The meeting devolves into a mess of politics and injured pride, but the Fire Dancer is unperturbed. How could she be, with Sacre's smile in her eyes, his presence a beacon of comfort by her side? Whatever fear she might have felt, whatever trepidation, is doused by the warmth of his reception, the ease with which he invites her back into his life. Her name is a song on his upturned lips; she settles in beside him with an echoing laugh, for the first time at peace beneath the misty trees. For his part, Natraj delights in the attention of the larger vulpines, launching into stories of their adventures, his voice a quiet chatter only understandable by his kind.
The meeting wears on, and Fire Dancer dims, her smile fading to an aggrieved frown. She is conflicted by Alysanne's rise to Queen; though she admires the mare, considers her a friend, it is hard for the girl to imagine any bearing the title once held by her beloved aunt. What she cannot understand is the uproar it causes, and the utterly foolish reasoning to their complaint. Two-toned ears press against her golden mane; this, she thinks, is why she could never be Queen. She has no patience for the irrationality of it all.
A soft touch on her shoulder draws the girl from her own thoughts. Her body ripples, the spasm of her muscle echoing that familiar flutter in her chest; copper child turns to the boy and nods, grateful for the chance to get away. She follows Sacre into the woods, eager as he to leave the fight behind, to forget her heartache and discontent. Slate hooves follow the crescent of his steps; she is a bonfire and he her shadow, long and leading, blood and smoke. Where has he been? she wonders, but is too afraid to ask, to hear the question echoed back and have nothing substantial to give in response. They have both been absent, but now they are here; the girl wills this to be enough.
They stop in a glade, and she hovers in the shadow, the oppressive humidity of the sparkling mist enough to keep even the Fire Dancer out of the sun. Natraj, of course, does not draw still; her brother presses against their oldest friend in greeting before continuing to hound the other vulpines, goading them into a game of hut-slash-tag.
For her part, copper child keeps a distance from the boy, afraid he will vanish if she draws too close, but her dark eyes trace him with a quiet hunger, soaking in every familiarity, every change. She takes advantage of his apparent distraction to perform her appraisal without reproach. Black gaze dances unapologetically across his form, from the red of his flank to the curl of his mane (she is grateful for the braids that hold hers in some degree of order, though a multitude of strands have escaped their confines to coil loosely against her skin). She lets herself drift up the lines of his breast, his neck, his cheeks- right to his eyes, the startling blue of which (warm, like the sky, like the sea- yet so familiar, so much like another pair) meet her own, causing the girl to abruptly flush, her heart a sudden unsteady beat.
She smiles shyly at her friend, the memory of another still bright in her mind.
For a moment she does not know what to say. What can she say- what words are there to bridge the space, the years, the memories, the pieces of each that the other holds? There are no words that encompass the entirety of what she feels in this moment; she feels foolish, flustered and mute, a child again, her face alight with spiraling embers and vibrant hope. She feels everything she ever felt around him, and yet she feels uncertain, too- because she isn't the filly he knew in his youth, and he isn't the colt, and she isn't sure what that means for their future.
She wants it to mean something good right now, because ultimately that is what he has always been- something good, something kind, someone to forgive her when she could not forgive herself, to remind her that she is more than the sum of her mistakes.
"It's good to see you, Sacre," the girl breathes- and then, because she cannot ignore the joy radiating through her bond (and because she needs to look away before her cheeks grow any warmer), she turns to the foxes and adds with a smile, "And you, too."
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