A creamy purr breaks into the sunlit space, round and warm and full of youthful curiosity. The shadow has abandoned his post at her side, slinking forward with spring in his step, cold nose sniffing curiously at the magical plants. Over the past year they have learned that Natraj's inquisitive nature knows no bounds, and neither decorum nor safety can hold him back when his interest is piqued; he is a force to be reckoned with, and a vocal one at that. He reaches the greenery and pauses, glancing at the boy before leaping fearlessly ahead. The fire child smiles as her kitsune drops onto his knees, rolling violently upon the grass, his voice a soft whine of happiness against the rolling surf.

Tandavi looks back as the stallion turns, but her attention is quickly torn away from the living and cast upon the inanimate. Or, really, highly animate- the strange and melodious companion of the boy that moves with a mind of its own, suspended in mid air with all the grace of a strange, awkwardly build humming bird. The crimson girl knows not what to make of it, this singing springing work of witchcraft; she tilts her head, braided forelock falling across her eyes, golden ear turned forward in pursuit of answers. What creature is this, which seems built from plants yet moves of its own accord? From his place in the grass Natraj catches her conundrum, rising onto tiny paws and turning his gaze to the instrument. The kitsune pants as he pads to the stallion's size, pawing upward in a petulant attempt to touch the harp - which is bigger than even he.

The rich yet sheepish voice of the stallion rolls into the air once more, and Tandavi's solemn gaze returns to the horns on his head, the tone of his eyes. She blinks once, frowning in an attempt to understand. She had left home, too- gone to the Throat for protection and found herself ensnared. But she had returned to find it waiting. She always would. How could home change, when home was the people and not the place, the souls of those who loved her and had surrounded her at birth and not the trees, the stones, the crash of wave and wind? Did he have nobody to call his home? Poor boy, to be so lost! The filly feels a great and unusual sense of sympathy settle on her shoulders, something heavy for one so slight.

She smiles at him then, a small offering of a small comfort, a bright thing that hides the ideas rolling inelegantly through her mind. It does not occur to offer her home- how could one offer a family to a boy, when the family is hers? But other thoughts rise and fall, considerations ebbing and flowing like the tides. She is not sure what to say, but knows that if she gives it time something will form, some idea will construct itself into a palpable reality. She does not realize, but she has gained a crusade, picked up a need to save the lost boy, unaware that it is a task unasked and invasive. The swirl of magic and the sorrow in his eyes easily close the distance between passion and withdrawal.

She wants to be his friend.

His final question break into her thoughts in a swirl of irrationality and confusing stupidity. Maybe friendship wasn't so good an idea, if the boy was this dumb. On her own? "We're not," she states in that too-deep voice, her face now puzzled and her brow a line of bemusement. "We're together." From somewhere near the tall boy's hooves, Natraj lets out a growl of agreement, his bright eyes gazing at the stallion's face. In truth, Tandavi has no concept of 'on her own' - how could she, when she had been bound to her brother a week after birth? Of course, the likelihood of the boy understanding this was slim, but the copper mare did not know that. In a way she was as ignorant as he- for what must it be, to never know loneliness, never feel absent from ones soul?