Welcome to Gaia! ::

Fang had spent a couple of weeks taking a break from being Fang. Enjoying himself more as Todd, giving himself and his planet time to breathe and recover after finally removing the Chaos infection. Of course he wanted to go home, to see his planet in its full glory, or, well... it wouldn't be full glory, most likely. Bringing back the animals, edible plants, and so on, would be much more arduous—but... the sun was rising again, and the sickness was gone. He felt healthier now, his magic itself felt stronger—it was like a tingle ran over his body, his power thrumming in his body, strength pulsing at full power.

With this, he felt it was probably safe to visit his home again, see how it was faring—hopefully blossoming under the way that Fang had been taking it easy with his powered up form after removing the Chaos infection. He took a slow, deep breath, and let it out as he shut his eyes and thought of home.

He opened them carefully when the sun burned into his eyes suddenly, warming his skin and fur, nose twitching just a bit at the shift in humidity. Followed quickly by a sneeze. He laughed, tail wagging hard, and looked over the landscape of swaying grass in his plain, his home, the den he lived most of his life in somewhere nearby, but now was not the time to be sad about that, not when the sun was shining and there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. He laughed again and sprinted through the grasses, shouting, whooping, barking, and howling as he jumped and rolled and even scampered around. Energy flooded his body and brain like nothing he'd experienced in the last thousand years. He felt so free and clear and like anything was possible again.

He'd missed this feeling so much. He shivered with delight, finally coming to a stop as he lay on his back and stared up at the endless blue sky, tail thumping on the ground next to him. Now this was... perfection.

Home. Home, home, home. It felt something like a prayer in his mind—and that word felt so unfamiliar on his tongue (so to speak, since he was thinking and not talking). What even was prayer, on Fang? What was a god? Had there been a god? Gods? He couldn't remember—his original village had been so small, and then the zombies had come, and he'd made his way to his Chrysocyon family with a larger village nearby, but he could not recall—had he participated in any celebrations? It felt frustratingly like fog that slipped through his mind. Slowly, over his years on Earth, he'd learned how to be truly tethered to other people once more, in ways that made time slot into place instead of being a confusing, swirling mash of vague memory after vague memory, but that didn't exactly work in reverse. He knew he'd loved them, that they were his people, he'd engaged with them multiple times.

But he couldn't really recall anything specific. He frowned. He knew incredible details of his time with his Chrysocyon family, but trying to picture the Fangans—it was like a wall in his mind. He wondered why. He knew he loved them, yet his memories were just flashes, scarce game he couldn't hunt. Had he really spent so little time with them?

He resolved for that to be his next mystery to investigate. Hopefully, it would lead him towards discovering his own world over again. He sat back up and stretched hard, limbs starfishing as he rocked a bit on his behind until his muscles felt loose again, then stood with a fresh fire in his heart.

Fang would figure this out. He would. He wouldn't only restore the planet itself, but the culture, too. His life. As much as he could. A new goal to forge a path.

His ears pricked when he heard a burbling sound, and his wisp appeared before him. "Wis!" he yipped, reaching out for it, but it trembled and glowed, taking form before he could comprehend what was happening.

And now, stood before him on four paws, was a Chrysocyon. It was—well, it was laughably small, compared to the wondrous sizes of true living Chrysocyon (for as tall as Fang was, the Chrysocyon would regularly come close to his size. It was rare to meet an adult one that didn't come up to at least his sternum).

But that didn't matter. Not when he had a living, breathing Chrysocyon before him. It sat on its—his, Fang realized—haunches, tilting his head and panting gently as he stared up at Fang.

"Chrysocyon," he whispered, kneeling in front of the animal. "You are...."

A lump formed in his throat as he examined the fur coloration and pattern, the gentle curvature of the dark red against the lighter red, with the beautiful white splotches, and the tail that appeared dipped in black paint.

It reminded him so much of his little brother.

"Irinho," he said, continuing to whisper despite there not being a need for such quiet. It just felt right. Reverent. "Little brother. That is your name. Irinho."

Irinho wagged his tail, showing his approval, then stood and shook, fur flying from here to the highlands. Fang giggled and held out a hand for Irinho to sniff. He did, mostly cursory, though, because Irinho knew who his person was, who he'd clung to for so long in wisp form, until he'd chosen his form. After his sniff, he shoved his head up under Fang's hand, and Fang scratched and petted and thumped his own tail against his body from the speed of the wagging. He dove into the fur with both hands, rubbing his face against Irinho's in greeting and trying to resist yipping his happiness. Irinho had no such reservations, though, and let out a few ferociously happy roar-barks that Fang returned, also throwing back his head to howl.

Irinho tilted his head, then whined, high and long, before tilting his head back just a little and throating out a howl as well.

Fang grinned. "Home. Home. Home better," he said. "Thank, Irinho."

Irinho nuzzled him and whuffed gently, then chased his own tail for a moment to expend some energy. Fang laughed. He felt so good. So happy.

He was safe. His home was safe. His home would recover.

So swept up in the joy of his friend changing form, Fang didn't even notice the grasshopper that sprung away from his own sweeping, wagging tail.