There was something about her… almost coy. In answer my heart beat faster, blood running hot and lively under a ragged carpet of skin. The warmth was something like drunkenness, though lucid. I watched with interest the expressive contortions of her face – vivid and wondrous. That so lovely a thing might condescend to play with me I could only answer in bemusement, but I was hardly so virtuous a man as to refuse. I may not know her, but I wanted to.

      Stars, cold-burning, stirred around the graceful movement of her limbs, as if afraid to touch her – warned off by the elegant shade she had become, with darkness full upon us both. The rangy length of my neck unfurled, not in any misguided attempt to touch her – she stood too far off – but in a graceless admission of interest. A wiser creature may have turned to face me; my tail swept again, a tangled plume rustling in the dark. Good fortune for us both, perhaps, I was not younger and less disciplined. My head tilted, ears panning back to complement a mild smirk. It was that please -- I answered with a laugh low, guttural and rough.

      ”Would you have me freeze to death with you?” I answered even as I plunged forward, black-feathered limbs meeting waves of darkness and needles of cold. With interest, I ran a critical gaze across the half-furled structures of her wings – wondering, again, how capable such beings were of flight. I would ask, though not immediately – in the moment I preferred her on the ground. With languid strides I moved forward – perhaps not to draw even with her, but to draw near, hovering behind the wings, mindful of the warmth inherent to her skin. I enjoyed too much the possibility of the moment to ask anything more; I enjoyed too much the ease of forgetting my previous troubles. Mindful of her, I needed only think of her. She was better company than the dark.

      ”Though it may be called pleasant,” I observed after a moment; water lapped below my knees, tugging at the thin ribbons of hair. I cocked an eye at the stranger, though, noting with interest she stood well below my height – small but refined, larger for the brilliant color of her wings. Those I did wish to touch, and eyed with poorly hidden curiosity. Rather than look away at the sound of her voice, I merely tilted an ear. ”Who are you?” As if I piqued her interest, too.

      I breathed out, my features crimped with mirth, as she stammered to correct her tone – so polite. It was not the same grace as the others of the Edge – but something like a mask more easily revealed. ”Saphiron.” I did reach forward then, to brush the bluest feathers for a moment, gauge their softness – if she did not retreat. Withdrawing my neck, I turned to look at her. ”It suits you. My name is Ruske, though I’m afraid it tells you little about who I am.”