They can fly.

Well, perhaps fly is an exaggeration. Though their method of transport is certainly airborne, it is hardly under their control, the product of wings and muscle and flex; it is foreign, outside, but still it is floating, and that is nearly good enough. Since their arrival on the island they have spent an inordinate amount of their time simply rising and falling from that kingdom in the sky- perhaps more than one might be proud to admit, though the girl and her brother do not know to be embarrassed by their childish fun. Now they rest at the edge of the sky, staring through cherry trees and wondering if they might see the rim of the world, look down its lengths to what lies beyond.

"What do you think it is?" she questions Natraj, isolation and excitement giving freedom from the reticence which usually plauges her tongue. Probably nothing, the boy replies, laughing at her obvious ire with this response. "Don't be boring," dark tones complain. "Nothing is nothing. It has to be something."

Silence stretches between them again, the boy's attention on his growling stomach, his sister's mind floating over thoughts and ideas. She grazes lazily, her eyes never leaving the sky, the edge so close that a step might send her tumbling down. Quietly the girl chews, tail flicking absently, muscles relaxed in the cool evening air. She wonders if the other side of the world is upside-down, or if there is nobody at all, if it's emptiness and absence, if it's perfection or pain. Her traces the line of the sea, onyx eyes taking in the start of sunset, the play of pink at the rim of the horizon. Perhaps on the other side of the world everything is bathed in sunlight, all the time; there is no sunset, no fall of inevitable and dismal night.

Doesn't make sense. Natraj has collected a feast for himself, with a selection of cherries and berries splayed on the ground. At the point of focus in the center of the meal lies a plump little rabbit, as large as the head of its rather smug captor. The girl looks skeptically at the burn marks on its hide, but does not remark on her brother's gluttonous desires, or his off-color approach to hunting for prey. Can't be there all the time, 'cus is here some the time. He smiles smugly at his sister, who sticks out her tongue, unnamed. "Killjoy," she mutters at his retreating back- he has heard a caterpillar rustling in the grass, and thinks it would make an excellent side dish to his feast. The girl's nose crinkles its dislike at the meal, turning her face back to the sky, a sigh forcing its way from her lungs.

"If I could fly maybe I'd know," she states to the heavens and no one at all, taking another step toward the edge. Slate hooves inch over the rim of the world, slightly, so slightly hovering above the abyss. She stretches her neck and closes her eyes, deeply inhaling the crisp, evening air. A harsh breeze picks up and plays with her hair, throwing it with abandon, laughing at her foolish dreams. You can't fly, it whispers. You're destined to fall.

@[Sacre]