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Deep within her breast sympathy stirs, passionate and profound. Where the silver boy had been but an outline, the details of Caneo are beginning to form, painted in by halting words and the reticence of his smile. She watches the solemnity overtake his face, struck by his features as much as his words, and a part of her aches to fill the void which stretches between his heart and his eyes. She looks to Natraj, and the boy glances back, knowing what it is she feels and thinks, remembering the pain of being truly alone. Never again, they have vowed to each other. She wonders if he has friends, a home; or is he like her, lost without knowing why, tied to a place without allowing himself to belong?
An idea takes shape at the back of her mind, but it is young, premature, and she does not look closely for fear that it shall fade. Instead she brings back the small, tender smile, and continues to look for the details of the boy.
His repulsive action catches her off guard, and for a moment her smile flickers and fades. Unbidden, there rises a flurry of fear, that she has alarmed him, upset him; that he is only playing at being kind. Has she intruded on something she should not have seen? Is she unwelcome, her footfalls too loud, her voice too hard? She is acutely aware of the increased distance between her body and his, the space which seems now endless and cold. Caught up in the riptide of old fears and new concern, she falters on a precipice between sunshine and shadow, fire and ash.
Then the boy speaks again, and suddenly laughs, and she is drawn back onto stable ground. His voice is a rope for her stumbling mind, a reminder of what it is she wants, who she has decided to be. She thinks to the Sun God and his praise, thinks to the happiness of the flower in her tail, and her faltering courage blazes up once more, shadow cast out by the flame of resolve. She likes that laugh, likes the lines that mirth makes upon his face; and though she does not know why he's amused, she knows she wants to see it again, wants to cause that smile to his charcoal lips.
He snorts and asks his question, taking the girl by surprise. "Yes!" Incredulity laces her alto tone, flavored with hints of indignation. How could he not know? And if he did not know, why did he come? Did he truly think to ask some stranger for a gift, to throw himself at the mercy of his 'burning man', without consideration to whom it might be? She looks at him now with a more skeptical eye; she cannot fathom not knowing of the Gods, and is too young to think that perhaps, where he is from, he has learned something else. Tail beats at another fly, and the girl shakes her head inelegantly, to chase away midges and confusion alike. Another piece falls into place, making up the puzzle of Caneo, and with every piece the girl feels closer to knowing him, yet further away.
She does not see the look he gives her, but she catches his answer and finds it good enough. Curiosity works as a motive in her mind, and she is compelled by it often enough to simply nod in response to the boy. She wonders what did happen, but for once has the good sense not to ask, and the wherewithal to see that whatever it was, it left the boy discontent. He is growing more and more alive, a fire slowly rising from coal, and the girl has a sense that if she blows too hard he will quickly go out. It's exciting, she thinks, looking into the boy and trying to find out just what he is, approaching from another angle, learning how to make him smile.
His play at questioning washes over her like a wave, and she turns away to trace the horizon, fiery eyes growing thoughtful and still. Why did she seek the Sun? For the same reasons, she thinks, except that is not right; her call is deeper, her draw too strong. The Sun is like her loadstone, her reminder that there is good in the world, her anchor, her light. He is the one who saved them from the dark, and gave her purpose when she was lost. But how can she explain this to the boy, the stranger who did not even know of His light? She looks back at him, looks past him, her face a wistful and vibrant mask. "Because he is my God," the girl says at last, eyes refocusing to meet the blues.
"He gave me my magic." She adds it in hindsight, the thought from before bubbling again, churning an idea to help slate boy. Perhaps there is a way to fill up his eyes... though perhaps the Sun is not the one to ask, this time. Contemplatively she regards the boy, wondering if all he really needs is a friend.
THE FIREDANCER
for it was I who walked among the falling stars, and did not burn
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