[Comm] The Night We Met (The World and Each Other)

An egg lay in a shallow nest of dirt and grasses, caressed on each side by the soft flowering heads of foxtail millet as the evening winds battered it to and fro. A little life stirs within the egg, listening and watching through the shell the world it will soon join.

A tremor came first, strong, unsettling, rippling through the shell of the egg over and over again. The sound was deafening, like thunder, though no light came through, a cacophony of sound unknown following closely from every direction. A lightning struck, a hiss rippled through, and tremors shook the egg, and the little one did not dare break through untill it had all faded into dull chirps.

The eggshell cracks, and a beak breaks through, wet and cold and shaking, yet what it touches is not the firmness of it's mother, but a row of long, sharp teeth. The little one, knowing not better, greets even these teeth with exhausted bleating, the wet smell of the newly hatched baby obscuring the scent of blood. A shadow approaches to the side, maw open, yet the mother hunter does not permit it, hissing and snapping as she picked up this little styracosaurus with all the tenderness she would use for her own offspring.

It did not look the part, but she was not picky.
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An egg lay in a well hidden nest in the ground, surrounded on all sides by soft leaves, furs and feathers and well protected from cold night by the warmth of a dutiful parent. A little life knocks against the egg, excited and curious about the life that stirs outside of the shell.

The nest shifts as the father moves, and the chirps it had grown to know grew ever closer. A gentle nudge pushes the egg back, just enough for a thump and a squeak to sound. It thumps on the egg and the ground, again and again as of fidgeting for a good position. The little one within the egg kicks and twists, eager to meet this new and exciting something, but the more it does, the less it seems to find it's way around, and the egg shakes for a long time until...

The eggshell cracks, and a set of tiny teeth breaks through, a little nose horn breaking off like just another piece of the egg, yet what it finds was not a set of teeth and a gentle chirp, but a strong, though tiny, beak and a horn. The little one, knowing not better, greeted this hard keratin much like any other sibling, pushing against it for warmth and companionship. The other, odd cryolophosaurus as cold, and still wet, shivering still as the father got off the nest once again to check on the new arrival. The sibling bleated, so the hatchling bleated too, though his sound was far more high pitched and sharp. A soft tongue went over both of them, over and over again, warming them up and drying them off with great care until they would settle into a comfortable sleeping position.

Mother came soon after again to relieve the father of his duties so he may eat, gently nudging the little ones. There were only two, but two was more than plenty in her opinion, and she settled quickly beside them as the hatchlings, exhausted from the hard work of breaking through their shells, quickly fell asleep in the embrace of the trees, a soft nest and a warm parent.
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The cryolophosaurus hatchling was first to wake at the first sound of daylight birds. Having not had to go through the ordeal of being carried, sopping wet and cold, he had far more energy to spare pushing against the embrace of his family, eagerly trying to go and see the very wide world he was suddenly in. The rest of the tight coil of dinosaurs grumbled, not being particularly happy to be disturbed so early in the morning that the sun did not yet shine through the trees, but the relentless energy of the newly hatched little one was just too much to ignore.

The mother stood up abruptly, tumbling both the little cryolophosaurus but also the adopted styracosaurus out of the nest and waking one of them up. The little chubby female bleated in protest for a while as she fought away the drowsiness, but a little bit of encouragement from the mother, and more than a little bit of pestering from her new sibling, caused her to give in with a yawn and a big stretch. The parents chirped amongst each other something, before the father is left to supervise them in the early morning light, and mother left likely to convene with the rest of the pack for a hunt.

The theropod male circled around the ceratopsian for a little while in quick movements, causing the little female to enter a stance for the only game that came naturally: sparring. Seeing this, almost as of on command, the little male started running away in a bush, causing her to grow more and more confused as she followed his movement without moving from her spot. It was not hard to follow him, even at this light, as while he was mostly green, his blood red side stripes made for an identifiable color among the leaves. In contrast, her mostly soft cream color starkly stood out from both the environment and the rest of the family, making her quite easy to pick out as odd, if the quadrupedal gait was not enough already.

Seeing how she had no sense to follow, the playful cryolophosaurus hatchling began running in, giving her little nips in passing the same way the adults may do in hunting. Except, he had little sense to lessen his bites just yet, causing her to bleat out in pain quite a couple of times. The father, seeing this and finally understanding the meaning of the bleating, got up from his perch by the nest and swiftly and skillfully caught his hatchling, giving him just a slightest bit of pressure as punishment before setting him back down, causing the little male to give his sister a meek, apologetic couple of licks at the spots he had previously bitten, which, with a little pouting, she accepted.

When the mother returned, she returned not only with food in mouth, but also with many other pack members. The father greeted her with a chirp and a nuzzle as she set the prey down for him to eat, turning to the two little ones. The male was curious, looking at all the different cryolophosauruses around him and offering nuzzles, but the female was more reserved, if not anxious as she was prodded and pushed about. The mother watched the pack inspect them with an odd sort of pride in her eyes, and every time either one would attempt to voice complaints towards the more oddly shaped of her children, she'd snap her jaws at them to chase them off. She did not accept critiques, it seemed.

With the rest of the relatively big pack of 10 had their fill of inspecting them, the mother had them back off in a circle. First, she pushed the male forwards, making a sort of huff followed by a click. 'Heff-vokk'. The pack deliberated in chirps before either of the two hatchlings could understand what was happening, before seeming to agree. Then, with great complaint from her, the mother pushed the female forwards, holding a single tone in a drawn out manner before finishing with the same click as before. 'Mmmokk'. This too was accepted, and the pack began circling them and repeating the sounds.

The two hatchlings looked at each other more than the others, confused. Then, with enough repetition, it seemed to click. The sounds, they were what they were called, their names. They were accepted by the pack, as two siblings.

'Heff-vokk' and 'Mmmokk'.
Hemlock and Mocha.​