better late than never [open]

[wytheria]

It was warm.

No. Not quite just warm; the air was tight and thick, heavy with the stink of his own breath and growing hotter with each second. The darkness, the heat, was all he had ever known and would be all he ever knew. No, that wasn't quite right either. A sudden lurch, a few moments of near-weightlessness, and a sudden impact on a solid surface startled the pod's occupant. What was this? A crack of light had appeared, gently probing the innards of the fallen cocoon, laying on its side in the grass.

No, no... He did not want to leave just yet, thank you. He was quite comfortable, curled up tail to nose in that dark space. Even better, actually, now that a breeze had wrapped around the cocoon and teased its way inside. The air freshened, bringing with it the heady scent of summertime, the first scent he had ever smelled. It was nearly intoxicating, that scent, and the cocoon rocked slightly as its inhabitant moved around.

If someone was watching closely, they would first notice a stripe of black and white fur, then a dark, wet nose pressed to the crack that ran perpendicularly to the ground. The nose disappeared, to be replaced by the gleam of red--an eye that seemed to be painted with blood. Well, well! So the world was not just a dark and windless place? A glimpse of the azure sky, a carpet of lush, green grass, and a partial glimpse of nearly-black bark was all that could be seen.

Satisfied, the eye withdrew and the cocoon remained motionless as its occupant pondered what it had seen. Did he really want to leave this safe, warm, dark place? There was new things out there, which he had never known and perhaps never would know. The sudden scrabble of claws seemed to announce the occupant's decision. With a growl of effort, the canine within stretched his limbs, forcing his back, rump, and head against the confines of his cocoon. The pressure proved to be too much for the weakened pod, the crack first widening, and then ripping apart completely.

Out rolled the newborn male, his silky black and white fur damp yet from the innards of the pod. Shaking his head, Vrohain paused to gather in the sudden influx of sensory information. So this was the world? The canine gathered himself, standing on thin, graceful limbs. A finely shaped head turned, the delicate muzzle moving this way and that as the blood-red eyes looked first at the spread of branches above, then the blue sky beyond, and finally down to his previous home.

Had he really fit into that? It suddenly seemed far too small an object, to have held even such a petite canine. Lowering his head, he sniffed at the torn casing curiously, smelling only his musk strongly emanating from it. Tiring of the cocoon, Vrohain turned away, catching sight of a furry black object from the corner of his eye. What was that?! No matter how he turned, he couldn't quite seemed to catch the plume of a tail, a glossy black that perfectly matched his own coat.

Ah ha! Vrohain managed to chomp down on his own tail, a look of puzzled bewilderment crossing his previously curious features. Spitting it out, the canine promptly pretended he had meant to bite his own tail in the first place. No one had seen that, had they?


Introducing......

Vrohain!

[Embers]

HESPERA

I am perched on a tangle of roots at the base of the Tart Cerasus. Its gnarled, spiraling branches could be strung up to the stars; a giant mobile clinging to the earth by its roots. During the night, I had watched my chrysalis shrivel into a single, black seed no bigger than the tip of my claw, and fall onto the sprawling grass below. I wondered if it would have done so whether or not I had vacated the pod.

Natives drop from the trees with frequency. I crouch in the shade of the tree with my paws tucked neatly beneath me and watch them get a feel for their feet. A few nimble cats slink between the tall grass, the hulking shadow of dogs pattern the Orchard trees, or webbed, reptilian feet depress the undergrowth. I count them with little urgency, paying too much attention to the feeling of my eyes moving inside my head.

It is mid morning when the sky turns blue. Clouds reel by and the thrum of birds peals in the air. I hadn't expected a blue sky. Having been sunset-born, I had anticipated red. I count the 23rd native that has emerged in that night, a tiny gray cat with a kinked tail that immediately follows a southbound trail. For the first time, I consider leaving the Orchard.

I pick myself up and step out into the lusher, less trodden grass, and count the number of clovers in the lawn around me. When I have counted nearly 63, a familiar crack sounds above. Out tumbles a dog of none too hefty a size. I recede between the tall Cerasus roots while he composes himself with little hesitation. He turns to catch his own tail and I count his spins: four.

When he pauses, I find it opportune to approach, and do so with little curiosity, only pertinence. He is larger than I, but not by much, and I take a seat in his peripheral vision and cock my head. His dark fur seems so much darker when caught against the blue sky, and I am inclined to believe that black is a cautionary color, but instead I say, "Pleasure to meet you. You're the twenty fourth native that's come down today."

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 376

[wytheria]

A dreamy voice, the first he had ever heard, filled the canine's pricked-up ears even as he turned his head to find the voice's owner. Catching sight of a feline, Vrohain cocked his head, considering the light that seemed to glance off of her coat. The creature was undeniably female, he felt instinctively, which meant the feline was also different from anything he had ever met. Not a particularly difficult achievement to reach, since he was newly born, but even so there was something not quite tangible about her.

After a few moments of examination, Vrohain dipped his head slightly to Hespera, parting his jaws to speak. "The twenty-fourth? Is that a good number?" The deep bass voice with a decidedly warm undercurrent that issued forth seemed at odds with the canine's delicate appearance. He seemed taken aback slightly at the sound of it, his ears twitching to catch the full nuance of his words. "It is nice to meet you as well," he added belatedly, the tip of his tail wagging ever so slightly.

The outside world was proving to be a strange place, nearly overwhelming, as the breeze shifted and brought with it a new variety of smells. Turning his head into it, Vrohain sniffed--dirt, warmed by the sun, grass crushed under paws and claws, a dry, barely perceptible scent that must be from a reptile but was as yet unrecognizable. Swiveling his muzzle the other way, Vrohain observed the tree from which his pod had fallen: black bark, no leaves, ten-petaled flowers in a range of pastels, small, round fruit in every shade of red, and twigs jutting every which ways. His gaze fell back to the feline, asking the question that had come to mind during his visual exploration, "What is this place called?"

[Embers]

HESPERA

I am still amazed at the plethora of ingrown knowledge a newborn has: the instinctual gift of movement, the use of the senses, language. It seemed so trivial, like I had been doing it for centuries, taught meticulously from the heat of my chrysalis. I think these things as the mouth of the dog moves. I watch how his jawbone slides underneath his skin and coat, how his teeth peek out beneath his upper lip when he speaks.

He asks if twenty four is a good number. "I suppose," I answer, but I am watching the wind lift tender berries high into the air. I wonder if the wind here is ever strong enough to lift me above the trees branches, but I am skeptical. The characteristic snap of pod exteriors crackle from the most distant tree, but twenty five is a poor number, so I know not to pay mind. "Twenty four is even."

The dog observes his surroundings, much like I had the night before. Somehow, I had been underwhelmed by the night, but I find the morning to be more satisfying, how the shade nearly implodes upon itself, and everything is awash in gold. I had been most thrilled by the vagabond nature of the sun and the moon, how they hiked up and down the skyline, running the shadows in circles. How wonderfully cyclical it was.

My muscles are almost throbbing with the inclination to move. I stand and move two steps to the right, and then two back to the left, settling into my own indentation in the grass. I finish counting the clovers I'd spotted earlier, and there are one hundred and twenty nine, so I pull one out quietly while the dog asks where it is we are. I look up at him and say in a measured tone, "The birthplace." I stop and consider this answer before adding, "A small orchard, perhaps."

I stand up and sit back down, and repeat myself to keep it even. Good things came evenly: eyes, ears, feet. "Are you afraid of the world?" I ask without preface, because I have been contemplating the ingrown knowledge of fear for the past night: I am of the opinion I could do without.

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 370

[wytheria]

Even? The canine cocked his head, contemplating the new term for a moment as his companion watched the branches above. Twenty-four was even, and even meant balanced, so therefore twenty-four was good. Right? Shaking his head, Vrohain turned his slender muzzle upwards to the wind-tossed branches, wondering at the seemingly random movement. A sudden rumble from his stomach startled the newborn, the onset of hunger gripping him with fierce claws. "Are the berries edible?," he wondered aloud, turning his eye towards the lowest branch. The idea of eating berries did not particularly appeal to him, however, despite their proximity and great numbers.

Of its own accord, it seemed, Vrohain's attention returned to his surroundings, surveying the azure sky past the branches. A fluffy cloud scuttled across it, propelled by a wind that could not be seen or tasted from their lowly position on the earth. In a few moments, it was out of sight, drawing Vrohain's bloody gaze to the horizon. Or, rather, the tops of the trees, swaying slightly in the summer breeze. Following the crown of a violet- and blue-leafed tree downwards, he noted the large, yellow flowers gracing its branches. Down to the long grass standing at attention, his gaze swept back to the pale-coated feline as she stood, mincing two steps back and forth.

Patiently, Vrohain waited as the other creature's attention seemed intently focused elsewhere; he felt it would be impolite to leave her, despite the growing hunger gnawing at his stomach. She had, after all, been the first creature Vrohain had encountered in the world, at the birthplace. His birthplace? Was the orchard her place of birth as well? "Small? It does not seem small," he commented, curiosity and mild surprise coloring his tone. Compared to the pod from which the canine had emerged, the orchard seemed quite large indeed. Perhaps he would have to explore it, to judge for himself the size of the birthplace in which he had found himself.

Taken aback by the feline's odd query, Vrohain sat back farther upon his haunches, ears upright and swiveling. "I do not think I am afraid. There appears to be nothing to fear here." For the moment, anyways. As if her words brought fear with them, Vrohain stood, circling around once to his right, pausing, then once to his left. Having completed the circuit--and the surreptitious check for danger--the canine settled back to the grass, another audible growl issuing from his stomach. Dropping his muzzle slightly in embarrassment, the canine once again eyed the fruit-bearing branches above. To eat, or not to eat?

[Embers]

HESPERA

I realize quickly that I hadn't liked the feeling of being freshly born as I watch the dog who is no less than enraptured. Those moments after leaving one's chrysalis are shattering; how one suddenly finds that they are not the single, viable life form in a self-contained world. In the confines of my pod, I had never once considered that others unfurled from the tree branches, that warm, breathing bodies were so commonplace. And here there were already twenty five I had counted in the short night. I wanted nothing to do with the feeling of awe that was all-consuming in the aftermath of birth.

The dog asks about the berries, and I instinctively look up at them, swinging from their bent, green stems. "I would think not. Red is an ill-meaning color." I look pointedly into his eyes and think that I shouldn't have risked speaking to a native with such bad omens surrounding him, but he is already talking of how the Orchard is not, in fact, small. I peer over his shoulder, trace the furrows of faraway hills with my eyes and watch a pair of birds fly east until the haze of clouds consume them. I turn in a complete circle and think that this Orchard is the center of everything, that we are seated at the beginning of a long journey forward.

"Look around," I instruct him with well-meaning severity. "We're a lot smaller than we once thought." I point my tail to the vast expanse that margins the Orchard. "[We don't even know if this world has ends." I frown a bit, unhappy with such a thought, and decide that a world that can birth twenty five natives in an evening certainly has no ends.

His stomach is growling as he denies fear. I find this smart of him and nod distantly. Eyeing the downward slope out of the Orchard, I say, "Perhaps we should master the world. See just how small we are." I pause. "I'm sure there'll be better food than berries."

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 340

[wytheria]

This whole world thing seemed incredibly complex, with things like even numbers, ill-meaning red berries, and small-not-small orchards. Chewing over the idea of specific colors being ominous, Vrohain could hardly miss the feline's pointed look towards his eyes. There was no reflective puddle of water nearby with which the canine could examine his own image. "Is there something wrong with red?" He asked innocently, completely unaware that his own eyes were stained with blood. From what he could gather by his brief glance of himself, his short fur was mainly a glossy black, with the fur growing longer upon his tail. Each paw was dipped in milky white, just lapping the toes; none of these observations were registered as unusual, although a glimpse of his own eyes may change that opinion.

Glancing from his broken pod to the surrounding orchard obediently, Vrohain's gaze followed the feline's gesture towards the horizon. One ear flicked back, he narrowed his eyes at the grassy slope, as if to see beyond the scope of his known world. "Perhaps this world's ends meet another world's," he returned meditatively, adding, "Or perhaps the ends of the world have not yet been reached." The idea of crossing from one world to the next, via the meeting of ends, disturbed him slightly, causing the ruff of fur around his neck to bristle. It lent the canine a wilder, fiercer appearance momentarily as he shook the idea from his mind indignantly. One world at a time was quite enough, thank you! There was surely enough world there for all of them, whether or not it had a distinct end or not.

The usage of 'we' caught Vrohain's attention, more so than the feline's suggestion of mastering the world and discovering their own minuscule significance in comparison. Uncertainly, the canine cocked his head, asking, "Do you wish to journey beyond the orchard together, then?" The idea of travelling and sustenance beyond berries seemed to calm the prickling of his dark pelt. Rising to his paws, tail wagging behind him, Vrohain turned his muzzle towards the gentle slope. "I would hope that many things are better than berries. They do not smell very appetizing." Ignoring the light scent of the red fruit, the canine eyed the slope eagerly, a glint of excitement lighting up his eyes. He was hungry and the world was waiting, hopefully with something delicious to fill his empty, complaining stomach.

[Embers]

HESPERA

I ponder the question, "Is there something wrong with red?" I certainly thought so. Red was the color of the sky before it deepened into black. Red was the color of the berries that grew too ripe, the ones that bruised in the wind before thumping on the grass. Red was the color of the biting mites that swarmed around the grass blades and were too tiny for me to count properly. I consider the red poppies, and the squat, red-breasted finches, but assume they must have poor qualities as well. "Red is questionable," I say decisively. "But nevertheless."

Cocoons crackle in the surrounding trees, and a partial, translucent husk rides to the ground on a breeze. Somewhere is the distant rush of river, where water skimmers pattern its surface and the cattails grow long and top heavy. I have never seen one yet, but I envision in detail the plump, silvery belly of a fish, its wriggling tail, and its motionless pupils.

The dog wonders about the joining of worlds, and I say, "If all worlds were connected, what would be the purpose of ends?" By his gently moving tail, I consider his excitement at the prospect of travel. He seems to ready himself, rising to his paws, and I do the same, stepping back twice and pausing to perk up the depressed grass. For a moment, I am disappointed that I will no longer be able to keep count of the natives who fall from the trees.

"I am interested in knowing everything," I tell him conversationally. "And everyone. I'm rather intrigued in this world, myself." An insect buzz has enlivened the Orchard, and I take the time to count the cicadas that buzz past in a flurry: seventeen. Turning to the dog, I chirp, "We musn't idle. Idling is the first stage of decay."

-

OOC Would you like for you or me to start a new thread outside the Orchard after your next post? If not, we can always assume they simply parted ways. ^^

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 306

[wytheria]

Many things seemed questionable to Vrohain, but colors did not fall onto the list of things to be questioned. The canine lacked the experiences of Hespera, seeing the redness of a sunset or on the outer coat of a biting mite. He did not know how that rage could turn the edges of the world crimson, or that pain could be seen in a transparent, throbbing red. The precious life-force of a creature, its blood, beating through its heart and vasculature, was bright red. And his eyes--they were the same matching red of blood, of rubies, of the hearts of roses. Yet Vrohain knew none of this, and thus remained silent in the face of Hespera's decision.

Before the canine could consider undiscovered ends, his pale feline companion introduced a new idea to ponder. A world with ends connected to another world's ends would mean that each world would blend into the next. Effectively, there would be no ends to the worlds and, as Hespera had pointed out, no purpose for the ends. Unless the ends were more like boundaries, to designate each world as separate and yet still allow travel between them? Vrohain struggled with the concepts for a few moments, at last conceding, "Perhaps you are right. "

Stepping forward a few paces to draw even with Hespera, Vrohain luxuriated in the movement: the graceful line of his limbs, the feeling of strength flooding his muscles, the slight sway of his hindquarters, the swish of his tail. "I wish to know more about this world, as well." His gaze followed the buzzing cicadas, ears pricking forwards to listening to the clicking buzz of their brittle limbs. Would they taste good, if he managed to catch one in his jaws? Would it be soft or crunchy, juicy or dry? The flurry had already passed, however, and he turned his gaze back to the feline. "And it means waiting for food longer," he noted, his stomach punctuating the sentence with a low growl.

Pointing his muzzle forwards, down the gentle grassy slope leading out of the orchard, Vrohain trotted forward at a pace that he instinctively knew could be maintained for hours on end if necessary. It was time to see what this world consisted of, beyond trees, pods, and berries.

ooc | I'll start one for us in the Blue Plains. ^_^ They make a very interesting pair of travelers!