They smell fire, and hear owls, and it is not right

Copped child and her shadow brother observe each other for a heartbeat's pass, a million thoughts and questions exchanged in the time it takes to blink. In the end it is neither a question nor a choice; something is wrong, and it is for the crimson knight and her ardent squire to investigate, to pursue, to ensure that the world is safe from the wrongs, the cruelty of wraiths and sorrow and pain. Perhaps it is a hopeless mission, but it is one which gives her purpose in the darkest of nights; so she clings to it, desperate and hungry to fill the hollow corners of her bruised and battered soul.

Fire is not the only scent. The world is full of magic, if you know how to look, and Fire Dancer pauses beneath the autumn trees to carefully untangle the tapestry of arcane. Tension quivers down her body, setting the embers which dance around her form into quivering, shadow-casting motion as she reaches out with all her senses, trying to find the fire's source. There- it smells of sand and forgotten dreams, tastes like acrid smoke and stone. She sees in in ribbons of cinnamon red, and without thought the girl pursues, three-tailed brother clinging close to her hooves. The girl does not pause to consider the dangers; she if she does, she knows she may falter, afraid.

The scene they are met with is a depiction of despair. Fallen soldiers side-by-side, coiled and clenched within each other, a giant and a familiar figure: sooty specks on a snowy hide. The girl breaks before them, black eyes assessing the situation, emotions compartmentalized (for now) as she meditates momentarily upon the scene. She hesitates, half-hidden, at the edge of the woods, unwilling to break into this tableau without knowing she must. What happened?, she wonders- but her brother does not hold her pause. Something wrong, he answers simply, keen nose picking out the stench of seared flesh. He pushes his way to the fallen Queen's side, his large ears picking up heartbeats (too fast), his sensitive eyes searching for the source of the problem. Who attacked? he wonders, but his sister only shrugs.

They have come to this stallion's rescue before. It appears to be written, intertwined, in their fate.

She steps forward carefully, calling forth the embers which reside within her pelt. She is a glowing beacon, lit with fire and stones; she brings with her shadows and light, but beneath it all she is slender, small. She lets herself focus on the patient for now, ignoring the massive stallion (who?), ignoring the new magic that settles so gently within her heart, ignoring the way her blood thrums through her veins, uncertainty beating a arrhythmic pulse that echoes in her ears. Because this, this, she can do- this is her gift, her purpose, granted by the Sun God and filling her with hope. Perhaps she is doomed to be alone in this world, to lose the ones she loved- but at least alone she can make a difference, can help and heal and protect the world with light.

Fire Dancer stands beside him, letting her magic freely flow. Embers rise from a tangled mane, dancing down her outstretched neck and between them, around them, to settle on the black, seared skin. Her focus is complete, her dark eyes closed; behind their lids is a face, a memory, a figure of starlight and hard angles and kindness, and she hears his words as a whisper from her mouth, an exhalation of desire and demand. "We have to keep living for the ones who can't," she murmurs to the fallen figure, the one who burned the DragonHeart's body when the girl was too weak, too afraid to step in and be by her cousin's side.

(Would she react differently, if she knew who this was? Would he, if he knew her?

Did it matter?)

Somewhere far away (yet so close) an owl shrieked his rage, and a kitsune growled in attempt to understand, tails shimmering with fire, prepared for a fight, for justice, or perhaps just to calm a wounded mind.