The way she curls away from me is to be expected, I know too well that the urge to hide within one’s own prison of emotions to be overbearing. She was not to be blamed for what she felt, for we who claimed the Path to be our birthland were all cursed with these overwhelming feelings, it was to be expected, that like lava in a volcano, the pressure of their sheer magnitude and force need be expressed every so often – not always in the form akin to the imagery of a volcanic eruption, of course. Rage and anger were emotions my brothers usually dealt with, even the one as shadowy as myself, Maskan, found himself prey to our father’s foul temper – my sister and I were certainly capable of feeling the crimson caress of rage, but it often began as something else. Emotions were never static, they changed and evolved, and as I watched my sister quiver I knew that my presence had brought upon her a new onslaught of feeling, though what it was I could only guess.

My own façade remains obscure, though my mask is hardly required in the shadowy cavern, but my golden eyes roam her form, watching the different shudders of her body as a new thought or emotion touched her beautiful consciousness. I was saddened that there was little more I could do, for now, I knew my touch would inspire her to only withdraw further away from me this early on. That jealousy might have been one of the emotions she felt would not have bothered me if it had come from a stranger; I had worked for everything I gained in life, I was grateful for what I had been given and often surprised at the generosity of others, but I never felt completely undeserving of my gifts. But the envy of my status had not come from just a stranger; this was my sister before me.

Once again, it was merely a guess, for my little moonbeam was as gifted as I in hiding her true feelings, and in the darkness I could only catch glimpses of what might be lurking beneath the surface of her chiselled features, perceptive and familiar with her that I was. Emotions were fickle like that, however, they took one little guess and convinced one’s own mind that such a thing might be true, and suddenly, my mind was awash with thoughts of scorn, hatred, malice and defensiveness, not for my sister, but at her. I turned my eyes away then, to allow the depths of the cave to be my gaze’s new target, and to also hide the shame that rolled about me for allowing such things to even begin within. Like putting out a match with damp fingers, I swiftly quelled and controlled the unreasonable emotions rioting within, and recomposed myself, for her.

A scent, subtle in the chilled and crisp air, penetrated the senses of the maiden then, previously undetected, the raven one’s posture shifted to place herself before her sister, who was gingerly rising upon shaky legs. Arabianesque ears tilted this way and that, listening to the curious footsteps, trying to decipher what they belonged to before the avian-feline came into view. Mirage knew well what was a predator and what was not, she had lived long enough, and evaded long enough, those who might eat her, those who were certainly capable of it. And this was would have been capable of it, with her sharpened talons and claws, and strong muscles bunching all through her. But it was her eyes that Mirage focussed upon, though she knew that to be a foolish thing – often getting trapped in the gaze of a predator meant you were going to fall as its prey.

But the eyes of this one held no intent, no malice, no tension. They were soothing, calming, focussed and yet detached. She was wary, for a good predator would be able to act these things out, to trap their prey. But then a predator would not sit back on their haunches and wrap their tail about their form as if to settle down and watch a show. Laughter almost caused the mare to jump out of her skin, but she controlled the prey-like urge, instead throwing a swift glance at her sister, who seemed still out of sorts but at the very least, standing once more. Mirage took a moment more to reach out with her maw and touch the feverish hide of her sister, as if trying to absorb all the negativity away from her, to restore some semblance of normality (well, normality for this family) to her troubled mind.

“Certainly is.” Her quiet voice responded, detachedly, to the odd statement-question Rishima had thrown seemingly at random to the innards of the cave. It was but a handful of seconds since her gaze had left the gryphon, and it swivelled back to its snowy hide now. “Hail, creature of winter,” though Mirage could not detect the magic that caused the atmosphere to remain so cool around them, she referred to the creature as such because of the gentle hints of snowy patterning across her hide. Had she seen the bird-cat outside of the cave, she might have appreciated the subtle beauty of her more. As it was, in this situation, she was going to be careful. “I apologise if we have intruded, madam.”