| RISHIMA
I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky,
And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.
They are laughing.
Why are they so happy? asks the wind of the sea, and the sea laughs and shrugs beneath a fragile sun, inconsequential motions of mortals upon stone meaning nothing to depths as old as time itself. The wind is left without satisfaction; restlessly it pursues them as they waltz beneath the trees, large black mare and young white gryphon somehow one while quite distinct. Greedy fingers pull at the dusky white of a wispy forelock, ruffles feathers, tug at limbs. They feel the wind, and laugh with it; the wind is emboldened. Why? it whispers in the mare's ears.
Because the world is beautiful, she replies.
The gryphon seems to agree. She is gathering flowers, bright spring blooms, plucking them from stalk and tree and carrying them carefully in ebony talons. When she can hold no more she drops what she has on the thin crescent of the mare's back, and they splay down her spine in a flirtatious array of aromatic petals, awaiting the next step of transformation. Already some are nestled at the base of the starlit tail, trailing downwards into a sea of gold, woven by deft claws and secured with little braids. She has enough to start on her horse's mane now, she thinks, and so settles at last upon the roost of her withers, chattering excitedly as she begins her task.
The mare smiles an indulgent smile and settles in to graze, content to let her companion braid flower and amulet into decadent two-toned locks. To her it is a merry miracle that the gryphon is whole, for not a week before she had watched her soul-mate crumple and fall, life drawn and devoured by the demonic beast she'd sought to quell. She feels pain for the suffering Kali endured; she thinks that the gryphon is too young to be put through such trauma. She feels guilt.
At the same time, she feels accomplished. She rescued her sister, or was on the path to doing so, when others had failed. She had retrieved what was hers, maintaining the bond that surpasses blood and bone and hooked a taut line between the souls of herself and Mirage. In a way, it was not unlike what she shared with Kali; and yet it is entirely different.
Both are beautiful.
Kali purrs against her withers, pleased by the emotion that radiates from the mare's soul. She is not angry; in fact, she tells Rishima, she is rather proud of herself. Isn't Rishima proud too? “Of course I am, little egotist,” laughs the dark mare, and Kali ruffles her feathers in mock offense at the teasing. The wind whispers around them but dares not disturb the hybrid at work, nor interrupt the pair as they dwell on all that has made them what they are. They are content in their solitude, joyous simply to be one with each other.
As one they hear the dragonsong. It echoes a compelling call, tugging heartstrings with ghostly fingers of melodious strains, enticing them to find its source and unravel its cause. They drift along it in idle pursuit, both too relaxed to press their pace, and besides, Kali notes, Vikram is probably with her. Neither of them know quite how they feel about the dragon hybrid, his sudden reappearance from whatever hole he'd wandered off to and his reattachment to Mirage. In the eyes of her sister, the shadow mare deserved better; and although she was grateful to Vikram for his help in defending them from the Sun God's wrath, the measure of her affection for him grows hazy after that point. Unbidden, tension builds beneath inky shoulders and shudders loose, anxious rivets rattling inside their bag of skin. Kali misses the passing stream of doubt; she has launched herself into the air, finally restless with their meandering pace, and from a distance tells the mare that she is very slow and that she ought to hurry up because their friends are waiting.
“Friends?” questions Rishima, confusion imminent in the contours of her thoughts. Kali responds with the flash of an image, two horses and two dragon against a backdrop of sea and stone, and then she is gone to join them, crashing down against endless sky, wings carefully catching her seconds before she could collide too hard against her golden sister. Prrray? she purrs, childlike wonder in avian eyes, hoping the older dragons will indulge her whimsy.
Enter Rishima, stage right.
None of Kali's flowers show as bright or as radiantly as the purple bloom nestled against her ear, but all are lovely nonetheless, an unusual bouquet of color to contrast with her monochrome facade. The silver amulet once given to her by the Moon is caught in a plait at the base of her poll; Kali has stolen the other one, and wears it about her hind leg with great pride. She steps with gracious poise and simple elegance as always, dark eyes sharp and slippery as they pass from sister to... comrade? Friend? She knows not what Lace is, whether they have entered bonds of friendship or remain stoically distant. His affection for her sister is painfully apparent, however; how the hell she Mirage it is beyond her comprehension. Always a stallion, always crazy for the petite shadow. At least this one seems reliable enough.
She wants to laugh. Instead she smiles.
She does not stay away, not today, not now. Mirage is hers, her sister and her best friend, and with firm strides she bursts their bubble of solidarity and reaches out to rest her chiseled head atop the other mare's. Shoulders brush, and the scent of flowers lays heavy between them; from her slightly uncomfortable vantage point she gazes at Lace, wondering what his response will be and not caring. It is too long since she had time with her sister, and she treasures the closeness more than her image of an unapproachable stoicism. Her long tail beats playfully at Mirage's hock, and ivory incisors threaten an ear.
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