He stood in her element, unguarded, and she was close to his - weak. Were their elements so entwined? Death and rain were not such different concepts. Rain could reap and maim as much as death, and death could relieve the most wretched of their insurmountable burdens. He took notice of her - she could tell because the air between them became taught, tense, no longer easy with lonely bliss but fraught with the tensions only company could bring, of that lost nymph, eternally drowned in her own sorrows no less. When his eyes opened, she could have sworn to seeing a glimpse of surprise - but it was gone long before she could dwell on that. And when he said her name - that too was different, no longer the cool baritone she knew. Huyana. She almost relished that word in his mouth, the first time anyone had said anything to her in days, weeks, months, years. The girl clung to his voice as the words faltered, almost amazed that she was interacting with another member of her kind once more.

The silence afterward choked her, and as he did the very same thing, her eyes wandered over his body. Where she wore weakness and damnation, he emanated strength, virility - life. Wounds traced his dark hide like ancient words to a prophecy, illuminated by moonlight until they no longer seemed gruesome, but like art etched into stone, fine masonry. Too fascinated for disgust, she followed them as if his skin was a map to redemption. Huyana did not care who he had fought or what merit he had earned to gain them - they were more beautiful this way - little mysteries snaking over his bodies, evidences of some success or another. She tilted her head, finding his face once more, gazing into eyes that could be both hard and surprised.

Huyana had never met someone as honest as the Reaper - he brandished his ferocity without lies, never pretending to be anything more than he was like so many others of his profession were wont to do. Most fought with a gilded blade, too proud to realize the significance of taking lives as easily as breaking a brittle branch; they were mindless machines, slashing and stabbing only to taste fleeting victory. They killed in one name or another, writing their rancor off for a greater good. But what good was a purpose that had to be reached through blood? Her jaw clenched, the ligaments rippling through the soft tissue of her cheeks. But Deimos was a soldier nevertheless; with blade or teeth or talent, it does not matter how you slay - you are damned when you take a life. Huyana was unusually qualified to judge; her life had come at the cost of another's life.

Deimos spoke again, his voice quiet but commanding, the stone features chiseled into curiosity. "I chased the light," she said, the words less uncertain, a moment of boldness trapped within her words. Was it bravery or cowardice that led her to escape? Did she try to find solutions, or did she run to save her skin? An audacious hoof found footing on the warm silt where water met earth. From beneath a swath of forelock she studied him, dragging in each lazy breath as if it were her last; steam and mud and the dusty smell of male. "Did it rain?" she wondered aloud, watching him intently, trying to understand.