meat, though it wasn't clear what this was from; and strewn thickly over the floor was soft, dead dried grass, like a bed of hay.

There was a baubled light, too, to give the den a glow, but Mother had not known this creation to be blind.

"-anything you need," came the distant voice, more meaning than words. She would offer anything that Aethereal would need. "They can teach you, if you call them--of magic, of hunting, of these caves, or-..." (for a moment, the link cut out and the silence felt almost sharply empty;) "-and in time, the truths behind it all."

There it was again, this promise.

Aethereal was, it seemed, being provided a prepared den deep beneath Ursa's surface: and offered training through the Praetors and the Cleaners, or even service. They would, it seemed, hunt for her, or teach her what she wished; and if she waited, lingered, long enough, then Mother would tell her all.

There was a silence, a sensation like the holding of breath, as Mother awaited her precious, beloved child's reply.

@Aethereal

Aethereal listened closely, taking it all in. It was… wonderful, almost too good to be true. If she knew what a dream was, she might have thought that this was one. "We are all family… the one that approached me, was it-" she searched for the word. It had not hatched next to her, so she discarded the possibility of sibling - perhaps a little prematurely, but Aethereal had no way of knowing. "- Father, then? Why did it not speak?" Either way, she felt sure now that it was not the one who had hurt her, because family wouldn't. "Who was it that pressed on my neck, then, when I reached out?"

And something felt a little off. The vibe of the word serve didn't seem to fit with the vibe of the word family. She… she didn't know why, exactly - maybe it was because serve seemed to convey a sense of being unequal? But she did not know how to put it in words, exactly, so she simply sent a little wiggle of worry in Mother's direction, along with the two words and a vague sense of conflict between them. Hopefully it wouldn't be swallowed up by the breaks in the mental link.

She had not yet entered the den up ahead, but had paused in place to consider Mother's words. Truths behind it all? "Behind what?" she asked. The way Mother was talking made it seem like the world had some huge, dark secret to it. Maybe Aethereal wouldn't have paid it much mind at first; others could keep their own secrets as long as they didn't lie to her and the secrets didn't involve her. But Mother kept bringing it up, so this was important to her and it had to be important for a reason. "... is there danger?"

Father. What an ironic word to ask about, what an ironic term to choose, though Aethereal would likely never know that. There was a silence, for a moment, as if Mother were considering an answer, perhaps one that Aethereal would understand.

"They are... of our mind. In time... understand them. You could... request... aid from them, even now. But our family link... time to establish." Again this link was faltering, words missing. But the meaning came through, at least, and it would make a little more sense: that this link would take time, cycles even, to fully form. To flesh out. To bind them all, as it should bind family. "It is not... father. It is... sibling, perhaps."

Another silence, then, as a Cleaner briefly searched--with eyes and scent and vibration touch--whether anything more lurked in the Drowned Forest. A few cold fish, perhaps; but something had stepped on the Witch-child's neck? Mother was unaware of her magic, of what it had done, of its cast. She didn't know what the youth had felt.

"This touch... was not our doing," she responded, at last, and there was distant concern as the Cleaner continued to search for a source, for some attacker hidden in the water. Was there something in there, something large enough, aggressive enough, to attack such a large creature as Aethereal-? A witness, perhaps?

And now Aethereal was asking the bigger questions, and a flood of melancholy, of sympathy and of comfort--as if to say "there there, the world is terrible but we are your family, and we will love you"--flooded along that link. "These are things... you are too young to understand, yet. We will teach you. For now... tell no one of our presence. But you are welcome here. You will always be welcome here. When you are of age... we will sing songs to you of ancient pasts, and bright futures. But here... now... is dark."

Now: now was a cold dark. A place of lurking chaos and mysterious monsters. Did this call to Aethereal, this madness that boiled in her veins, by design? Or would Mother's grip of control, of order and rigid organization, of crystalline beauty, overcome that?

"In time... we will show you a better way."

@Aethereal

Time seemed to be the recurring theme here: time to establish the link of communication between Aethereal and her family, time before Mother could show her whatever it was that she intended to reveal, and time before the future grew... bright? Bright and dark held no meaning for her, but Aethereal could glean meaning from the way Mother thought the words: bright was good, and dark - what things were like now - was bad. And Mother had said to tell no one of their presence - they were in danger, then? She'd felt a wave of sadness as well as love, when Mother had answered her question. Bad things might happen, might have already happened?

But she had to be patient, for now. Two cycles - however long those were - would pass, and then she would have her answers. For now, she could make her home in this place - and prepare herself for whatever lay ahead. At last, she stepped forward again, seeking out the source of the faint smell. The surface beneath her feet changed from a hard, ice-like substance to dried grass. The odor came from straight ahead, and some instinct within Aethereal told her: food.

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. Aethereal sprang forward, although there was no need - the food did not move, did not attempt to flee. She tore into it hungrily, inhaling little pieces of meat through the opening in her neck. It might have looked like a messy process, but Aethereal had no desire to waste food. The mess was confined to a small area near the ledge where the meat had been originally, and the Witch of Winter's searching neck sucked up the scraps.

Satisfied but still humming with energy, Aethereal paced the den in a restless circle. "…play?" she tried, both doing her best to broadcast it with her thoughts and saying it out loud, in case her siblings could not hear her over the weak mental link. She wanted to jump, run, wreck something to hunt or tussle with her newfound family. This was what siblings were for, right? To have fun when the serious conversations were over, and simultaneously hone their skills through chases and play-fights?

There was, at first, confusion.

A chittering, quiet, and puzzlement along Mother's tenuous link.

Then there was time: the rapid clack of insectoid feet as the Cleaners scurried about on this new task.

A few minutes later, a single Cleaner clicked its way into the chamber: and there, in the entrance, it dropped a pile of frozen white plant seeds with a soft thump.

Legs twitched, as if it were trying to keep itself from doing... something; and then it backed away, as if waiting. Was this... a game?

@Aethereal

There was a period of silence, during which Aethereal paced in increasingly agitated circles, but the tapping of a sibling's footsteps began to echo through the tunnels soon enough, drawing closer and closer. The Witch of Winter bounced on her toes, shifting her weight from foot to foot with excitement. A few minutes' wait, though it seemed long, was not enough to dampen her eagerness to play. Once Aethereal was in a mood, she stayed in it.

Finally, finally, her sibling arrived at the den's entrance. There was a soft thump as it dropped something at the door, then clicking as it backed away. Aethereal approached the pile of seeds - not that she knew what it was yet - curiously, sticking a claw in it. Without any disclosure from the Cleaner about what sort of game this was going to be, her mind whirred through the possibilities.

"... catch?" she whispered uncertainly, scooping up some of the loose seeds with a paw. There were very many of them, and they felt very light and very small, so she wasn't sure if they were all that suited to the game. But it was the only possibility she could think of. What else would she do with them? Hide-and-seek? Fight a pile of plant seeds?

"Catch!" she said again, more confident of her conclusion this time. Perhaps when the Cleaner threw the seeds, she could suck them in with her vacuum-mouth. She wasn't quite sure how the Cleaner would catch her throws, but she thought it must know what it was doing! So with that in mind, she cheerfully hurled a handful of the seeds in the general direction of the Cleaner.

There was a tremor in the Cleaner's claws as Aethereal began her version of this game. The Cleaner seemed to have had something else, perhaps, in mind; but its link to her was not clear enough as yet. Or maybe it had simply expected her to know.

Whatever the case, it seemed almost distressed, scrambling to snag each of the seeds that she tossed back its way. If she came closer--if she felt for them--she would find that the Cleaner was rapidly struggling to arrange all of the thrown seeds in neat rows, as fast as it could go.

@Aethereal

Aethereal waited. Then waited some more. There was no incoming return throw - what was her sibling doing? She waited a moment longer, just to be sure, but nothing came. What was the Cleaner - she took a step in its direction, then another, stretching her neck downward curiously. The clicking of claws and mandibles, scrambling to... rearrange the seeds? Aethereal touched a row of seeds with her claws curiously, then quickly decided this didn't seem like a very fun game. Maybe the Cleaner didn't want to play Catch either. That was fine! Aethereal liked lots of games. Just not this rearrangement thing; she didn't think she had the dexterity for it anyway.

"Not catch?" she mused, the vents on her sides fluttering softly as she thought. "I can think of more!" What was it that Mother had talked about before? Something about magic, hunting, singing? Personally, Aethereal felt like tackling something right now, but did the Cleaner like play-fighting? Just give it a hug. Hugs were good. So, without any warning other than an exclamation of "Hugs!", Aethereal opened her wings wide and attempted to bowl over the Cleaner into the most loving embrace.

Once hugs were had, or at least attempted, they could discuss what else they were going to do. "Fight? Hunt? Sing? Magic?" Aethereal suggested. Wait a minute. "What is singing? How do you play that?" That seemed important. She had no knowledge of a game called singing!

The "oof" of the Cleaner was very nearly human as the Witch of Winter impacted it; legs gave a brief and frantic flail as it was tumbled over onto its back. This was followed by a frantic squeak as glassy carapace twisted on ice.

Through the link, however, it seemed to sense that Aethereal meant no harm; and when it was released and scrambled back to its feet, it was with the slightly afraid, slightly indignant demeanor of a butler standing up to wipe down its rumpled suit.

Ahh, but singing-!

Mother heard this question, and a surge of warm approval trickled down that link. There was silence, for a moment.

Stillness.

This was broken, heartbeats later, by a quiet, keening cry: a single note made by something very different from a voicebox, some sort of twist of limb or exhalation, emanating from the Cleaner. It was a single note, as crystalline and chilling as the honeycomb glacier around them, and it rang like a tapped wineglass through the tunnels. This note was single, pure, and clean.

And it was answered by another, after a few moments; another distant note, different to but complementing the first, far down the tunnel labyrinth. Then a third, and a fourth, until a quavering, subtle symphony was singing through the caves.

It seemed to be lacking only one note, or maybe two; places where Aethereal could lend her voice, could change and influence the song as she saw fit.

This-... This was singing.

@Aethereal