She paints herself in muted hues, a series of flaws on a crimson canvas, and waits for the judgment of her peer, the sharp reprimand, the dismissal, or the acceptance she craves. Is she brave for saying who she is, what she is, for laying her fears in the space between them and letting the Songbird sort them, weigh them, and decide if the girl is wanting or not? Or is she weak for craving validation, reassurance that all will be well, that she is as flawless and flawed as any living thing, her sins overshadowed by bold swaths of virtue? Copper child is not sure anymore; she is not sure of anything, except that she cannot hold herself closed any longer. She is a flame suffocating in her own smoke; she needs to know if she deserves to burn, if she is even capable of casting light.

There is movement, but it is not the girl. It is the foxes, dancing at the edges of her vision, carefree and caring as their equid companions cannot be. It is the light, the water, the shadows on the wall that investigate these goings on with vauge curiosity, largely uninterested in the trials of the pair. It is Lena; Lena is moving, shifting, and the threat of reality closes tight on the copper child's heart. She braces herself against it, against the ghostly confidant's retreat, against the inevitability of isolation. Lena has indicated no intent to abandon, yet it is the girl's first assumption- so many others have left, have rejected her confessions. Why wouldn't she?

Skin touches skin: Lena is no longer a ghost; nor is she gone, and more than reassurances, than words, this is the validation she seeks. Fire Dancer clings to the Songbird's shoulder, for it is a raft in the darkness of her uncertainty. Gratitude blooms on her face, and peace; she turns to the mare with hopeful black eyes, and lets herself relax into more than her fears.

Lena the Songbird speaks again, and Fire Dancer sees the echo she casts, the reflections of herself in the soft assurances of the older mare. She nods, a careful smile curling onto inky lips. In this moment she is reminded of her cousin, of the warm scales and deep voice Amaris would press against her when she could not sleep. Of the love and acceptance she hadn't known to cling to when it was available, and now so desperately misses.

"No," she agrees, her voice an earnest, alto murmur in the flickering light of the cave. She barely knows Lena, but the girl holds to a memory and puts her hopes in the Songbird's arms, her own eyes open, her own heart ready and waiting to take on Lena's sorrows in turn. She turns to the mare, vibrant embers dancing in the space around them, passion and hope marked by the swirling sparks of fire. "But we cannot forget them, because without our weaknesses, how will we learn to be strong?"