The gryphon's coos are buried beneath the sound rush of worried male voices. Kali strokes a golden ear, sharp claws gentle as she rumbles a soothing purr. Where the girl has fallen the gryphon descends, landing beside her young ward's face and peering anxiously at the sealed black eyes. Never one to hide her feelings, every line of the hybrid's stance shows that she knows herself to be at fault; how dare she sleep when she was assigned to watch, how dare she let this happen to her charge? Gold-tipped tail beats the ashen ground; the gryphon thinks this place must be cursed, for always those she loves are wounded here, and always she is powerless to help. The ugly burns that line Tandavi's youthful face, bright red and black where coat has left her shoulders bare, the exposed neck which has caught the brunt of the damage, directly below where skull meets the arc- she stares at these all and know them to be her fault. Failed, failed, failed! In her guilt Kali mewls, and Tandavi cringes at the sound.
If she had been a kinder girl, Tandavi would have rescued Kali and the others from their worry in the moments which passed between her fall and their descent. Though perhaps kinder is not the right world- it wasn't that Tandavi relished seeing her friends suffer. She simply did not understand that any sort of grief could come from an experience so invigorating.
Onyx eyes open to see Lace peering down at her, a split second before his muzzle grazes her face. She blinks, once, pulling herself out of the distracting, encompassing tingle of new magic that sits inside her belly, willing her mind to leave its exciting new friend. The burns on her body are strong but contained, limited largely to where young, supple bones jut out from the waif-like frame; and it is not pain that fills her senses now, but fire. For a moment she is hesitant, torn between the possession of the power and the WeyrLeader's soft voice, and then a cry breaks through the cobwebs of her mind, and she recognizes her name on only barely familiar lips. Like a marionette she follows Lace's receding head, displacing Kali much to the gryphon's relieved protests, rolling onto her stomach and lifting one uncertain leg to better peer at the distant boy. From her side Natraj voices his recognition, followed quickly by Kali hissing hers; where the kitsune sees Sacre and thinks friend, the gryphon sees him though a protective lens, a potential threat who felt little but loathing for the mate of her soul. It confuses the girl, who ignores Lace a moment longer, in favor of putting together words in a fiercely unapologetic question.
"What did you do to Kali?"
It's not a shout by any means, but there's something dangerous in the girl's voice, the deep tones an echo of her mother's mature murmur. Another fore goes up; the firechild's eyes never leave the colt, to nearly disastrous results: her body is more shaken than the direct, dark mind, and trembles as she rises, stumbling and falling against the larger form of Lace. Still her eyes do not leave Sacre's, the curious accusation rising hot behind tempered glass. Her anger is unwarranted, the protective surge of wrath as more response to her physical trauma and the sudden invasion of such a violent power than any perceived trespass against her kin; but she does not know that, and the newly acquired magic which had tempted her so greatly tingles beneath her skin, begging her to call it forth, play and see what it can do.
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