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Broad hooves sink into soft, damp earth, disappearing up to the golden feathers. The scent of grass is strong and sweet, the song of birds and insects a clear indicator of thriving life, and she inhales deeply, trying to take in all of it, senses striving to capture the world. Firechild whips her tail to swat away a fly, and smiles despite the annoyance, black eyes bright and head held high to face the distant horizon, the eternal sky and the promise of hope.
She leaves the faces but not the place, for she is happy here where heaven meets earth. Part of her fears that if she descends the narrow path, if she returns to the world and the trials therein, she will lose this feeling and be unable to find it again. It is a gift, she thinks, the greatest gift of the Sun: joy, content, safety from the darkness which has plagued her dreams and haunted her thoughts. Ahead of her a shadow runs, her kitsune brother pursuing the mice, hunting for butterflies and chasing his tails. He, too, is blissfully free of strife, happy to abandon his worries for her; she watches and smiles as he hides in the brush, leaping out to tackle a puddle before darting back to his childish games.
Sinew and muscle work beneath a thin coat, and the girl wanders on, aimless and content. Occasionally she turns back to admire the flower in her tail, not vain so much as delighted by the bauble, thrilled by its brilliance and pleased by its glow. She thinks back to the other one, the purple gift from her wayward mother; she thinks of the black and silver mare, and wonders where she is, what she does. Would she be proud? the girl longs to know. For once, she believes the answer might be yes.
She sees the boy without recognition, distracted by her wandering thoughts until he is near enough to smell. When she does register him it is with a smile; she remembers the young stallion from their meeting in the snow, and had found him pleasant, quiet, shy, someone she might enjoy knowing, a slender contrast to Sacre or Lace. He had been there as they met the Sun, too, and though she does not recall if he was met with generosity or disdain, as she draws closer she can see a moroseness to his eyes which suggests the latter. For a moment she considers shifting course, but it is not in her nature to leave another to pain: she feels a fierce desire to help the boy, to save him from his demons and coax a smile onto his face.
"Why are you sad?" Alto voice floats innocently between them as the girl approaches on his right, drawing to a stop a length from his shoulder, her rump angled slightly away from his. With neither malice nor apology her black eyes seek the blue of his own, earnest and infinite in the gold-slashed face; the soft reminder of a smile still lingers, though the crimson girl has dropped her carefree grin. If one knew how to look they would find ferocity, protection, a hint of melancholy and a desire to defend, but to the layman's eyes the girl is just kind, her gaze free of malice, with an outline of concern.
THE FIREDANCER
for it was I who walked among the falling stars, and did not burn
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