It starts out quiet in Venari's den. The pulsing glow of the steadily growing suglite chrysalis has become normal. Just another day, it seems. It's been over a month - now's a good as time as any, something in stars decides.

Thump, goes the chrysalis. The image of the neonate inside, kicking free begins to become clear. Thump, thump, thump, come several more kicks. Spiderweb cracks crawl up the stone, before it shatters in a cacophony of noise.

The formerly contained winged hound spills out onto the ground, black feathers slick with fluid beginning to beam brilliant pinks and purples once they hit the air. His cyan eyes behold the world around it, wide with wonder. A small squeaking vowel of awe escapes it's jaws.

@Oliver

Oliver had spent only three days in his chrysalis after inadvertantly restoring life to the Sugilite--but since then, he'd hardly left Venari's den. He didn't think to wonder whether she might be irritated by his constant offers of vague and generic "help;" he'd spent time, instead, baubling stones and planting a variety of food and decorative plants around the exit. He suspected she was a little bemused, but she liked light, so his oddly industrious work had continued. All the den's little exterior meadow needed was a touch of glass to become its own solarium.

But the reason he'd stayed here to begin with was the chrysalis--his child, a thought which terrified him. He'd never planned to create a child. Not that he had anything against it; it was just that Oliver was, himself, in many ways still childlike. Not childish--but childlike. Wide-eyed, tentative, gentle. He didn't see himself as strong enough, old enough, or experienced enough to raise another Gembound, despite his comparatively "old" age. So he was nervous: fretting a little, trying not to worry, but planning relentlessly on how to raise a kid. He tried to remember what his parents--Black and Eve, the dog and the crow--had taught himself and his sister, White. He made mental notes.

Teach them to be a good Gembound. Teach them kindness. Caution. Teach them about magic and food and places. But those latter topics--survival--factored in after the "morality" bits. It said something about Oliver, perhaps, that the Gembound valued kindness over actually staying alive, but that was who he was.

Meanwhile, he kept himself almost frantically busy by planting pretty things--baubled stones and shining seeds--all around the ever-expanding sugilite (and my, it had grown large for a child's-!) He'd wondered, until now, what the resulting child might look like. Something like Venari, maybe-? Like a huge, carapaced huntress? Or maybe a phoenix, like Tenzin; or--or something else entirely!

Thump.

He dropped his basket of plants, ear-tufts perking up, pale blue eyes shooting to the Sugilite.

Thump-thump-thump.

He scrambled to it, scaled forepaws pressing to the stone. He was about to call out to the child within--to encourage it, to ask if it needed help--when the chrysalis outright shattered.

Ear-tufts flattened again, then cautiously rose, as Oliver first skittered back and then leaned forward, peering in awe as this--his first child--emerged. His eyes travelled over the dark feathers--like mine! -no... better, prettier!--and the somewhat puppy-like face, the horns, the glint of purple gemstone at the chest. He swallowed down his nervousness: he had to be here for this child.

Its little cry of wonder struck him to his core, softened a parental instinct he hadn't known that he possessed. His heart melted, just a little, and he blinked.

"Hey," he greeted, softly, slowly drawing closer in as gentle a manner as he could. "I'm Oliver. I'm--you're--I'm your parent," he told him. "You're--my child."

His face quirked into something like a smile, somehow almost bittersweet. "Welcome," he said.

@Reverend

The ceiling was replaced with Oliver's kind face. Cyan eyes blinked once, twice. Reverend lifted a winged forepaw towards him, shaky but enthralled. It watched intently as Oliver spoke, curious about everything.

"...Ol-liver... par-ent..." it stumbled over its words, taking in what was said. As Oliver moved alongside him, Reverend snuggled into his feathers and fur. This is good, he decides, looking up at his life-giver. "Hel-lo... To-geth-er." A small smile spreads across its face, as the two of them sit together.

@Oliver

Some other, maybe more experienced, parent might have tried to anticipate their child's needs. Offered wisdom, or food, or an immediate adventure--or, at the very least, a trip to fresh water to drink.

Oliver... didn't. The Magnolet threaded through him still drove a burning wire through his mind, one lit neon with the word HELP OTHERS, but Reverend seemed... content, here. The warmth of a sudden new connection, of family, surged through him and Oliver simply settled in, curling into the snuggly child. They have my eyes, he thought, a little awed, and sort of smiled at the child as best a bird-dog-muzzle could manage.

"Together," he agreed, quiet.

Maybe the child would tell him a name. Maybe they would ask for something, just as soon as they felt a need--a hunger, thirst, curiosity. But for now Oliver was just there for them, silent and warm and reassuring.

As for the rest-? He let Reverend take the lead.

@Reverend

The comforting embrace of Oliver's feathers is all Reverend needs, for a good while. Minutes stretch out and pass as the two of stare lovingly at each other. The world seems perfect, for the little wolf-drake.

But all good things come to an end, and a gnawing at his insides causes him to stir. Reaching out with winged arms, a plea for something given. It takes it a moment to think of using his words, but after a little while it speaks up. "Hungry..." it states simply, looking up to Oliver with pleading eyes.

@Oliver

...Hungry!

Okay--I can do that, Oliver thought, but the thought was scrambling already between ideas. What would Reverend like to eat? He doubted the child would know the names of menu items listed off the top of Oliver's head; he'd likely have to find food and show it to him.

He could have simply summoned up a banana, but he wanted already to ensure the kid could take care of himself. (Feed a man for a day, and all that.) So he gently extricated himself from the little snuggle, and looked around. "Okay. We'll find food. There's a lot of different things we eat," he went on, speaking very slowly and glancing to Reverend as he did. He's a big kid, came the sudden thought--the realization that as an adult, the child would be enormous. Oliver had to struggle to remember what he'd just been thinking: that he didn't want to overwhelm the kid with far too many words. "Some eat grass. Or fruit. Or... animals. If you eat animals, don't eat ones who can talk. That's bad. Anything else is okay." He kept the sentences as slow and simplistic as he could, but the "food" part was ticking away at his sense of urgency: that neon sign in his mind now switched on and flaring "FEED THE CHILD" in insistent color.

Strange that the color was so vividly violet and gold.

He turned, carefully picking his way down the hill just a bit from the den; as he did so he picked up a bit of the shattered Sugilite, marvelling over it. He made his way to the basket he'd abandoned, settling the rock piece inside. It didn't occur to him to ask permission to keep it. It was a keepsake, a souvenir, but if Reverend happened to notice and demand the chrysalis piece remain, he'd have replaced it without a second thought.

For now, he began threading his way through the grass, sniffing for any sign of fruit.

A little way into the thick forest he paused, and reached his free forelimb out, pulsing magic into a familiar bush. A soft green glow engulfed the plant briefly, and the leaves spread, thickening; fat blue berries expanded from the wilting flowers, shining in the orb-light.

Oliver stepped aside and glanced back, gesturing questioningly to the fruits--and took one, eating it, to show it as an example. "Do you like these?" he asked, hopeful.

He didn't want to be the one to have to teach a child to hunt and kill. Even he had learned magic, instead, to eat plants; the idea of killing made him sad.

@Reverend

It sucks, having to get up and move. But the gnawing inside is enough to force Reverend to peel away from Oliver, shakily standing up. It wobbles on its hindlegs for a while, trying to get steady. "Food," he parrots, looking up with wide and eager eyes.

The words for different types of food are somewhat lost on him. What is a grass? It takes it a moment, before it speaks up again, "Are we animals?"

It takes unsteady steps after Oliver. It notices him pick up one of the chrysalis fragments, and it watches eagerly. They crystals are so pretty, it stares at them a little bit, before picking one up. He follows his life-giver's lead, placing it in the basket.

His dawdling means he has to hurry up to keep up with Oliver. Taking fast steps, it stumbles, landing on its forelegs. Reverend decides for now, it'll just be easier to stay down on all fours, and it scampers after his parent.

Taking in all the greenery as he follows, Reverend stops alongside Oliver. Rearing back up, it sniffs at the sapphire fruits. It smells nice enough, and so it grabs it in its jaws, pulling the berry off the tree and starting to chew it.

That lasts all of five seconds, before he spits the blue mush out onto the ground. "Bleh."

@Oliver

Are we animals?

Oliver paused, a brief moment of existential crisis striking him into frozen silence. 'Animals?' Where'd he learned that word-? They were Gembound, right? It didn't occur to him that he'd just sort of picked it up, the intrinsic knowledge of language flowing through him, much the same as some Gembound might speak of "souls" and "ghosts" without them really (probably?) existing.

"Um," he began, blinking. "Yes? We're Gembound." But his question mark wasn't mocking; it was faintly confused. They... were animals--weren't they?

The crisis was mostly averted (or at least the thoughts driven from Oliver's mind) when poor Reverend spat out the berries with obvious disgust. Oliver winced, a little; it meant killing. He didn't like killing. But it was necessary; some Gembound did it, some didn't.

For a moment, he wondered if it wouldn't be best to just... go get Venari. She'd probably like a new friend, and she was--if her collection of gemstones and grim stories were to be believed--a far, far more effective and experienced killer than Oliver was. But he didn't want to bother her or, truth be told, to encourage her bloodthirst--it seemed wrong, somehow. So he nodded and turned, setting off deeper into the jungle. He revisited the whole "words" issue as he led the way. "'Animals' are like, uh. Things that walk and talk and move." Another mental pause. Those are the same things, aren't they? Walking and moving. And they don't all talk, that's the point- "I mean--they move. Some walk, some swim. Things plants don't do. The ones that talk are the ones we don't kill, okay?"

Again, he hoped he wasn't making things too complex. He'd find out, he supposed, if Reverend wound up really confused.

"Anyway," he went on, again nodding up ahead and now dropping his voice into a hushed near-whisper, "if you eat animals, the first thing we have to do is find them. And we have to be quiet, because other animals don't like to be eaten," he explained. "So we have to be sneaky." Oliver felt dirty even saying it. The idea of sneaking up on stuff-... Well, he put the thought out of his mind. "Maybe later, you can use magic to eat just plants, like I do." Moral idea implanted? Hopefully; either way, it felt better just having said it.

He cast his magic out, concentrating. Threads of consciousness brushed from the treetops through his mind; vibrations and wind whispered to him. "...I think there's something up ahead. Try smelling," he suggested, lifting his own nose to the breeze. "Everything will seem different to your nose." -Probably. He knew some Gembound didn't smell so well--hopefully Reverend could figure out what he meant, and use that sense to hunt.

@Reverend

Batting the weird flavor off its tongue, he looks up to Oliver. "Gem... bound? Okay," he tries, taking careful steps after his parent. It takes a little while for everything to click, but it nods as it all comes together.

They stand there together for a while as Oliver gets lost in his thoughts. Reverend wobbles, before his life-giver starts to wander off. Animals... move. Not plant, he catalogues, ambling after Oliver. "Don't kill... talking animal?" he repeats, making sure. It thinks it understands, but wants to make sure, since its parent seems so careful.

Find. Be quiet. Be sneaky. He rolls it around in his brain, trying to understand the process. It cranes its neck, surveying the plants, before he takes Oliver's advice and lifts its nose to the gentle breeze.

It was overwhelming, the wall of green scents that wafted into his head. Flowers and leaves wiggled around his brain and nose, not that he knew what they were. It tickled so much, and soon he found himself letting out a small sneeze.

@Oliver

"Don't eat talking animals," he agreed amiably, pleased and relieved that Reverend had understood that part. It was, after all, the most important bit, all of Oliver's other rambling aside.

Sneeze.

The sound of something scurrying off ahead had Oliver blinking and then turning to Reverend, smiling in wry amusement. "That probably scared it off," he explained, "but that's okay. Now you know what noise does!" He was cheerful, encouraging, as he set off again, striking out to the right now. (He figured the whatever-it-was that had fled would probably spook other things in that direction; best to start fresh.)

"Let's try again? We have to find something, and sneak up on it. And then--uh, kill it." He felt a little lost for a moment as he tried to figure out how to summarize killing. "Break the neck, or... suffocate it fast, or hit it in the head hard enough." His tone here was more solemn, hushed, and he spared a glance back at his child. "The important thing is to make it quick and painless. It's wrong to do a lot of pain," he explained, his phrasing awkward but--he hoped--his point plain enough.

His magic cast out again, but this time he found nothing--so he glanced to Reverend again. "Keep trying to use your nose," he advised, keeping his voice quiet. Maybe the child could find something faster than he could, this time; maybe he'd prove to be a natural hunter.

@Reverend