Welcome to Gaia! ::

Ataya appreciated the outdoors.

Sure, it came with its fair share of discomforts — uncomfortable rocks, things that bit or itched, the rare and unexpected loud noise, and so on — but in contrast to those woes, it also came with a massive swath of information, everything under the sun available to peak his curiosity. Soft things, scratchy things, hard things, cool things, wet things, colorful things, and most of all, things that moved.

As winter melted away and spring gave way into summer, Ataya’s mobility improved rapidly alongside his sister’s, though he was never quite so fast as her, and his insatiable curiosity multiplied infinitely alongside it. When Mother first began taking them out with her into the garden, he was wary of course, but avidly alert, and now — with summer in full swing — it was comfortable, familiar territory with endless room for exploration and discovery.

From his current vantage point (plopped down on the grass near to some tall plants at Mother’s feet), he could see and hear Mother, which was comforting, and hear his sister’s familiar babblings not far off to the opposite side. This meant, of course, that the coast was clear and all things were safe to investigate. So, Ataya crawled off.

Mother’s garden provided a home for some of the most fascinating things that moved in all sorts of interesting ways. Hopping. Skittering. Slinking. Wriggling. It didn’t take him long to find one such thing: big and crawly with strange, bright little spots along its back and long dangly legs. He stilled, wide violet eyes instantly entranced.

“Mm-rarara,” he babbled — the closest variation he’d gotten, yet, to his sister’s name — and he reached for the crawly. Maybe she would want to share.

Several attempts to grab the crawly failed. Critter bugs were, after all, quite agile and clever, and Ataya’s motor control was not, admittedly, world class. Eventually, however, persistence won out, and he was rewarded with a wriggling handful of fascinating movement. He promptly stuffed it into his mouth. Just in time, it seemed, to spot his sister’s approach. Naturally, he immediately proceeded to extrapolate on his ground-breaking victory for science, and infant scholars and explorers everywhere.

“Ra! Ra-rara…ra…” In the midst of waving his hands to help emphasize his point, he spotted it: a wriggly, fresh out of the earth and squirming atop the topsoil. He cooed, crawling over to it, and snatched up a handful — nevermind that he got as much dirt in his hand as he did wriggly bug, he caught it on his first try. In the name of fairness, he held it out to his approaching sister as it squirmed in his fist. Unfortunately for the untrained ear, his greeting of, “Beloved sister! Come, feast with me on the spoils of my rigorous endeavors to expand the fields of scholastic enterprise…” came out sounding much more like: “Rarara, ra — bug!”

Fortunately, he was fairly sure she caught the general drift, regardless.

When Akara cried, Ataya stared at first in utter confusion. Did she not like wriggly bugs? Perhaps she would have preferred a crawly bug? Or a hopping bug? Or a skittery bug? Regardless, she seemed wholly displeased, and — only mildly hurt that she took offense to his hard-earned gift — he put the wriggly in his mouth. There was always the chance that that, too, would soothe her by demonstrating how harmless and delicious such things were.

Unfortunately, said action seemed to have the opposite effect.

Mouth half full of wriggly bug, dirt, and his own hand, Ataya watched on in helpless confusion as Akara cried louder, his nerves ramping up. Then, everything seemed to happen at once. Crunching footsteps. Shifting plants. A massive shadow.

“Ataya, no,” came the low, rumbly voice of Father, and Ataya’s pulse picked up further, now truly concerned.

Had he hurt her? Was he in trouble? Was the wriggly bug mean? He stuffed more dirt into his mouth to hide it so that Father wouldn’t see, but too late. Seconds later, the ground was disappearing out from under him as Father’s arms plucked him up, and Ataya began to whine, then cry in earnest, his mouth falling open and dirt, drool, and half-chewed worm and spider tumbling out wetly down his front.

Father made a stern face, murmuring something stiff and disapproving, and then proceeded to invade Ata’s mouth with his fingers, hand-scooping out the remaining soil and bug parts. When he finished, he pulled a wiping cloth from his belt, cleaning around Ataya’s mouth and nose (now adorned with snot, too) as he blubbered messily.

“B-bbuuuug, bug, buuug!”

“Yes,” Father agreed as he swept off the last of the snot and gunk — for now — and tucked the cloth away. “No eating bugs. Bugs are bad.”

Ataya’s brow furrowed, frustrated, but his squirming eased and his crying petered out to mere subdued fussing. “Mmmhh…bug…bug, bug…” he insisted, softer.

Why did Father not understand?

“Yes,” Detraeus grunted. “Dirt and bugs.”

“Bug! Bug, bug, bug,” Ataya concurred, squirming more insistently with a clear desire to be put down. “Ra-rara ra…”

Detraeus sighed, and after a last touch up job of cleaning down Ata’s front, he conceded and set the boy down. Fortunately, he hadn’t seemed to have ingested any of the dirt or bug parts — though the mangled nature of the insects lent one only to guess — and was showing no warning signs of poisoning. All the same, it did concern him that Ataya exercised no prudence in what he put in his mouth, but at least the boy was more active than he had been as an infant. That, if little else, was promising. And he got on well with his sister. Detraeus simply prayed that, as he grew older, the boy would refine his tastes.