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It is not Ampere who finds her, nor Africa, nor anyone else she knows (though she is not entirely sure she knows either of them- or anyone else, for that matter). No, the firechild is met by a creature of night, a black apparition glittering with stars, a beautiful creature with glorious wings who reminds her, somehow, of the absentee mother. Do you follow the moon? she wonders, eyes bright. Do you live in the dark? The idea takes her breath away, the thought that perhaps this mare might have answers, might help her understand, is electrifying... and entirely romantic, irrational, and ridiculous, and her brother laughs in her head, before bounding forward to meet the mare.
In the putrid haze of the sun on the sand, the kitsune moves like a shadow, panting, ears raised high. He pads toward the approaching mare because he knows that she won't, that she will stand and wait in silence until something forces her to speak: he can feel her bristling at the judgment he casts, and he grins in response, laughing. The starry mare has stopped now, and Natraj does too, sitting back and tilting his head, a cream-dusted bridge between the healers of day and night, while Tandavi stares through onyx eyes.
Say something.
What?
Who we are? Something.
"This is Natraj." This was easy enough. The girl is not afraid, she has decided, merely curious, confused, and mildly irate that things have not gone her way, that it is a stranger she must explain herself to, when she does not even know how to explain. Firechild steps forward on gold-socked legs, closing the gap between herself and her brother; she lowers her head to him as she speaks, but keeps her eyes on the stranger, her black gaze bright. "I am Tandavi," she adds, dark voice rolling in an alto too old for her years. The long neck arches; she rises back up; but now she is at a loss for words, once more uncertain of how to proceed. Do you know the moon? she wants to ask. Do you know my mother?
But she does not speak, and her face stays hard, too hard for child and too soft for an adult. She thinks she should smile, but is not sure she remembers how; she thinks she should say more, but does not know the right words. So the girl remains silent, letting her gaze flit over the mare, wondering if maybe this will become a friend, doubting severely that it will.
[ @[Andromeda] OOC | Do you want to be tagged? ]
THE FIREDANCER
for it was I who walked among the falling stars, and did not burn
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