Somebody is dead.

Why does it matter? Death is a constant occurrence, a stone in a river which will not be quelled. She has known others to die: Torasin, her family's friend, and Solstice his mate, and more, she is sure, when she was too young to comprehend, to understand the tears her elders shed. In the depths of the night when she cannot sleep despite the comforting glow of her moonstone, her sparks, she lets herself wonder who else is dead, if her mother and uncles and aunt have all fallen, and if that is the reason they never returned. She wonders if her father is dead, whoever he might be.

She is saddened when she thinks of it, but it is a distant, aching sadness, not a piercingly impassioned tangle of anger and grief, a vibrant indignation and a desire for justice. Clearly there is something darker at work; firechild burns ardent and staunch, determined to see the perpetrator punished, to lay then at the mercy of the court.

She is glad for Natraj, who lays on her hindquarters and scratches her flanks, bringing the girl back to reality. 'Will make justice,' her brother promises, his own anger quieter, smarter, focused. 'Need more clues. Need help.'

Need help. She is reluctant to say the words aloud. Shy black eyes glimpse at Caneo, the friend who has not left her side. He seems so calm compared to her anger, so constant and quiet, and she is glad to have the soft steam of his breath, the pale warmth of his body so close to her. She wonders what he makes of the death, if it frightens him or if he finds it mundane. She wishes he would only speak, but does not demand it, because she fears what he might say. I don't care. I don't want to help. It's not my duty to being justice to this world.

Distracted, disconcerted, wrapped within her ambling thoughts, she falls behind the gangling stallion. The path is treacherous, even to those who take it as often ad the crimson child and her shadow kin. She can smell the sulfur and the salt and sea, as well as the remnants of magic which linger in every cranny, every stone; it is sensory stimulation too vast to take in, and it bogs her already heavy mind, makes it hard to focus on such meaningless things as where to put her feet. Caneo drifts to the lip of the trail, nearly disappears before his voice cuts back- Tandavi!

Musings are abandoned as action takes their place, limbs clenching and springing into focused action. It was a second before she was beside her friend, tearing to a forceful stop and sending a splattering of stone in her wake. Black eyes are vibrant, silver mane is wild; she flares her nostrils and searches for the danger, only to be met with a boy who makes her laugh, and a hundred pounds of forgotten concern drifts away from her narrow figure.

"Hototo!" the girl's voice cries through the air, followed by her figure and a laugh of relieved delight. "I'm so glad to see you! Are you okay?" She stops a moment before they might touch, reels back slightly to crane her neck and see the tall stallion's face. She doesn't remember him being so tall, so large and strong and beautifully built. The Hototo she remembers was small and soft, shy and alone and so very lost.

Black eyes look into crimson and green, and she suddenly remembers her other friend, the other boy she has vowed to defend. A smile marks the gold-slashed face as she turns back to Caneo, but it quickly fades as she remembers why they're here. Eyes turn back to Toto, again to Caneo, and she inhales, exhales, speaks hard and deep.

"Somebody died. She deserves justice."

Hard black gaze flits between the two, confidence and determination written in the lines of her face, the angle of her ears. Within she is writhing, praying, hoping that they will agree to be her team- not only so they will help her, but so she can better keep an eye on them. With a murder on the loose, she will die before she lets her friends be touched.