Submerged deep in the water, the monster slept peacefully.

It was curled inside its chrysalis like a sleeping kitten, only it was sixteen feet long even without the tail. Its wings were tucked, folded neatly against its sides in order to be as compact as possible. But even so, it was growing too big for its chrysalis to contain. Shallow cracks had already spread along its walls, and now, suddenly, it split in two, releasing the monster from within.

Like a person waking up from a coma, she was not quite aware of everything yet: only that it was cold, and she needed to breathe. Not here, some instinct inside her warned. Not yet. She stretched experimentally, her huge wings unfurling-

There was an odd sensation, the pressure of the water around her becoming less and less, until she broke the surface. The vents on her sides fluttered, and she took her first breath outside of her chrysalis. There was something touching her tail, and something near her shoulders and something by her legs. She reached out with a clawed forefoot, feeling for whatever the thing touching it was. It was rough, thick, tall. When she pulled herself closer and wrapped her limbs around it, she felt several smaller growths branching out from the main trunk.

She became aware of a soft whispering around her. Her neck swung around as she tried to make out what direction it was coming from, but it seemed to be everywhere at once. "... yes?" she tried, in a soft whisper just like what she was hearing. "Hello? What are you saying?"

For this one, she had been waiting.

A powerful being, which would make a powerful ally. A powerful... child.

It had been discovered quite by chance, and watched: watched for an age, watched incessantly, quietly, surreptitiously. Had the chrysalis been above the waterline, Mother would have taken it long ago. But the Praetors could not linger deep enough, long enough, to cut it free from the rock beneath and thus far she had found no servant capable of this act. And now-! It was hatching, and she was not ready for it.

But she was waiting.

The shore, at least, was woven with white web; thin strands of fungus, barely visible in the snow, ready to release their spores at the slightest touch. And a single tunnel ran close by, ever-watched, so that the Witch of Winter could be monitored.

A soft scurrying could be heard close by, and a moment later the glinting prismatic eyes of a Cleaner appeared, emerging from the snow, its tunnel mouth opened. And in response to the Witch's question, there was a soft clicking of its mandibles. It approached slowly, hesitantly, and stopped at the water's edge, peering out at Aethereal--as if greeting her.

As if welcoming her.

@Aethereal

Her attempt at a greeting was rewarded with a gentle clicking sound, this time from a clearly discernible direction. The hatchling stretched her neck toward the sound, curious. She still couldn't make out words. "What are you saying?" she tried again, louder this time - like a dozen Gembound speaking together. She stretched the opening of her neck wider, waiting for an answer-

Then a crushing pressure descended on her, as if a gigantic fist were closing around her throat. Aethereal bellowed, the volume of her voice suddenly increasing tenfold. BETRAYAL! was her only thought, and she flared her wings outward. The left one hit a tree rather painfully, and Aethereal roared again, bringing it closer in. She pushed off the tree she was clinging to, wings flapping unsteadily in the opposite direction of the cleaner.

But she had only just hatched, and her fur was wet, and she could not fly very far. Aethereal had barely reached the shore before she tumbled downward. Luckily, the snow was there to cushion her fall. As for the fungus woven into it... well, depends on your perspective.

The Cleaner clacked its mandibles with abrupt frantic agitation. It scurried through the snow, around the shoreline, as if to try and come to Aethereal.

Should she breathe, or taste, the spores imbued in the snow, she would become Exposed to Mother's fungus. Luck, or care, might allow her to avoid the traps of spores laced along the water's edge.

@Aethereal

Aethereal lay where she was for a moment, vents sucking in air. The whispering and clicking continued, and she kicked at thin air, still unaware that the whispers came from no one at all. Why did it constrict me? she thought bitterly, mind a mess of confusion and hurt. I just wanted to talk to it. Why wouldn't it talk back?

Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet and turned in a circle, sweeping her wings out. She hit nothing, but if she was close enough to hear whispers why wasn't she close enough to touch the thing whispering? Frustrated, Aethereal tucked her wings back in to shield herself from the chilly air. … what now? She took a few uncertain steps through the snow, still totally unaware of the fungal traps. She did nothing to stop any spores from entering her. How could she, when she had no idea they were there?

A few moments passed, with Aethereal not stopped by any means. Nothing rushed out to attack her; there was no ambush in the aurora-lit near-night snow.

The Cleaner fell still at the water's edge, watching her intently.

And gradually, a peace fell over Aethereal--an outside force, one that could be resisted, one distinctly alien to her own. But it was a warm feeling: a reassurance, tentative. It was like another mind, touching her own, politely asking to be let in.

It was not strong enough, yet, to offer coherent or direct thought: but it was a presence, a companion, and suddenly it was promising Aethereal that everything would be all right. That all of this--the confusion, the cold, the twists of her own magic (whether she knew its cause or not)--that it would be okay.

That-... that Mother was here, somehow. She could not come to her yet, but if Aethereal remained close by... she would find home, and Mother, soon enough.

The Cleaner seemed to be waiting, almost gesturing, turning toward a tunnel mouth--and then looking back at the Witch of Winter, seeming to invite her to follow.

_________

Aethereal is now Exposed to Mother, with all that this entails.

She may choose to follow the Cleaner into the tunnel, and pursue this further--or depart, and find her own way.

@Aethereal

There was a new presence in her mind. It felt foreign, distinct from her own magical energy, but it was also warm and reassuring and peaceful. She liked this, Aethereal decided. She liked the comforting presence, liked the idea that she was going to be cared for, liked its reassuring touch on her mind. She much preferred this peace over the stress and pain from before.

The whispering around her continued, but they seemed less of a threat somehow. At least for now, there were no more magic-induced pressure changes around her. ... was it an accident? Aethereal wondered doubtfully. She hadn't meant to hit the tree when she took flight. Maybe the clicking thing hadn't meant to... step on her neck, or whatever it was that it had done? It seemed... unlikely. She did not forgive it, yet. But she would not seek it out and attack it, unless it clicked close to her.

She also did not want to be out here in the cold while she was still wet. The foreign gentleness in her mind seemed to like it when she walked in a certain direction, so she would trust it. It promised that everything would be all right -- she wanted that. But she kept a wary ear out for further clicking sounds. She didn't like the thing-that-clicked.

The tunnel mouth had been hidden by packed snow for years, perhaps even centuries, bar the brief passage of the occasional emerging Cleaner. Now it was broken open, a gap into which Aethereal could squeeze, as if it had been widened just for her: or perhaps she happened to be the perfect size for it.

Its surfaces--its walls, and its floor past the drift of errant snow--were smooth, carved and polished in divots over many years to provide safe passage. And as she began to traverse it, the faint touch of Mother to her mind grew stronger.

It began merely as warm reinforcement. As gratitude, that Aethereal was joining her. As reassurance: everything would be all right. And, if it meant anything to the Witch, as love. Mother loved her; she was beloved. She was, in fact, special, and here, she would be treated as such.

She did not like the things that clicked: and this presence seemed to note that. There was a reassurance that it was not they that had harmed her. An intuition, more than words. But, too, came the quiet knowledge that they would move out of her path.

They would, in fact, guide her, if she wished it. They would serve her, if she asked it. Protect her, if she wanted it.

Through a great push of magic, this magic tremulous and unsteady with the effort that it took, a voice at last reached Aethereal's mind. It came and went, but its meaning, at least, made itself clear.

"My child," it struggled out; "We have been apart... for so very long. I..." (and here it faltered, words forever lost, before linking to her mind once more; "...cannot join with me yet... a chamber for you," and perhaps this, too, was missing a piece of thought, the magic link struggling once again.

"Follow the lights to this place... and it can be your new home. We will... care for you. And in time... in two cycles, when we can... I... your Mother... will tell you all of the secrets... you had always wished to know. You will... know... everything."

Did Aethereal want that? Did she even... understand?

Mother waited, and there was a sense of worry, concern at the other end of that tenuous link.

Ahead, there was a dim light, sparking reflections through the tunnel: a small stone, should Aethereal follow it, baubled to brightly glow. And ahead, another, and another... leading to one branch of fate that the Witch of Winter might choose.

@Aethereal

The further she walked, the better she felt. Aethereal grew confident that she was going the right way, now. The presence in her mind reassured her, comforted her, gave her stability to hold on to. She wanted that. And somehow, she had a better feeling about the thing that had approached her. Her impression of it wasn't good... but at least it wasn't bad now. The possibility that it had not meant to hurt her, or that the thing that had hurt her was something else entirely, seemed more plausible. She did not want the one who had first approached her to draw near, but she would allow the others.

Then the presence spoke.

It was a different kind of voice than the whispering she sensed through her neck. The words seemed... more direct, somehow, and she couldn't tell exactly what direction it was coming from. The clearest difference, though, was that Aethereal could make out real words for the first time. Even if the phrases were faltering, broken by intermittent silences, she still felt a great sense of relief. The voice was beautiful, she thought. Language, being able to communicate, was beautiful. And there had to be no better being to speak with for the first than this one... it was gentle, it was patient, it was Mother.

Suddenly, it dawned on Aethereal that the being (her Mother) was not speaking in the way she had tried to speak out loud before, but in her mind. Was that the way things communicated in this world? That would explain her previous failure. It promised her knowledge, all the secrets that she ever wanted... had she wanted any? Aethereal didn't remember being curious about those. She had hatched too recently, anyway, and had no pressing mysteries on her mind yet. She was indifferent to this promise-- but not to its promise that she would be cared for. If listening to a few stories could get her a place in this family, could earn her Mother's love... well, that was hardly a high price to pay. It was not any real price at all, really. Aethereal would gladly spend more time listening to that soothing voice.

"I will follow..." she said, and thought at the same time. Saying the words out loud made it easier to think them clearly, too, so she did it even if she had a feeling it wasn't strictly necessary. "... what lights?" Could she feel the lights with her fur - were they like wind? No, that didn't seem right... were the clicking sounds the creature had made called lights? Aethereal turned her neck, listening for them.

There was a long period of silence as the power that struggled to hold its tenuous connection fought to even see through this fresh, untested link.

A brief instant of flickering presence in the Witch's mind grew stronger--and then faded. There was the faintest sense of surprise, or perhaps disappointment, quickly muffled. "Ahh... you cannot see," came the saddened whisper. With it, a surge of reassurance, of care. "This sound-..." Again the link cut away, but a soft clacking sound--slightly different from the mandibles of before, this one a little softer, a little scratchier--came from down the tunnel.

And then even farther on.

"...you a home. For those two cycles. We will show it to you now, and..." But the voice was coming and going, the magic maintaining it struggling even to keep a link.

Ahead, at least, the soft clicks seemed to lead the way.

@Aethereal