THE ELEVENTH HOUR [ ✧ ] LOST/JOINING

[ICARUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]The world Perseus had grown up in had always felt perfectly Perseus-sized. He slept in a neat bed that hugged him with just enough space left over, the trees were only decently tall, and he only sorta had to tilt his head to look up at people. With one quick tumble down a canyon slope, that had all changed. Had he paid more attention to his surroundings, he would have noted the way the trees towered over his head and how small his paws seemed on the ground. It was a strange thing, for even the ground to feel bigger when it should technically say the same. But the lesson here was that suddenly, out of the blue, the world was so, so much bigger than it should be. At the appearance of Jailbird below him (though he was not as far below as Perseus would have thought he should be), the tiger cub's heart speeds up a little bit and he tries to shrink back until one hind paw slips a bit. Then there are teeth in his neck.

The contact isn't too rough, and thick, blunt teeth slide over either side of his scruff instead of in it. His wings flare as he squirms, smacking back against the side of the stranger's neck until he's set down. He immediately flips around to stare at the claw marks scored into the bark, then up at the smilodon himself. His head cranes almost to the point that the boy tips over, though he steadies himself at the last moment and rocks back to all four paws. "I would've gotten down!" he protests shrilly, though the pitch is more due to indignation than panic. He's not sure why he needs to defend himself against what was at most a dry remark, but... he's, yeah.

He settles quickly enough near Jailbird's paws, and the next person he sees is not quite so massive. Still, the questions he asks manage to press a bruise that the other large cat hadn't. "I'm fine!" The happy chirp gives away to an intense sort of frown, paws kneading into the dirt. His parents. "They're —" Nowhere. He doesn't know. Though the child turns around to stare at the cliff face he'd stumbled down, there's predictably nothing there. Unsettled and a little bothered, he shrugs at Eddie and frowns. "It doesn't matter, okay?" His throat is tight and his wings keep fluttering anxiously, though his worries once again don't quite make it to the front of his mind. It doesn't matter. Another question manages to push it further from his mind, warm brown eyes on the lion that isn't quite as massive in comparison as Jailbird. He hesitates still, but this question isn't quite as offensive. "I don't think so," he answers slowly, brow furrowed as he looks to the ground.