Tandavi

I'll light a fire in your new shoes.

Her voice is a punch of cold water on a summer day, warm stones in frostfall and clover in spring. Copper child leans into it, draping herself carefully across the cousin's form; a sigh escapes her, contentment tempered with exhaustion, relief and happiness the primary dancers in a tableau of emotion which stains her mind. Slowly the leftover fire flows back, embers condensing about the girl's spine, dimmer than they had been minutes before; flickering, fading, as her energy fails, but that's alright. It does not matter if she is weak; all that matters is Amaris is strong.

Their names are barely whispers on the dragon's dry lips, but it is enough to reassure the pair, to promise that all will soon be well. Worry and trials melt away; they are a burden for another moment, not this one, which is beautiful. The soft sigh of Amaris' breaths and the beat of her heart soothe the child, carrying her gently to a peaceful place, a land of memories before heartache and dismay were the main chords played in the symphonic backdrop of her life. Onyx eyes shut. She could stay like this forever.

But of course, she can't.

The world returns in a gentle roll, water pressing against her awareness, implacable whispers of responsibility, unease. Lids flutter open reluctantly, exposing dark eyes to the bright light of day; she stretches, adjusts, unwillingly peels herself away from the skin of her cousin, the comforting embrace of a distant past. There is a present to return to, a future to approach, and though the tribulations of a moment before still weigh as heavy as they ever did, looking at her cousin the girl thinks that maybe she can be strong enough to carry it all.

Tandavi stands on gilded legs, shaking off sand and desert debris. The shadow presses against the dragon, unwilling to relinquish his space in her warmth, but the girl knows she must stay on watch. Fire dancer watches them both, vigilant and loving, strong and resolute despite the weariness which permeates the marrow of her bones. "Rest," she tells her cousin, her sister, gentleness in the alto voice. Soft nostrils brush the scales on her shoulder, the joint of her wing- "You are home now." Home, even though it isn't the forest, isn't the mist and the sea of the Moon- she's here, isn't she? That's enough, right?