Chapter Text
He hated having fur stuck in his teeth.
It always carried an aftertaste, other than the blood or the sweat, it would always have that underlying taste of fear, or rage, and he hated it. He hated those who thought it was a good idea to start something they knew he would end, he hated going to sleep knowing when he woke up there would be something else to kill, something else being wrong, something else to resolve.
There was only one of him, as far as he knew, and as much as it mattered, there were too many new problems every day.
He breached the surface and took in a deep breath, kicking his feet and grimacing at the prickling thorns of pain that crawled through his leg. His body was still mostly numb, he had stayed under for too long then, but that was better than pain. The new wound on his neck throbbed and ached through its thick coating of plants, another scar to add to his scales, but he was still breathing, and there was still another day to go.
The moon was just starting to set, but he still caught a glimpse of its shape. It was almost full again. Had it been six sunrises already?
Damn those apes.
He huffed and closed his eyes against the lapping waves. He needed to move, his lungs felt cramped, his gills felt clogged.
They were getting too confident, stepping out of their caves and taking what they wanted from the world. They had their own world, they had no business being here picking fights that he would then have to break up. They had no business leaving and bringing whatever they brought with them each time. They never helped him after, but they would complain. That they would do, and they would do it loudly.
His feet had gotten him halfway to the island before he even realized where he was going. He could see the tall treetops peeking at the horizon, the way the moon framed its treetops in pale light and a single darkened shadow.
But he didn't want to go back.
It didn't feel like his island anymore, and that was a silly thought to have. That was his island, the place he spent the most time at other than the oceans, where he escaped to, where he allowed himself to close his eyes or kept them open to watch the darkening skies. Knowing that those with a will to live wouldn't set foot in its sands, knowing it was safe, as safe as he could make it.
But it wasn't the same anymore. It had been, it had been the same for so long that he couldn't remember when it hadn't been, and then it had changed, and now it was back to the way it was before that change. Before the thing, and its chirps, and its eyes—
He didn't like that.
He didn't know if the thing was dead, if it was dying, if it had been dying before he left and now it was dead. He didn't want to go and see, he didn't want to confirm anything.
Could it hear him leaving that night? Did it want him to stay? Would it have made things easier for it if he had?
He wished he hadn't left to begin with, he wished he could just leave things by themselves and not have to worry about them, if only for a single day.
He never noticed how nice it was to be needed for something so small, but so important.
The thing didn't take anything away from him, didn't wound him or hurt those around it. It looked at him like its eyes were full every time he was near, its feet let out little clicks when it followed him around, it pointed out the most colorful fishes that swam by the stream close to its cave, a cave he had taken it to, and where it made itself a home.
He still remembered the exact day the looks it threw over its shoulder at him stopped being cautious and just became curious.
Was it even dead? Were those its last moments? What if it wasn't dead, and it simply wanted to envelop itself with webs for a change, maybe to sleep? He had never seen it sleep. Could it sleep? Oh, what couldn't. Maybe it couldn't.
He stopped, and floated in place, just before the water around him turned brighter and clearer. Flying beasts flew overhead and settled into trees, the waves lapped around his body, his wounds ached.
He turned back around and dived, letting his tail slap against the water's surface. He just needed to close his eyes, and when he opened them again, that strange feeling in his chest would be gone, just like the thing.
It wasn't gone when he woke up.
The pain was mostly gone, his wounds had turned into scars, he had washed the remaining fur from his teeth, and the sunlight was a welcomed warmth on his scales throughout the day. But that tightness in his chest was still there.
Creatures breached the waves around him. They played, and sang, and circled him in large pods. Flying beasts settled on his crests and screamed at each other.
And the island was once again peeking from behind the dark blue line around the horizon, framed by a moon as full as it was bright.
What was he doing? Running away from something because it would make him—sad. He wasn't a hatchling.
He kicked his feet and made for the island, careful not to jostle the creatures resting on his back.
The walk through the forest was quiet and uninterrupted.
He stopped by the fields, looking through the foliage for any flowers that might have fallen victim to any chewing. But there was nothing, and no one waiting there. It was silly to look, the thing always came out during the day. Some beasts got braver when he wasn't near and it probably preferred to do so than to go out at night and become something's prey.
Or it used to prefer doing that.
There was still light coming from behind the waterfall.
That light escaped from behind the hanging vines and lit up the surrounding forest in tones of dawn. It was the color of deep coral water, the water he would see when he turned on his back to watch the surface and the sunlight peeking through the calm waves. The fishes swimming in the tiny stream watched him step over their home, but most of them paid him no mind and instead remained where they were—eerily turned towards the cave mouth.
That thrumming beat was still there too, beat after beat. It was more a vibration than a sound, something he felt right against his ribcage.
It felt wrong to enter the cave without hearing a trill first, but he closed his eyes against the waterfall’s water and stopped when he opened them again. He had expected a corpse, braced himself for the smell of death, hoped for the sight of bright eyes.
But the ball of webs wasn’t that bright when he left, or the cave itself, bright from the ball’s glow and the creatures that seemed to dance around it in tiny spurts of light. The once hard and cold cave floor was now covered by moss and many different flowers, and vines cascaded from the cave ceiling, shining with their own soft glow as well.
He followed a pulsating tendril of light back to the ball, just in time to hear something inside of it rip.
***
Quiet, calm, dark.
A constant flow of deep waters that kept her under. A constant state of being and not being—a dim penumbra.
That’s all she was, all there was, all there would be.
Feeling weightless was something that took a little while to get used to, but once you did, you wished you never stopped feeling it. There was no weight to yourself or the air around, there was no way to know what was up or down, right or left, deep or shallow.
But there was no need to know, not here.
The dense darkness was broken by twin flickering lights playfully spinning around her before settling in front of her eyes. The Cosmos tapped her mandibles and sang, and their light expanded like a star that had reached its end.
She was above, watching over a system of planets and its star. Something so unimaginably large that she had traveled through, it was always lovely to be given such a view. This system was small, smaller than the last, but so diverse and colorful.
She knew which planet she was in, that pale blue pebble, with its large oceans and just as large land. She reached out with a claw to give it a soft little tap, and the tiny planet lit up and wiggled, before settling back into its slow journey around its star.
The Cosmos danced around each other, jumping from planet to planet, sliding down meteor rings and passing through dense atmospheric clouds until they stopped at the edges of the system, where something breached its limits. Too dark to make out a distinctive shape, but leaving behind an inky trail of shade.
A shiver skittered through her mind, nestling itself as a ball of urgency in a tiny nook of her thoughts. She chirped a question that echoed endlessly, but the Cosmos remained silent.
Their eyes, cloudy and bright as they always were when there was something she needed to know, stared back at her with an intensity that helped only to increase that feeling. It was not a ball, it was not contained. It could never be, could it?
Her question once again echoed in void silence.
From that strange dark shape, darkness spread and enveloped everything in its dark tendrils. The light from the Cosmos dimmed, the system under her disappeared, the stars of old darkened, and her faeries’ songs became a background hum; still present, always present, but muted.
There was only darkness.
And then, there were sounds, a thrumming constant beat that enveloped her and kept her grounded while she came back to herself. To her firmer body, to the sharpness of her claws, to the soft pull at her back. The rushing of water, the singing of tiny creatures, the light humming of something bright and gentle, like faint crystal chimes—just outside, beyond the wall that kept it muted.
The Cosmos urged her with soft chirps and twirls, dark gentle eyes twinkling and feathers glistening—their light only starker in the darkness of the cocoon.
As they both fluttered to her arm and held tight, she lifted that claw and swiped.
***
What was coming out of it wasn’t blue.
There was a claw, ripping at the webs and tearing itself a path for pale fur to nudge its way out. There were mandibles biting at the air, then three more claws helping it push itself out. There were eyes, so different but still the same. That same bright blue, but somehow so much brighter.
But the thing keeled over, and from behind its back came wings. Extending more, and more, until they filled the cave with bright glowing light. They shook, and sparkling dust settled on the cave floor, ready to be consumed by the life brimming around that flocked to it.
The thing had slumped against the opening it had carved in the ball of webs when the antennae in its head suddenly sprang up. It lifted its head just as quickly, and let out a trill, a surprised sharp sound, but unmistakenly... pleased. He had heard it so many times.
For a moment the cave was just a little brighter.
The thing carefully stepped out of the webs, and the sight of long legs and a carapace was a little jarring. Its body didn’t look like it could dissolve at the faintest breeze anymore, it had armor, its arms were sharp, and each step it took toward the cave mouth was just as sharp. There was confidence in that gait, not that it didn't have that before, but a soft glowing body didn't have the same type of presence the sight of claws and armor did.
It usually kept itself low to the ground before, even if it never looked truly afraid of anything. He always noticed how it stayed out of his way, how it avoided coming anywhere near his legs until it started approaching him first. As fearless as it was it was still very much conscious of itself.
It didn't hesitate to walk closer now. He pulled himself up and away when it didn't stop.
The waterfall’s water slid off its wings when it reached the mouth of the cave. It half-mindedly shook them dry again, and as it did there was an unmistakable sound that followed the movement. But he didn’t know what it could be, or even how to best describe it. It was sharp and thin, bright and light.
He followed quietly as it led the way to the beach with wobbly steps. Not once did it look over its shoulder.
He laid down on the sand, sank his claws into the soft warmth still in them and watched the thing shake itself off to venture deeper into the ocean, not enough that it couldn’t still stand on its feet, but enough that it could lay down and rest under the water. It pulled at its antennae until they puffed out enough to flutter in the faint breeze, it let its wings pool water then opened them, letting the water rain down itself.
It seemed to be having fun, splashing its wings around, rubbing at its claws, then bringing two arms to rub at its eyes—ah, that little sound was regret about the salt.
He huffed. Watched the thing saunter back into the sand and promptly plop down before it opened its wings wide again. He tilted his head to the side to avoid being poked in the eye, then looked down at the shimmering colors right under his nose. From afar, he couldn’t get enough of a notion of them, but they were big, extending far across his front paws he had been more than content to be using as leverage for his head.
A low hesitant chirp made him turn his head to find the thing looking back at him, its antennae high in its head, and a tense line drawn on the curve of its back. Its wing moved, then settled just as quickly, as if it regretted moving it in the first place.
Was it... worried he would bite its wings off?
He grunted, then grumbled deeper in his chest when that didn’t seem to be enough, and the tension in the thing’s body slowly eased until it laid its head between two of its arms and let its wings ease back where they were.
He turned back to its wing and the colorful pattern it painted, following the lighter colors while they met with the darker shapes up to the tips to find an interesting pattern there. A grumble left his throat before he could hold it back. It was an eye. It looked familiar.
A low chirp had him looking over at it again.
Its eyes were still open, as they always would be, it seemed. But the light in them had dimmed, as had its wings, though small bursts of light still slowly swam in lines across the patterns of its colors.
He watched the slow rise and fall of its back, then carefully nudged its wing forward to rest his head on his paws again.
It let out tiny rhythmic chirps, and he sighed, letting the tension in his own body leave with each lapping of waves, letting his ears take in the sounds of the forest behind them and fill his mind in ways the deep oceans couldn’t, as the skies brightened and the world around them slowly awakened.
So it did sleep.
The spiky creature is kind.
Not because it didn't eat her, or chase her away from what looked like its territory, or rip off her wing when she had miscalculated how far away the creature was. It's kind because it helps her with food, it keeps coming back to help her with food, it growls at creatures that see her as food, it keeps her company when it could just leave to do whatever it does across the oceans.
Even if whatever that was involved new scars and bites on its scales, it still came and went, it still helped and stayed. It let her stay. It would be hard to miss the familiality it walked around the island with, this was its home, that cave had probably been used by it at some point. It would be a shame to waste such a perfecly good cave. And it let her stay too.
So it is kind. Their guide is kind. The Cosmos could chirp and coo their name for it all they wanted, guide was still better than... that.
Blame it on being reborn, but she couldn't help taking a step back and reevaluating everything.
Its eyes are kind too. They are the kindest part of it, not that it carried itself with rage and tumbling uncaring steps. But its body was hard, its claws were sharp, its scales were scarred and the crests on its back sharp enough to be enough of a warning. But then its eyes just looked like... that. There is mirth in them every time she stumbles—the gravity here is so different—but never cruelty. She probably looked like a newborn young still struggling with its first steps.
It had left again the morning after she had escaped her cocoon.
She had woken up with a snout nudging her side, then blearily watched it nod its head towards the island and disappear into the waves. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she was terribly tired, and the creature didn’t seem to mind having her near.
It had liked her wings, she slept more than happily after it had noticed the pattern on their tips, the Cosmos had worked so hard on them. But it was more a gift for her than for it, truly. A nice way to remember it by when they left. The last pattern on her wings still burned to remember. She doubted this pattern would last on her wings for long too once they left.
When the creature came back later that day she was flapping her wings and hopping into the air of the beach, feeling the way the faint breeze moved around them. It was so different from the last planet she had set on, denser, but that was good. It would be easier to maneuver through, once she got used to it.
She hadn’t noticed the creature quietly step on land behind her, then lay down to watch her. But she realized it was present when she miscalculated the strength of the breeze that had just caught in her wings and was very gracefully pulled back until she stumbled and tripped to find her face suddenly deep in the sand.
She felt air ruffle the fur on the back of her neck, and that wasn’t the breeze she had been trying so hard to communicate with.
The creature was right in front of her face when she pulled her head out of the sand, and its following huff helped get some of it out of her fur. Its eyes were laughing at her, but she found that she didn’t mind. It should be happy more often, it really brought out the golden in its eyes.
It couldn't understand her, and she couldn't understand it—though she knew what a growl and a grunt meant most of the time, her only misstep had been misjudging playfulness for comfort once, so long ago—but still she felt they found themselves an understanding in those quiet moments.
When it walked into the fields and watched her hovering over the flowers, when it walked into the beach with a limp in its steps and a tired grunt as it laid down in the sand, when they watched pods of creatures jumping from the water and flying beasts joining in with dances in the skies.
They did not speak, sometimes they did not even look at each other much. But she knew it was there, behind her back, eyes closed and snout shoved into the sand. And whenever she turned to it and found its eyes open, the only urge she got was to chirp to hear it grunt back.
With each new sun meeting again, and each new moon watched together those grunts and grumbles sometimes switched to sighs or slow blinks. And each time she wished she could know what it meant by those, if her chirps were tiring it out, or if her presence was bothering it. But something in the way it melted into the sands reassured her enough to not worry much.
It didn't feel right yet. The Cosmos blinked at her when she hesitated to just go ahead and ask it, but they understood. Every day well slept still didn't make up for a mind well rested.
Even so, she still felt a companionship with it, she preened and jumped at any crumb of kindness and friendliness it would nudge her way. And maybe she was lonely, but was that so bad?
Oh, no, no. They didn't need to look so sullen, the Cosmos were always there for her, of course. But it was different, wasn't it? To find that companionship in another? Those quiet moments lost in her own thoughts while it lost itself too. The Cosmos were her as much as she was them, it was easier when they knew her every thought.
But with the creature, a cloud sometimes hung over its eyes that she could recognize. Maybe the reason it kept coming back, the reason it laid next to her and enjoyed its quiet while she enjoyed hers—was the same reason she hadn't left for the skies and beyond yet.
Today she watched from her seat in the sands as the creature waddled deeper into the ocean, and on a whim, she followed it. It could have ended very differently, with how much stronger the winds were in the middle of the ocean.
But she kept at it, fought against the stronger currents, flying a little behind the crests peeking above the waters, until it came up again on a different land. Oh, seeing it from above didn't do justice to just how big and full it looked up close. Just its beach extended far and wide around the horizon, it was much bigger than the island she had been calling home. With different beings roaming its grounds and different creatures flying its skies.
It looked surprised to see her land right behind it on the sand it had left wet in its wake. And seemed even more curious to find her following its steps. With each large paw print it left behind, she would bat her wings and land a step behind it again, and each time it looked back to find her still there, she would trill, and its nostrils would flare.
She had shared her time with it, both of her life stages. It would be nice if it shared its life as well, gave her a glimpse of itself beyond their little island, if she had a say on it. Maybe it could show her how it kept getting so wounded, surely a little help wouldn't be too bad, would it? Those teeth marks on its scales looked always so similar, if it was the same creature then maybe a bigger... scare should be enough to leave it alone.
And well... there was a whole world around them, and a deep underwater world she already knew she would never be able to see, so what types of sights could this world harbor deep within its heart? Surely it wouldn't mind showing her such sights? Maybe if she asked nicely?
It turned out that the creature could be very deceptive. And discreet. She lost it two times amongst the dense and tall foliage before she gave up, though she did catch the sight of its crests from the corner of her eyes before she turned around and returned to the island to sulk.
No, no. Not to sulk. She was just hungry and tired, and getting used to flying with such dense air pressure, is all. And it wouldn’t be the same to not have the creature showing her its world. It was always more fun to have a guide.
She settled back in the sun-warmed sands and spread her wings, sighing against the lapping of waves. Maybe it just needed time, maybe it didn’t see her the same way she saw it, didn't feel that same companionship, that same calm in their shared sighs. She could wait.
The creature returned looking too smug, though she noted no new wounds or missing scales.
She may have accidentally kicked up a little sand its way when she took off.
The creature laid down on the sand and followed her with its eyes while she twirled and spun, and fell only to bat her wings again and soar above the waves. Oh, how she had missed this, the weightlessness, the freedom, how she could let herself go and allow the winds to take her where they pleased.
The pale moonlight caught in the creature’s crests like the purest crystals, still thin and healing as they were, and she almost lost her balance again when a stronger current nearly swiped her off the skies.
The gravity wasn't too bad, the winds could be difficult, but the creature grumbled each time she did a particularly difficult twirl in the air.
She was more than happy to keep at it until the sun started to rise and the creature had to leave again. She didn't follow, and the subtle look it threw over its shoulder at the beach looked relieved when she chose not to.
It needed time. She could wait.
She needed time too.