A normal day went like so:

Cairn awoke next to her father, the humanoid portion of her using his pelt as a pillow. She got up, stretched out all six limbs (she counted!) and looked for little crawling ants in the grass to snack on. She drank some water and tried to flatten the hair away from her eyes with it-- but by the time she got back to Shango, it had flopped over her face again.

Sometimes, she'd visit her... aunts? Moms? and her sibling? (best not to think too hard about it) a little deeper into the forest, and they'd tell stories and laugh very nice laughs together, and sometimes she'd play with Atropos, or show them some of the pretty little pebbles she had found in the grass while looking for snacks. Atropos said they were nice-- but they never showed the kind of enthusiasm that Cairn hoped they would.

Other times were like today. She would wander, but not leave Eridanus. Sometimes she'd find tall blue-and-white birds with lovely little songs, and sometimes she'd find trees with deep, deep scores in them from cave deer (and once or twice, she had bumped her head into them to test if she'd grown antlers yet-- but no luck) and sometimes, all Cairn would find were ants. Not that Cairn was bothered. Snack time could come baring down at any given moment, after all.

Little hoofsteps were taken around ferns that grew higher than Cairn stood tall, still crunching away on the sentient Protein Pellets in her mouth. She shoved by one wide leaf and promptly stumbled on the lip of the trench. Once one hoof lost its ground the rest came down with it; the foal-child went tumbling down the few feet into the bottom of the incline. "Oww," she complained to no one, picking herself up and shaking herself out like she didn't just fall into a hole.

Besides-- this hole, as wide as it was, was home to some very interesting looking friends. Little smooth pebbles of all shapes and sizes lay at her feet, and quite promptly, Cairn was picking through them looking for the best of the bunch. Soon, she had a little handful of them; one that was almost perfectly a flat circle, another with little pale, jagged lines on its face, and one that came to a little point.

This one was even tested. "Ow."

But none could compare to the most recent to catch her eye; bigger than any pebble she'd ever seen (but not quite a boulder, which was important to its Pebble status) with a jagged edge and coloured white-marbled-blue. Distantly, it reminded her of the clouds that brought rain and when she touched it, she was even surprised to find that, aside from the dew dripping from ferms covering it, it was dry.

She paused. It was still too big to pick up, she realised-- and it didn't look like it'd really go anywhere in the first place... could Shango move it?

A delicate hand pushed the hair covering her eyes back, and with the other, she offered a few delicate tap, tap, taps to the dormant chrysalis.

@Moonsetter

True to form, the Pebble was just large enough to fit in a child's arms — but any reasonable being blessed with Critical Thought would know that it was also just large enough to be immovable, even if it wasn't solidly rooted to the ground through magical process. What lay inside of its marbled façade was life itself, and if Cairn had yet to receive a talk about where babies come from, then she was in for a surprise:

A… thing spilled out from the streaky crystals without much preamble. Prickly-seeming covered in quills — no, feathers — black, slicked-over with neonatal fluids. It looked like a pipe cleaner nearly stripped to the wire and equipped with enormous, bird-like feet that looked horribly disproportionate (like… a terrible baby cockatiel). Leathery wings slapped weakly against the grass as the passably alien baby settled in place. Where there should've been eyes, nose, maybe some ears — oh, wait, those were further back on its head — was nothing but smooth white standing starkly against the… rest of it.

Well, it was white. All of a sudden, the weird disc-face greyed out, and the terror-baby jerked to life with a bleating cry.

One birthing-wail later, and the thing had scrambled to its feet, hissed as what seemed to be pupils coagulated on its face, and shuffled so a wing could imitate the brim of a baseball cap. Too bright, the baby determined, and it lashed its overly-stiff toothpick of a tail. Sopping-wet feathers fluffed up and its glimmering mouth bared in a gummy snarl.

Beat that, light! Fear the small cat-sized terror before you!

@Cairn

The miracle of life. The merle stone split and out came life itself, new and cold and bleating and adjusting in the wake of its emergence. Cairn stepped back with some surprise, hooves scraping against rock-- and then in a moment she was crouching down onto her knees and setting her palms flat on the ground to get a look at the new creature, worm-like, black-and-blue, dripping wet, lashing furiously.

"Eww," Cairn decided.

She would have risked a poke if she didn't get the impression that those little needle-point teeth weren't for causing more ouchies. Instead, in a rare moment of absolute genius, Cairn shifted her weight from both hands to one and heaved up to twist one of the thick leaves to cover the creature. She remembered this experience; the experience of Being, the strangulation of a chrysalis and the agony of lights that were too bright.

Shadows criss-crossed over the wet bird-dragon, strips of light leaking through the gaps of the ferns. In the dark, though, it was just a bit harder to see it if it weren't for the strange white disc and the speckles of freckles woven in through baby feathers.

For a moment, the centuar watched the creature through strands of alabaster hair, eyes narrow. And then--

"Oh," she said, matter-of-factly. "You're a storm."

The evidence went thusly; it was dark, splattered blue like lighting-light against black clouds, and it was loud. Not only that, but it was wet-- and while it wasn't exactly rain, it clearly had the qualities of being a very small storm. Obviously.

Her torso craned forward a little bit, and after a beat of silence Cairn said, "hi."

@Moonsetter

Cupped, lamb-like ears, once plastered to either side of its puny little head, shot bolt upright as something scraped closer; the hatchling whipped around to regard the figure, all blurry and monochrome in an eye still adjusting to the waking world's light. Those little inklings of concepts — abstract and physical — set off a twinge in the back of its skull, and the thrum of adrenaline roared louder through its veins. Analysis? Bigger, approaching, noise, attack — and the beast, tiny as it was, knew its being outmatched. A hiss spit tiny globs of incandescent saliva all over the grass.

Part of the figure shifted, growing a tentacle (attack!) that reached for it. Setting down its eye-shielding arm to brace itself for another manic hiss, it —

— stuttered to a halt, because the assailant was not reaching for it, but instead above. Did she not see it? The sopping mop of a newborn bared its gums again, with a little less venom this time. Whatever was imitating pupils on its face warped, and its head listed to the side.

Unfortunately for either one of them, the dragonling had not come with any sort of language acquisition device preinstalled. Fortunately, it had come equipped with the ability to imprint upon the first thing to show kindness to it. And so, it did as all young ducklings do: totter out of the bushes and start snuffing in a great frenzy.

Its face was mostly white — a newly-discovered method of squinting, patent pending — as it slowly slunk out; of course, this was only after a solid minute of staring dumbly once Cairn had spoken to it while cowering in the bush. Glowing-blue nostrils flared beneath its disc-face, and it sniffed at the space around the centaur's legs. If it happened to bumble into a leg or flank, the little terror let out a surprised bleat and shuffled back; because it was so strange how she just seemed to blend in with the grass and everything else, barely visible except for the… white bands here (it sniffed at a hoof) and all of the puffy pale there (it reached a claw out to pat at a tail, if allowed.)

After a pause, a terrible noise emanated from the fluffing-up little pipe cleaner, only vaguely resembling the word "hi!"

@Cairn

There was a prolongued silence-- and maybe Cairn said something wrong? Maybe something accidentally mean? She could see its gums and she knew (helpfully, from Elspet) that that was bad, but it wasn't saying anything. Maybe it was a thing you were supposed to eat instead, like the ants, or fruit, or things Shango pulled home to eat?

Shadows cast and the storm came toddling from the dark; hounding like a shaggy dog. Cairn pulled her hair back against her scalp to see it better, though it seemed to be on a mission to inspect her. It bumped into her leg and "ow," she said despite not feeling pain at all-- and the creature moved on to pet the fluffies of her tail.

She lifted the limb, white hair dangling. "Hi," the child parroted back, both hands flat on the ground and peering under herself to watch it trot around the space she was occupying. "You're kinda shaped like my dad." (because she really had no other reference for winged quadrapeds).

What was she meant to do with this thing, anyway? Take it to Shango? Leave it be? If it were talking, now, then Cairn could make friends with it maybe-- and Shango would be very interested to hear how she made friends with a little storm.

... what do storms do, other than be loud and dark and wet?

"What do you eat?" She asked.

@Moonsetter

"Ow-ow," it parroted very helpfully. This was a dark path the two of them were hurtling down. Life imitates life, and the little storm was doing a terrible job at it.

The evaluation of its abilities was unimportant, though, because the puffy white thing (a cloud?) moved. Was it like another arm? A tentacle? Its pupil dilated to the extreme at the movement, and the whole hatchling went stock-still.

A beat.

It dropped to its star-spangled belly.

Another beat.

Haunches wriggled, tail swaying along with the feeling. A forked tongue swiped at drool-covered lips in anticipation for the hunt. Whatever noise was being made by the centaur was moot, because there existed nothing else in the world but the tantalizing sway of a prey item hanging in the air, just waiting to be caught. Feathers swayed in the air, so bright and visible like an objective marker, and it needed to get it.

And so, with blatant disregard to the question of what it ate, the beastie launched itself at the tail tuft with an overexcited trill... only to land flat on its face with an equally as exasperated hiss and a short whine, having overshot the limb entirely.

... well. At least one could guess at it being a predator now.

@Cairn

"Um," said Cairn, with an expression that could only be described as Harrowing Concern (pictured left), twisting around to get a look at the star-spangled creature. it leapt for her tail and promptly landed on its face (???). It hadn't died at least-- it let out a little whine.

The scrape of hooves on rock were especially loud in Cairn's ears as she gradually turned around, knees teetering across the cave floor. She reached out and offered a delicate little nudge to the storm's flank with her knuckles. The sensation of touching a storm was softer than she imagined-- though she had felt rain on her face, she had imagined touching a storm itself to be... spiky, perhaps.

Feathers weren't very spiky, at least at a first delicate touch.

"Maybe you wanna jump on a bug and eat it?" The foal asked. "I like ants. There's always lots of them."

She offered both hands out to the creature to offer a ride, in one quiet, entirely vague and perhaps disconcerting gesture. "C'mon and I'll take you there?"

@moonsetter

A better word would be Ate Shit. It was sprawled across the ground like a loose leaf: forming five perfect points between its limbs and head, with a little stem of a tail for good measure. Just… an especially dark-looking leaf, like a little bottomless pit had just spawned on the floor.

Of course, peace did not last long in the valley, and the Tiny Terror nearly tripping over its own clodhopper feet in a mad scramble to face its — well, its apparent caretaker that regarded her with a mouthful of what seemed to be teeth. In the intermission, knuckles brushed against its feathers with an electric sort of feeling. Yet again it froze, eye blistering white and the rest of its body stanced a bit like… some sort of pitbull. Elbows way too far out, wings splaying absolutely everywhere.

The spot that'd been Touched buzzed with a particular feeling. Ecstasy? Rejuvenation? Pure delight? It roiled beneath its skin, settling in warm against its bones and ribs, but it left the strangest sensation of hunger — and not just what was making its guts purr quietly at the mention of food (however little it was paying attention to the actual words).

More, it decided after a time, want more.

And, well… the centaur was offering those strange limbs of hers up. The pipe-cleaner strolled on over without regard for its potential safety, and… promptly fell onto its side against an arm. With a single squirm of its wings — and a flinching of claws when they stuck a little too close to tender flesh and triggered a more pained-sounding "ow" — it floundered back onto its belly, neck nuzzling into a forearm as it apparently made itself right at home between the offered arms.

There it was, hanging onto one arm with its legs and apparently prehensile tail, and bracing with its windpipe on another. Slung in between. Like a hammock.

... y'know. The height of comfort.

@Cairn

Was it okay? It seemed to have... frozen, not entirely unlike a mid-2000s Barbie game freaking out when you hit alt-tab too fast. It stood like it was broken, but before Cairn could say anything (not that it'd bother to listen) it was waddling forward and slouching against her arm.

Long nails grazed the tabby markings on her arm. "Ow," came a higher-pitched hiss accompanying a flinch, but the little storm seemed quick to adjust itself. Like a sloth preparing for its next 20-hour nap it hung between her arms and got comfortable on the outstretched limbs. Although Cairn didn't argue, it did present a new issue: not being able to move her arms.

And yet. "Okay, let's go," she said, forelimbs (the horse ones) shuffling and eventually pushing her upright. The rocks-- all three of them, with addition of the pieces of shattered moonstone chrysalis --would have to be gathered later when Cairn had her hands to herself. This, the centuar decided, was of upmost importance so much so that it surpassed even rocks (which were very important).

There were a good few hotspots for bug-hunting, a hobby she was particularly familiar with. An important question, however, would be-- "what kinda bugs do you like?" Cairn's favourite were ants; small, easy to eat, virtually the Same Experience Every Time you bit into one. There were others-- worms, if you liked softer things (maybe the storm shouldn't eat things it looks like?) and beetles if you liked a lot of crunch, and spiders if you liked to feel like screaming whenever you tried to have a snack. For the sake of Viv's mental health, we will not go into further detail than that.

Ants first; and there was a little crest of them not too far from the alcove that housed her mom-aunts and sibling (question mark). The anthill was sort of dome-shaped with an entryway at the very tippy-top, and it was here-- some foot or so away --that Cairn arrived to after hauling the storm out of the trench and through a shallow stream.

Tiny raisin-like beads criss-crossed the hill. "They're kind of easy to get," she said, jerking the lounging storm between her arms a bit. "Go catch some?"

@Moonsetter

A startled trill — suspiciously akin to the tilt alarm on a coin dozer at Dave and Buster's or a slot machine at the casino — puttered out of the worm as movement occurred underneath it and it was whisked away. Wings flapped once, the leather of them slapping wetly against the centaur as it dragged its spindly arms up to cling a little more securely.

It gazed at its surroundings with intensity far too great for a thing that couldn't see further than a blurry, monochromatic reverie; its pupil contracted as they passed through the light, but there was no blubbering hiss or squeal in response. It'd just… close its eye?

Problem solving.

Fancy that.

Cairn spoke again, with that strange lilting tone that implied — what, uncertainty? Floppy ears flicked as it twisted to regard her face (now in standard definition!) with a slight tilt. "Bugs!" it imitated very helpfully, catching the absolute bare minimum of what words were essential in the question asked of it. One could construe the eagerness as an answer. Not that it matter, because a plentiful bounty was just ahead.

The storm startled again as it was jostled, but attention was got, and it suddenly relinquished its hold on the centaur's arms to flop unceremoniously on the ground (with no less than another plaintive bleat). Every bit of its pathetic mane fluffed and rearing onto just its back legs, the alien baby whirled around to personally display just how offended it was. Don't you know not to disturb a sleeping kitty?!

But, this little terror was likely to receive an attention deficit disorder diagnosis if it was ever taken to a psychiatrist, and so it spun back around to regard what may as well been a jar full of cookies for how instinctively ecstatic it got. Ramrod straight tail waggling an even rhythm, the newborn galumphed right for the anthill.

And promptly stomped in it.

Immediately covered to its chest in compacted sand and soil, the star-spangled dragonling stuffed its face in the palace's remains and somehow very noisily began to slurp up the beans spilling out in a great rage. It was as if God himself had come down — armed with a vacuum cleaner — to purge the earth of humanity, rather than letting a flood do the work. It was rapturous. It was terrible.

And, apparently, very shareable, because the storm paused in its shark-like frenzy to scoop out what appeared to be a pile of dirt. "Ow!" it chirruped, and immediately flung a decent-sized handful of milky white bean-eggs in Cairn's direction with its heel.

Then, of course, it went back to chowing down on the rest of the nest chamber it'd located.

@Cairn