She disappears into the orange and gold and red, basking in the fall colors- her colors, the illusion of flames which drift from trees, cast aglow by the waning might of a vindictive sun. It is his final battle before winter strikes, the last of his reign and he will not rest easy. All must fall as casualties, tree and river and cloud and rain. The soft autumn heat rides upon them like a blanket; better to douse oneself in the glory of it than to offer reluctance toward a futile war. Above it all floats an echo of rain, moisture painting heavy air with crystals of potential and the promise of a storm.

In the midst of it all is a girl and her brother, the child come in at last to her own. Long limbs arch over tangled roots and fallen leaves, languidly dancing in the flickering pools of light that breach a tall canopy and strike the dense earth. Dapples and dustings of luminous sunlight drape halycon, opulent, upon copper skin. Savory scents drift on robust woodland breezes, liberated by the impetus of gilt-feathered hooves; worms crawl forth from the exposed earth, drawn by the damsel and her radiant life. Beneath the battleground of the solstice sky, the daughter of fire is a conductor of songs, a symphony in motion, a sovereign of summer in the advent of dusk. Dense canopy dims out the voice of thunder; she knows only sunny kisses, and the affectionate fingers of a wintry zephyr.

Like a forgotten god the structure looms, wind-worn stones and half told tales whispering calls of an ancient grandeur. Girl and fox leave not their dance, but shift, transform to incorporate this new step. Under the eaves and twixt pillars of stone the pair ebb and flow, sinuous curiosity opening eyes and enlivening steps. They marvel at echoes cast by hooves on the stone, the perfection of silence shattered by their noise. Soft steps, then hard, then ductile again, pace harmonious rhythm with the clatter of nails. Like shadows they flicker, shadow and flame, the small sable boy and his sister of rust, tentative and hesitant until at last, all at once, they arrive in the center and their strange duet stops.

The darkening light and great murals of glass casts a strange, murky glow through the spherical frame, softening shadow and darkening hue. In response a soft vapor of sparks starts to rise, exhaled by velvet nostrils into the dense air. She can taste now the threat of the oncoming deluge, feel the torrent soon to be unleashed; the sun has been bested, apprehended and captured by great billowing clouds. She shuffles, uneasy, gold hear tilting back; they'd intended not to be caught by the night, and the onslaught of dark sets the maiden on edge. Still, her brother suggests, This will make a good camp. She agrees, shifting now, plaited tail brushing restlessly on nebulous hips, and calls forth more fire to illuminate the dusk, flickering sparks racing over her hocks and up into the air where they settle, alive.

Boy darts out into now-falling rain, looking for fuel that he might start a blaze. Above them a thunderbolt shatters the sky, and for a bright, fleeting moment the world is aglow.

@[Reginald]