"Why?"

It is a whisper of smoke escaping a flame, a quiet word that hangs in the balance of darkness and moonlight into which she has danced, nimble child on a dancer's legs. Roused from rest by a rumor on the wind, she has left her mother and Kali behind to sleep in their uneasy peace, eyes closed and souls entwined. At her heels a shadow steps, silent fox outlined by the rays of the moon, silver lining to the child's crescent of gold. Neither knows what power it is that draws them on, but to question instinct does not enter their minds; they are puppets pulled by lazy threads of fate, willing pawns of a greater picture content to watch as the world passes by.

The scent of others is a curious one, a rippling flavor laced with underlays of power, magic tingles of light upon her tongue. She knows one; Natraj remembers from the day of his birth, and she remembers for its familiarity, the gentle beauty and happiness it brings. Amaris, she thinks the name must be- Amaris her cousin, the dragon bound to her by blood. Distantly she wonders at the accompanying scent, the musk of something she does not know to be feathers and the clean addition of a moonlit power, accompanied by trees, so many trees that they build a vast forest in the prism of her mind, stretching out as far as she can imagine and taller than the night sky. It smells slightly like Natraj, too, and Madyrn and Maskan and some of the others she has seen. It smells - though she does not understand this - male.

She sees them at last, caught red handed in a tender embrace, and the firedancer feels something. Something tight and pulsing in her chest, a burning sensation she cannot place. What is it?

Oh, child- the taste of envy is too soon upon you, and you a lamb to its wrathful grasp.

Why do they stand there, her cousin and the stranger they do not know- why is he in her grasp, calling her lovely and touching her skin, finding a closeness that somehow the child has never known for another of her kin? Fire flares a brilliant glow in her tender breast, unexpected emotion welling from a darkness she has been comfortable with until now; the shadow at her heels has his hackles raised, silver fangs bared in the midnight haze, and she steps forward without attempt to hide, seething silent behind a gold-slashed gaze.

"Why?" she asks again, childish voice a soft threat in the night. She wants to say more, so much more- to call to her cousin to take heed, to demand of the youth that he not make this, this poison from the flowers of her only home; but the only word she can produce is a loaded why. Black eyes shift from the boy to Amaris; her cousin must know, must ask the questions she cannot- she is family so she must understand, just as the child's mother understands the wordless language with which she speaks. Natraj whimpers at the older filly, adding to the plea of his dancing mate. Poison must be bad. Can't you hear it?

And another question, one she does not know how to ask of herself: Why do you understand him, but not me, when we are family and you are mine?