While her twin played about on the beach, d’Arcy had devised her own sort of game that suited her much better than a day on sun and sand. She had taken a liking to stalking people, quite literally: trying to see how close she could get, how quietly she could approach, and how long could she remain undetected while she watched and listened to. At the meeting, her mother had instructed her to watch the interactions of others, learn from them and d’Arcy found she quite liked doing so, though she couldn’t make heads nor tails of half of what she overheard (adults were strange, complicated creatures).

As Libertad was followed by their mother, so too did d’Arcy trail along after her mother, waiting for a moment to pounce. She thought her mother might be a little less likely to snap at her for a sneak attack than other members of the herd. These plans, however, were foiled when Nyx crossed the tree line and made her way across the beach. The filly paused, lingering in the shadows for a moment as she watched her mother scoop up Libertad and move toward the strange stallion. Well, perhaps not so strange, she thinks judging by the looks of him and her suspicion is soon confirmed by the words that carry over the sand towards her hiding spot. Carried by curiosity and cued by her own name, the red-cloaked filly emerged onto the stretch of beach and hurried to join her family, calling out like the dutiful daughter she is (well, mostly dutiful.. ”I’m here, mama.”

Light steps carry her over that sand and immediately to her brother’s side in a profunctory move. After any significant time apart there was always a need to re-establish that most precious of connections; it could not have been more than an hour our two since they had last seen each other but she had missed him so dreadfully. She moved, as she often did, to rest her side against his for a moment, and still not really aware of it, reached out to him with her magic as well like little greedy fingers to pull him closer to her and only to her. She smiled at him, contented again and then turned her attention to her father.

d’Arcy took several precocious steps toward Déodat, eyeing him shrewdly. Or at least she hoped she was shrewd, but she had not yet mastered all the social delicacies (such as tact) and so she must have looked quite impertinent. “Mother said you lived in the north, what are you doing here?” Tactless, yes, but genuinely curious at this break from the status quo. He had been there for her and her brother’s births but other than that he’d never come before. She looked out at the water, at the white creature bouncing in the surf and then, with an even more quizzical look, turned back to her father. “Why does your lion look so strange? What happened to his mane?”

it's bloody and raw
but i swear it is sweet