The girl kicks at fragile ground, her hooves breaking into the earth and sending it flying back against the dimming sky. She's been sulking in safety at the heart of the world since she saw the Veins fall, making her heart clench in fear as darkness overtook the shrines in a sudden explosion of spark and rain. She does not want to admit that she's scared, but frightened she is - for what if the darkness swallows her up? If it returns, spreads, invades and assaults her family, her home? She should go warn her herd of the things she has seen, but she fears the world as she hasn't before, fears venturing out from the warmth of the Heart. So she stays in its light for just a little while more, and gathers her courage, and waits.

Besides, night is falling, and the firechild dares not venture into its grasp. She has run far already, from the Veins to the Heart, run toward the sun and away from her fear. She is tired, and Natraj too; the Kitsnue lies on his sister's back, asleep for the moment, head tucked into tails. She can feel him shiver and knows that he dreams, dreams dark images of terror and an unstoppable storm. Shh, her mind whispers, It's going to be fine- but her thoughts lack conviction, and behind hot black eyes lies the quiver of youth. She wishes Mother was here, but Mother is not, just she and Natraj and the white pegasus in the sun-washed sky.

Tandavi watches her fall to the ground, an angel struck down by invisible blows- or so she thinks, though in truth she knows that the bird no doubt has control of her actions. Still, in light of recent trauma she cannot but feel her heart catch fast, anxious wonder blooming bright in the depthless eyes that follow the sky. Golden socks move almost unbidden, hooves leaving the ground at a smooth, careful walk; from her back the kitsune murmurs his protest, but the girl ignores him and carries on her way. The dove is ahead of her, and as she falls our dancer follows, braids shifting heavily on her long crimson neck. She wants to catch the falling star, to know if she knows where the dark came from, and if it is safe for her to venture out.

Ivory lands in a puff of stone, in front of the girl and at a run. Tandavi blinks, picks up her pace; Natraj now sits upon her haunches, grumpy and afraid, peering ahead through golden eyes. When the she deems herself near enough the dark voice speaks - "How do you fly?," asks the soft, wistful child. It is not what she wanted to say, to ask, to know, at least not at this moment - but it is all she can manage; her body grows still and her voice silent, and she peers at the mare through large, hopeful eyes. I would fly to the sun, and never come down.