03-23-2018, 05:04 PM
One might think growing up in an egg would be vastly different than growing up in a womb, but to be honest, there are a lot of similarities. He’s warm, and floaty, and cramped. But there are a lot of differences as well. For one, he doesn’t move very much, because he’s not sidekick to his mom for nine months; no, his incubation is very still, his egg cradled in the hole in the volcano exactly where his mom left it. For another, it’s not dark and it’s not as noisy. There’s been at least a little light filtering through the shell for weeks now as it gets thinner and thinner, and the only noise the colt hears inside is the hum of the volcano deep below and the voices of occasionally visitors. Two of whom were his mother and his father, but a few others have noticed the oddity and talked near it - or just talked as they passed him by.
He has been content to exist curled up in his nest, but progressively it’s gotten less and less comfortable, and more and more light inside; and just the past few days, he has sudddenly gotten the urge to go. To be out. It just seems the right thing. So he gives a few experimentally kicks just to see, br subsides when nothing happens. Sleep, kick, repeat.
Until something happens. The world cracks under one of his baby-soft hooves, and bright light filters in in thin streams. Excited, the boy shifts and then he kicks again, and is rewarded with more cracks. Struck by the urgent need to be out now, he flails with all six appendages and his little head and is startled when the world falls apart completely, tumbling the foal and the membrane he’s encased in to the warm rocky ground, amidst large pieces of his demolished shell. Some further struggling and flailing frees him from most of the sticky membrane, and then he looks up at the blue sky and the red volcanic stone beneath him, and realizes he is utterly alone.
Another few minutes of effort have the boy scrambling to his feet, his coat already beginning to dry a creamy chestnut color, and his feathers beginning to fluff as they dry also. When he’s standing on shaky legs, wings half spread, the boy gives a plaintive little whinny but and takes a few bumbling steps, contemplating the wide path he finds himself on, but also the fact that it’s on a mountain. Now would not be a good time to fall down.
He has been content to exist curled up in his nest, but progressively it’s gotten less and less comfortable, and more and more light inside; and just the past few days, he has sudddenly gotten the urge to go. To be out. It just seems the right thing. So he gives a few experimentally kicks just to see, br subsides when nothing happens. Sleep, kick, repeat.
Until something happens. The world cracks under one of his baby-soft hooves, and bright light filters in in thin streams. Excited, the boy shifts and then he kicks again, and is rewarded with more cracks. Struck by the urgent need to be out now, he flails with all six appendages and his little head and is startled when the world falls apart completely, tumbling the foal and the membrane he’s encased in to the warm rocky ground, amidst large pieces of his demolished shell. Some further struggling and flailing frees him from most of the sticky membrane, and then he looks up at the blue sky and the red volcanic stone beneath him, and realizes he is utterly alone.
Another few minutes of effort have the boy scrambling to his feet, his coat already beginning to dry a creamy chestnut color, and his feathers beginning to fluff as they dry also. When he’s standing on shaky legs, wings half spread, the boy gives a plaintive little whinny but and takes a few bumbling steps, contemplating the wide path he finds himself on, but also the fact that it’s on a mountain. Now would not be a good time to fall down.
Grye
Olivier x Dagny