They return defeated.

Searching, always searching, but never finding- this is the song of the girl and the fox, their burden and their curse, the thing that binds them closer together while distancing them ever further from the outside world. Even Natraj has grown weary, repressed; he longs for stability, consistency, yet every time he thinks they find it it slips away like a laugh on the wind. Caneo was a promise on a starlit night, Amaris a gaping wound which cannot be healed, simply ignored. The boy who makes friends easily is bound to a girl who does not; who can blame him, when that burden at last takes its toll? He begged her to stay and she forced him to go, and now, sullen and silent, the pair return home.

Home- or is it? It's hard to say. The Edge looms before them, dark and ominous, silver mist glittering like glass in the twilight as it cascades down into the sea. In the dim twilight it is a river, a current of fatality, beckoning the girl and her brother closer. It twists and churns like whitewater rapids, concealing the point where earth ends and sky begins. It is deadly and beautiful, and the girl wants to point this out to the kitsune, but even as she reaches for his mind he pulls it away, sullenly denying her full access to their connection as he sulks, brooding, on the small of her back.

It has been this way since... well, she isn't sure how long anymore. Natraj fought against her when the girl decided to leave, his desire to find Caneo dwarfed by the yearning to remain in the comfort of home. But Firedancer is nothing if not adamant, stubborn, and most of all afraid- How can we be happy, she reasoned, If we don't keep the promises we make to our friends?

And your promises to me? her brother answered; but his pleas were futile, his protests in vain, for Natraj had long been the support of the pair, the enabler, and the girl had learned to take him for granted long, long ago. By the time she realized it was far too late, and now, for the first time, the girl knew what it was to be her brother, to be shackled to a soul defeated by the world, saddened and morose and unwilling to have faith.

The experience is not fun.

"Natraj, we made it, look at the ocean," she tries again- but the fox just snorts, his gold eyes narrow and his body turned away. The girl frowns sharply, anger burning bright at the rejection of her olive branch, the refusal to get over it. It has been this way for days, now - Tandavi alternating between appeasing and inflamed, Natraj steadfastly ignoring her advances - and the Firedancer is nearing her wit's end. She wants him to love her again, to smile and laugh and chase fireflies- she wants him to be her anchor to optimism, and without him as her ray of light she is floundering, lost, a child sent away from home, unable to function without an adult.

Most of all, she is scared.

When he continues to ignore her she grows more enraged. "Natraj, please. Just talk to me!" the girl exclaims, her deep voice loud in the growing dark. "You wanted to come back, and we did, and now all you can do is sit there and sulk!" In response the kistune leaps gracefully from her back, landing with a soft thud upon the misty ground and turning to stare coldly at the copper filly, nearly invisible but for his great gold eyes. I'm sulking here now, so as not to inconvenience you, the expression seems to say- nothing passes through their bond, but the girl knows him well enough to read between the lines.

She scowls, but doesn't say anything, just glows in the glower of embers that dance on her back. She doesn't know how to fix this, and it's driving her mad.

Natraj licks his paw, for all the world as if to say, Now you know what it is to be me.

Your faith has you immured
So don't try and tell me that you still believe
No don't preach to me