The colt had been touched by victory. Twice in the same season, caressed, stroked, kissed by the divine, by the gods, by the monsters within nestled woods, sought out and sanctified, consecrated for his efforts. Never before had he felt so alive, so present, so effervescent, racing and careening with the heavens; for all his shortfalls, for all his flaws, he’d been granted and anointed with perseverance, with endurance, and the world had rewarded him for his efforts. His persistence, his determination, his boundless, unrelenting hope, his prevailing notions, his brewing conviction, his Lancelot prowess, had earned him just rewards: a flicker of a Sun God’s might, and the nestled treasure of a raven. He wanted to shout towards the stars and tell them the taste of ambrosia was sweet and molten, he wanted to parade across every hallowed ground and inform them he’d been touched by holy endeavors too, that he could become one of their flesh and blood, that they’d seen him for his gifts, his talents, his wishes, aspirations, and fantasies, had broadened him with hope and purpose. He wanted to whistle and croon into the dark shadows that he’d seen El Dorado, that he’d obtained precious metals and beautiful gold, he wanted to screech and grasp and covet each and every single thing because he was finally capable of doing so: not a pauper, but a prince. He was worthy, he was merited, he was warranted; staunch resolution had conformed and composed his machinations, his strategies, for all the world to see, for all the world to feel. Eventually he’d conquer the rest of the sovereigns, all the other empires, search and seek and destroy and ravage, because the arches of obstinate courage were rewarding, were forgiving, were beautiful, incandescent things. However, for all his zealous intentions, for all his fervent wishes, the child could do no such thing – because tucked between his folded limbs, protected beneath his childish skull, was an ivory egg. The journey from the Deep Forest’s corridors, from the silent, strange, unnerving gallows, had been slow and tedious at best. The little beast had no intention of allowing his newfound beloved to be born within a dark, cruel sanction, where every shadow had eyes and where every sound murmured a predator’s hymn, but without some way of carrying the precious artifact, he’d carefully maneuvered it through undergrowth, along moss, beneath heavy, heady boughs. The process had taken him a lengthy amount of time, but patience, dedication, and commitment were far too embedded in his hide, positioning his horn to gently slide the oval shell across murky doldrums, breathing silent prayers and raptures, applying several debts to the waking eaves and bursting veils. Eventually, in the early morning hours, they’d managed to conquer the last bits of copse reign, peeling out into the dawn light of the Thistle Meadow, still alive, still whole, and the beautiful creature still locked within its confines. A sigh of relief folded through his chest, furnished into the remaining songs of summer, and he chose a massive boulder to hide behind, shielded from trespassers, from interlopers, from curious eyes, leonine tail only poking around and above the stone as his curiosity swarmed, as his body curled around the pale lacquer of the unbroken, silent oval. Erebos suddenly wished Adelric was in the Meadow with him, granting him answers to the series of queries instantly spiraling around his mind, reeling along his membrane. How long would it take to hatch? What was inside and could one tell the species from its shell? Would it be a beautiful fawn like Tobias? Would it be a vicious hound? Would it be a screeching harpy? How could he help it hatch? What would he need to do when it finally appeared? What did a bond feel like? All of the sentiments and notions were a convoluted, coiling serpentine sway of overwhelming proportions, he instantly felt completely, utterly unprepared, when a clinking, cracking sound resounded around his frame. The casing splintered, shattered, split apart by tiny claws, by miniature talons, and as he bent towards the slivered remnants, his maw came face to face, nose to nose, with a small, black, fox muzzle. [@[Adelric] Hatching thread for Erebos’ kitsune! You’re welcome and open to attend~]

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At a year and a half, the half-child already feels old. He is ancient, eternal, unending, and yet... yet, he is also but a babe. He knows almost nothing of this world and even less of the denizens that walk its plains and peaks, valleys and gorges. He already fears his own death and his own mortality because death will mean the end of life and learning; however, this fear is an anomaly. He does not fear or fret over the death of others. He is fascinated by it. Their death is an opportunity for his mind to grow. He dreams of taking bodies and dissecting them. He longs for the moments when injured bodies will come slinking back to him, ready for his needle to repair their wounds, all the while allowing him to be educated. And indeed, those days will come, but not yet.

So for now, the ancient child wanders the meadow, hoping he might find buzzards circling over carrion rotting in the meadow or, perhaps less so, he wonders if he will find the girl who explodes things again, and might learn some more from her (if that could be called learning). Instead, the half-child hears something different entirely. The sound is halfway familiar and halfway lost in the depths of his mind. Closing his eyes, he searches for the answer to his query. It is Tobias who comes to the answer first, though. Egg, he offers, sending the surgeon an image of Shida's princess rocking in his egg. Adelric opens his eyes and smirks, responding with his own thoughts and pictures- the day of Tobias' hatching.

Eagerly, the half-child abandons his search for death and instead begins a venture towards life. His walk brings him towards a large rock. Slowly, cautiously, the surgeon ventures around the back of it, ready to run at a moment's notice. He need not be ready run, he finds out though, when he spies Erebos at the back with an egg at his hooves, black nose poking tentativly through the crack, meeting the Princes nostrils with its own. As for the half-child... he has rarely felt elation, hardly known real joy, but kn this moment he experiences both. He is sure his friend has deserved this far longer than he has. There is nobody in Helovia as amazing as his best friend. Adelric is not sure how he got so lucky.

"Amazing," he murmurs, circling around to the front of the pair, cautious in his movements, tentative with each step, hoping not to disturb the sanctity of this moment. Erebos was, of course, present at Tobias' hatching, but Adelric hardly considers himself worthy of such an honor. Instead, he studies from afar, critical eyes wandering over each crook and cranny on the shell, analyzing the way the structure chose to dismantle itself. "Do you feel it?" he queries, eyes dancing up for a moment, but trying g not to appear too eager, lest Erebos chastise him for his intrusion.

At first, there was nothing but the dawn, the hills, the meadows, the thistles and trees, the whistling ends of Tallsun, the incoming trumpet of hastening leaves at Orangemoon’s touch. His eyes were ensnared by a pair of golden ones blinking back at him - and then all at once, the bond snagged, caught, tied together in a culmination of feelings. Sensations bounded across his membrane, one after the other, in bright, vivid hues, in sparkling, glimmering facets, overwhelming, unassuming, potent, and lilting. Overcome, speechless, and affected, the little prince wasn’t sure which thoughts belonged to whom, couldn’t grasp hold of one without another taking its place, sharp and insistent, tugging and tugging against his skull until there was naught but a fox, naught but a boy. Eerie, strange, uncanny, and almost unnerving, but strikingly wonderful all at once, the child could only grin at the other one, bending to the shared whims, the enhanced dreams, the wild ambitions. The culmination of the rapture was curling, coiling, in the midst of his raw emotions. He didn’t know whether to laugh, to cry, to embark into some feral, savage prose, to wax poetic on the wonders of the world, to bend and break his countenance, to become immersed in the enduring entanglement of iniquity. The world was suddenly theirs, broad and wide, vast and persevering, chambers of furtive exploits and augured adventures. Drumming, drumming, and drumming across his mind were echoes of songs and conquering of foes, were pieces of nefarious rhythms and bestial crescendos, were wicked doldrums and curious factions breaking over the ramparts of his indulgent, curious mind, gazing deep into the golden facets of his newfound companion. They must have lingered behind the rock and rubble for some time, staring each other down, covered and coveted in new, unwinding sentiments, struggling to adapt, to mold, to shirk away the unease and clench at the triumph. Like wraith strings, like phantom moors, held and locked in place, the colt, with all his merits, with all his boldness, leaned forward, brushing his maw against the sable being’s carefully, quietly, and waited for a response. The latter, conforming much quicker than his newfound scion, uttered the faintest chirp, a dim chirrup, and Erebos laughed as the gnawing form of hunger tore through their measured minds – the little beast had carved his way out of his container; of course he was ravenous. All the queries and questions he’d heard Adelric ruminate at Tobias’ birth came back to the surface: how to find the beast food, how to take care of it, how to ensure its safety when he’d always worried about himself. It’d been no wonder his spotted friend had asked and queried; Erebos was feeling all the more unaware of what to do or what to say, out of his element. These moments weren’t made of plunging daggers or menacing smirks, impish grins or devilish charisma. His advice was gone and forgotten, fleeting and coarse in the muted shade, rampant decadence and divine opulence scattering his thoughts to the wind. Perhaps his luck was a constant reeling thing, and he embraced it wholeheartedly, for no sooner had the temptation, the allure, to call for Adelric clatter against his throat, did his brethren appear. Had he sensed the prince’s success? Had he perceived his need to assist? The lad erupted into a series of fanciful grins, his lips rupturing into absolute glee and merriment, launching from his crouched position in front of the fox, gesturing to the babe in a series of nods and fervent elation, calculations lost for the moment, replaced by delight. His words bounced and ricocheted, one right after another in swift storms, body restlessly shifting, long, lanky columns enamored and jumbled. “Adelric! Tobias! You have to see!” Head lowered, he gently coaxed the kit to its feet, witnessed with warm triumph as it uttered one more chirp, narrowing its gaze slightly at being forced to stand on unsteady legs, but Erebos remained there, a constant force and presence. He launched into a story, a reckoning, an explanation, as if Adelric yearned to hear it. “I got him from a raven! We had tasks, and I had to try to get him on my own, and then find something in the Deep Forest-" The child may have rambled on and on, had the speckled friend not asked his own query – causing one more generous grin to grace the prince’s lips. Do you feel it? The boy’s took on a more careful reverence, bending into the rapture, the rampancy, the ceremony of the passing moments. “I do. Its incredible.”

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