The boracite chrysalis glowed faintly with a radiant chartreuse hue; no doubt it was spoiled by the glowing mushrooms growing out of the wall adjacent, with the ambience shifting the natural blue-white of the material to something more putrescent. The chrysalis was rooted to the ground firmly and ringed by hexagonal stacks of crystal, almost giving the appearance of a nest, of all things.

Inside was a small body, neatly compacted. There was enough room for the creature to turn its head, and the smack of its beak against the inside of the chrysalis reverberated to the back of a very small skull. It didn't hurt, exactly - but it wasn't pleasant. A few more turns like this chipped away at some of the interior.

The bird drew all of its energy and determination to be free, and began to chisel at the interior. The sound was lost behind the thick stone wall and beyond that, the rocky escarpment.

It was slow going. The chrysalis was hard but not impossible to chip away at. The problem came with the gembound's lack of physical strength; their newness was not a blessing in this instance.

When the shape moved, every touch of its frail little body against the stone would dust some more away. Its beak was long, thin, sharp - so there was progress. In time they could take a deeper breath.

That same breath caught in its little throat. There was pressure within the chrysalis; a sense of sudden impending doom, the likes of which was common for those with claustrophobia. In this case, the sensation spurred action from the little creature.

The chrysalis trembled. The walls shook as a sound erupted from the bird's little lungs and climbed, despite the lack of oxygen, until it was a crystal-clear shrill note that could shatter glass. The chrysalis spider-webbed with cracks and came apart as gleaming dust.

When the dust settled, the remaining shape was a lump of blue-green against an otherwise dimly lit floor. The mushroom that grew out of the wall nearby, which in part sheltered the chrysalis as it had formed, was embedded with shards of boracite.

The creature slowly opened its beady little eyes. The high note it had somehow summoned had by now died out, leaving an emptiness that made the darkness seem all the more foreboding. The bird sighed - what would've been a little whistle, was more silence - and popped to his feet.

He shook all over - at first to get the grit off of its body, but after when he stood there dizzy and confused, he discovered that he couldn't stop shivering afterwards. The bird turned towards the giant mushroom and hastened to hide beside its stalk, and tucked itself in to a ball.

When the bird had rested enough to open their eyes again, it had been a few hours. The ambient glow of the mushroom's wide cap had not diminished at all; it wasn't hard on the eyes now, and in fact afforded enough light for the boy to look around. What he saw didn't register as anything of importance: ancient stonework carved away by time unknowable; the hum of energy far away from him in one direction, like the churning of a great wheel; some deeper sense of power from the opposite direction as well as a faint blue glow over the lip of the escarpment.

He did not feel brave. He would not have known what to call that feeling at any rate; but what he felt was tired, lonely, even a little hungry. It was an amalgamation -- an approximation too, given his age. He knew he would have to leave the glow of this tall thing eventually and start to explore; the itch was there, to see what was around him and to understand it. It warred with the innate desire for safety, which wanted him to stay put. Locked in place by indecision, the little bird would stay tucked there for a while.