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She cannot find warmth in the sound of her name as it leaves his lips, and the slightest of frowns tugs at her, the start of a shadow in the perfect glow of her mind. She watches him as he looks at her, aware of his eyes and the way they trace her lines; they make her shiver, a slight and not entirely unpleasant movement, though why is something she is unwilling to acknowledge. It is not with displeasure, she knows this much, for she sees not cruelty in him, but the flicker of incredulity. He blinks, and she acknowledges it without a word, wondering what thoughts lie behind the vacant stare.
On his cue the fox appears, mouth upturned in a toothy grin. He yips a greeting in response to his name, happy to be in company but distracted by his own games, and runs off to roll in a particularly pungent patch of grass. The girl does not watch him go; her attention is still on the skinny boy, her eyes drawn now to the leonine length of his tail, now to the promise of a horn upon his head. She has not known many unicorns, and wonders if his growth is merely delayed, if one day he will have a weapon as long as Sacre's red-tipped spiral. She drifts across him as a surveyor mapping a new land, stopping at last to rest back on his eyes, smiling softly and waiting for his reply.
Yes- but she does not say it, for he is still speaking, thoughtful and small "What about?" she questions instead, for how can she help him if she does not know? Tandavi does not know she is nosy, only that she wants to understand; subtlety is a forbidden art to the girl, one she can neither practice nor fully comprehend.
The boy turns back to her flower, and she finds herself following his gaze, drawn once more to the shiny bauble in her tail. Her body twists as she seeks to get a better view, neck arching elegantly and muscles straining, forelock falling across one onyx eye. She thinks it pretty, and is pleased to learn that he does too, flushing beneath his compliment, smiling as she meets his gaze. The question startles a laugh from her, bright like fire catching fuel. "Burning man?" she repeats, amused, and laughs again. Once she can contain herself, she answers, beaming, pride slipping into her voice. "Yes."
A thought occurs to the girl, and she turns, too, pivoting slightly to better see his face. She likes his face, she has decided; it lacks the blazing warmth of Sacre's, perhaps, but makes up for it with a cold elegance, a striking reserve that she thinks may hide sweetness inside. She is becoming aware of the shape of others, what makes them different, what she likes and does not; where Sacre is handsome, Caneo is interesting, and she wants to learn his secrets, to crack his icy shell.
Distracted for a moment, she recalls belatedly that she meant to pose a question, one which she thinks may be some cause of his disquiet. "Why did you seek the Sun God?" she asks, dark voice resonant, expression curious. Perhaps if she knows the answer, she can help him with his journey on, lead him to the answers he needs. Natraj has appeared back at their feet; he lies between them, panting, soft stomach exposed to the warm summer air. He is less interested in his sister's crusades, and more in digesting the mouse whose blood still stains his maw. She reaches out her sockless hoof and prods him, teasing, to which he barks indignantly and moves to sit closer to Caneo, giving the boy a meaningful look as if to say, Mine is a difficult life.
THE FIREDANCER
for it was I who walked among the falling stars, and did not burn
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