The slender wraith shifts restlessly, mind still churning with ideas, picking apart the delicate puzzle and searching for answers to questions she does not fully understand. Still barely more than a child, the girl is untried and untested, perhaps not the best to be faced with a challenge; she is a creature of ideals and ideas, of abstract concept and ardent heroism.

Still, the girl is better suited to the task than Kahlua may be. She blinks at the older mare's heavy sigh: she is too fascinated by the puzzle to be frustrated, blind to the ire which taints the paint's thoughts. Head tilts and she shuffles her hooves, weight swaying impatiently from hip to narrow hip. Almost expectantly she looks to the other, waiting for a suggestion, for a thought to pierce through their thick, pensive silence, while around her chaos in the form of two companions is exploding. The girl ignores them as best she can, though she cautions Natraj to be careful: though the dragon already is nearly as big as her brother, she knows that the kitsune can hold his own in a spat.

Gold eyes laugh as the blue breathes yet fails to ignite, great puffs of air leaving his lips. A strange vulpine chortle racks his small body, immediately followed by a yelp of alarm as the dragon plays his trump card and flies overhead. Delicate paws swipe at the beast; the black child growls, leaping up slightly but painfully aware of his inability to fly. He will have to think of another way to impress the dragon. The boy makes a show of indifference before leaping down from his sister's back, darting into the sparse growth to show off what he's certain are superior hunting skills.

Kahlua's answer does not come- at least, not in a form the girl finds helpful. Frowning, the copper girl thinks to the little she knows of the world, the experience she has had with purifying. There is not much to draw from, yet something tickles the back of her mind, a memory of borrowed magic and the wonder of watching a wound be healed. She had mimicked her mother's powers, once, and watched as Smoke mended a wound on Amaris, looking past the flesh and into the soul, the very biological structure of the afflicted leg. She remembers, now, the way the dark infection seemed to be devoured by the medic's wind, the way the taint was purified, swept up into black.

She looks at the sparks in front of her, and an answer begins to form in their midst. "I could heal it," the girl suggests, tossing her mane to send more embers flying. "Burn away the impurities." It seems silly, said out loud, yet she holds her conviction, clings to the idea for it is all she has. She has been asked for help, and she shall not fail: not again, not this time, not when this mare seemed to think her so capable.

Her brother returns as the mare speaks again, a small snake clutched triumphantly in his teeth. Oversized ears perk up toward the stranger: Edge, he states easily, sensing his sister's uncertain response, the mild uneasiness she feels at being recognized by someone whose looks she cannot quite place. But with his reminder it all seems so obvious- the scent, the dragon, the lack of wings. And yet that awareness does not make her rest easy. "Maybe my mother..." she offers, uncertain. Surely there was no true similarity between the bright copper child and her moonstruck dam? Natraj shrugs, but offers no help. He is waiting for Kahn to notice his prize.

Tandavi