Echo

Petrichor had never known her parents in any way that would ever be meaningful to her. Her father was never really in the picture, and her mother left her hatchling to her own devices before Petrichor was really old enough to develop a permanent concept of what her mother looked, sounded, or even smelled like. She was little more than a dark shadow, just at the very edges of Petrichor's memory. More than once, though Petrichor mentioned it to no one, it crossed her mind that she might have been… unloved. Unwanted. That maybe her parents abandoned her because she was imperfect in some way.

This thought rapidly faded from her young mind when her grandmother stepped into the picture, and Petrichor quickly decided that Glass was everything that she wanted to be when she grew up. She did not need parents when she had such a powerful matriarch to look up to. Glass was confident, composed, commanding of the power that she wielded over her familial clan. The hatchling tailed the matron everywhere that she could, watching as Glass’s offspring - Petrichor’s own aunts and uncles - brought her food and tended to her whims and obeyed her commands, though Petrichor did not notice at first the small bit of resentment or rebellion in the eyes, words, and actions of the utahs under Glass’s command sometimes showed when the matron was not looking.

Petrichor sometimes pretended to be her grandmother - bossing around imaginary hatchlings and crowing when they “brought” her food (that being whatever scraps and small prey animals she acquired through the clan’s efforts) - but ultimately… it was not as rewarding or fulfilling as watching Glass actually hold command over the clan, and felt worse whenever she fell into the firing line of Glass’s sharp tongue for doing something especially foolish.

It did not take a clever utahraptor to know who her grandmother’s favourite was amongst them. Her love for Belltoll was obvious, though to Petrichor he seemed nothing like her. It instilled a deep feeling of unfairness, and a ghost of that sense of being imperfect that haunted her oldest memories. It wounded her more than she would admit - she just wanted to be like her grandmother.

She wore an exceptionally disgruntled and sullen look on her face as she rebelled against this feeling in the only way that she knew how to do - she left. She ran.

Not very far, primarily because her legs were only small and she had the stamina of a hatchling dinosaur still growing into its strength, but also because she rapidly came to the conclusion that this was not actually what she wanted. The thought of running away from the clan, of leaving the matron that she so looked up to, hurt even more than not being the prize of Glass’s eyes.

Running eventually became walking, and walking, too, eventually ceased when the ache in her heart became too great and her legs got too tired. She curled up in a small, sheltered cave made from a tree’s gnarled roots, not yet ready to go back. She was exhausted from her failed and aborted attempt to run away, and knew that she would have to go back, but she was scared now of the repercussions. Would they have noticed by now that she had gone? Would anyone be angry at her for running away - worst of all, would Glass be disappointed in her again?

Petrichor curled into an even tighter ball, as though the act of taking shelter and hiding away itself would shield her from the unhappy thoughts about the potential consequences for her thoughtless actions. The ache was so deep in her chest now that it turned her stomach. Her breath started to come in hiccup-y little gasps, and continued to do so until eventually she wore herself out and again grew tired. Not so much physically so this time, but emotionally. She lay in her small cubby amongst the tree roots, watching as the colour of the sliver of sky that she could see turned from a robin-egg blue to fiery oranges and yellows to an even deeper blue, soft and deep like the markings on Glass’s face.

She stared into the night, watching as stars started to speckle the sky with bright points of light.

She just wanted her grandmother’s attention and affection. She wanted someone to love her the way that Glass seemed to love Belltoll. She wanted someone to give her attention and listen to her the way that the clan obeyed Glass. It was a lot for a young utahraptor to feel. It was even maybe too much to hold onto, as at least some of what she was feeling slipped away and was forgotten when she realised that the stars were starting to move.

They blinked and danced. Just a few at first, but more and more as the sun settled beyond the horizon and the night truly started to take over. Bright sparks of yellow-green light that drifted to and fro through the air, almost silent except for the faintest buzz as they moved.

It was just enough to tempt Petrichor from her hiding place, a curious mind drawn to investigate these strange little buzzing stars. They were fast, and they only flashed for a brief period of time, which made capturing one of the little stars something of a challenge. It was enough to distract her from the miserable feelings that had come over her, and gave her something to focus on that was not the sharp thoughts of imperfection, of being unloved, and whatever consequences might await her on her return to the clan.

She ran and jumped around the tree roots and through the grass that grew near as tall as her, chasing after the ephemeral sparks of light, until finally she leapt and she caught one, snapping her jaws shut over one right after it flashed in front of her. She landed back in the dew-covered grass with a triumphant huff. It was only very shortly after that she realised that stars tasted… foul. Very bad, actually, and it was crawling all over her tongue. Petrichor gagged as she spat out the tiny star and wiped her muzzle across the ground, trying to rid herself of the foul flavour. Maybe these… would be better just to watch, rather than to chase and catch.

Petrichor looked back towards where she had come from and felt another pang of hurt in her stomach. She had a very clear idea of how to get back, but of course now she had tired herself out again chasing the stars. She exhaled sharply before she turned back towards the tree whose roots she had curled up in. It would be a fine place to hide in and sleep for a little while, when she got really tired. Maybe she did not have to go back just yet. Maybe just for tonight, she could stay here and watch the stars dance over the grass for a little longer.