Natraj's head tilts in response to the boy's wary step, his failure to understand the stallion's discomfort evident in the lilt of long ears. The girl's shadow is more acute to emotion than the girl herself, though; Tandavi blindly continues to stare, lost in a realm of her own devise. The harp is playing in the absence of his voice, a steady dark hum she wants to decipher. Still confused as to this flying object's nature, the firedancer wonders if it is speaking to him in a language she cannot understand, just as Natraj speaks to her but nobody else listens. Sometimes she regrets this simple fact. Though none would know it, the kitsune is a more eloquent soul than she; while the girl hates her voice and finds words troubling, the boy is bright and quick to observe. Even now she wishes her brother would help her with the mystery of the singing thing, would ask the questions buzzing in her mind, would quantify them into useful creations of language, but he is distracted still by the stallion's anxious eyes, and Tandavi is left to muse on her own.

A purr emerges once more from the fennec, followed by a sharp and friendly yip. The fox's smile is unfortunately toothy, but still it stretches across his face; all three tails wave lazy arcs in the air behind him. Natraj wants to set the boy at ease, and while to him that intention is clearly stated in submissive posture and friendly eye, the stallion's wariness is not one that will easily abate. Still, the creature feels a twinge of success as the dark strong voice rings out once more, and behind him his sister answers in distracted tones. "Tandavi. Natraj." The second name is followed by a whine from the fox, an attempt to help differentiate just whose name is whose. Gold eyes gleam in the off-blue light- Friends, Natraj explains, but only the girl can hear it.

"Yes!" The girl's dark voice is bright in the air, a sudden wave of excitement catching her heart and throwing it forward. She has grown tired of watching the harp; it makes a pretty sound, but as far as she can tell does little more. A buzz of magic surrounds it, just as it surrounds the ram-horned colt, but it is impossible for her to grasp the threads and hold them in her soul. Instead she has focused on the bright, fresh earth around his hooves, black eyes voids as she puzzled through the sensations and scents. Tendrils of power woven deep; she played with them for a minute or less, before reproducing them all at once in an explosion of delighted understanding and strength. Now she beams pointedly at the ground between their feet, watching it shift as life comes to the fore, and a bed of grass springs up around the time-lapse bloom of a lone yellow rose.

She looks at him and suddenly, in an unexpected flush of emotion, wanes self-conscious. So focused had she been that she had forgotten the stallion entirely, lost in the magic that tore bright lazy circles through her eyes. Tandavi is proud of her newest strength, but for this son of the earth is it more than a trick? She suddenly wants very much to impress her new friend, to make him smile as he has not so far. "Do you like it?" she asks, and the dark voice is soft, vulnerable, momentarily free from her usual detachment. For a moment she is just a filly without her dam, wanting a word of approval. Black eyes search him for any sign of that regard, the feelings of bashfulness uncomfortable in her chest. She wants to be his hero but doesn't know that comes with the unfortunate consequence of caring. She wants to make him smile and doesn't know that to get something from another, you must give something of yourself.

But she is learning. "You can have it, if you want," and in her mind she doesn't only mean the rose.

@[Hototo] - sorry for the wait <3