They can fly.

Well, perhaps fly is an exaggeration. Though their method of transport is certainly airborne, it is hardly under their control, the product of wings and muscle and flex; it is foreign, outside, but still it is floating, and that is nearly good enough. Since their arrival on the island they have spent an inordinate amount of their time simply rising and falling from that kingdom in the sky- perhaps more than one might be proud to admit, though the girl and her brother do not know to be embarrassed by their childish fun. Now they rest at the edge of the sky, staring through cherry trees and wondering if they might see the rim of the world, look down its lengths to what lies beyond.

"What do you think it is?" she questions Natraj, isolation and excitement giving freedom from the reticence which usually plauges her tongue. Probably nothing, the boy replies, laughing at her obvious ire with this response. "Don't be boring," dark tones complain. "Nothing is nothing. It has to be something."

Silence stretches between them again, the boy's attention on his growling stomach, his sister's mind floating over thoughts and ideas. She grazes lazily, her eyes never leaving the sky, the edge so close that a step might send her tumbling down. Quietly the girl chews, tail flicking absently, muscles relaxed in the cool evening air. She wonders if the other side of the world is upside-down, or if there is nobody at all, if it's emptiness and absence, if it's perfection or pain. Her traces the line of the sea, onyx eyes taking in the start of sunset, the play of pink at the rim of the horizon. Perhaps on the other side of the world everything is bathed in sunlight, all the time; there is no sunset, no fall of inevitable and dismal night.

Doesn't make sense. Natraj has collected a feast for himself, with a selection of cherries and berries splayed on the ground. At the point of focus in the center of the meal lies a plump little rabbit, as large as the head of its rather smug captor. The girl looks skeptically at the burn marks on its hide, but does not remark on her brother's gluttonous desires, or his off-color approach to hunting for prey. Can't be there all the time, 'cus is here some the time. He smiles smugly at his sister, who sticks out her tongue, unnamed. "Killjoy," she mutters at his retreating back- he has heard a caterpillar rustling in the grass, and thinks it would make an excellent side dish to his feast. The girl's nose crinkles its dislike at the meal, turning her face back to the sky, a sigh forcing its way from her lungs.

"If I could fly maybe I'd know," she states to the heavens and no one at all, taking another step toward the edge. Slate hooves inch over the rim of the world, slightly, so slightly hovering above the abyss. She stretches her neck and closes her eyes, deeply inhaling the crisp, evening air. A harsh breeze picks up and plays with her hair, throwing it with abandon, laughing at her foolish dreams. You can't fly, it whispers. You're destined to fall.

@[Sacre]

It does not take long for another to appear, to intrude on her solitude as they are so wont to do. She feels the disturbance in the gentle breeze, senses the weight of his eyes on her back; she smells that strange mix of desert and pine, that vagrant aroma which can be only him. Or so she opts to tell herself, though in truth it is the appearance of the young red fox which warns the girl of Sacre's approach. She watches him carefully, wondering what his endgame might be, and if he knows what he's getting into with his designs on Natraj's food. Probably not. She imagines the kitsune's reaction when he returns. Will he be benevolent, share the feast with his younger cohort? Most likely, she muses; her brother is kind. Maybe he will slice away the best parts, offer his friend the liver and heart, treat them as gifts to confirm his affection.

She wonders if she could regain Sacre's trust through a similar act, but somehow she doubts that the gift of a heavy, beating red heart would give her the key to returning to grace. She pictures it, though, and it forces a smile to slide sidelong, sardonic, onto her bright face.

She thinks about this, and a million other things. She thinks about anything, so long as the thing she thinks about isn't how she feels about him, how terrified she is of what he's bound to say. So she does not look at him, though she smells his power, the combination of flowers and equine musk riding on the fleeting wind: she watches Inari, thinking him a suitable surrogate, a part of the boy that doesn't look back with those searing blue eyes.

Carefree words are scarcely heard above the pounding in her ears. They catch her by surprise, the opposite of anything she could have expected: no accusation, no cruel intent; the rage is missing, and so is the guilt. He sounds, she thinks, as he always does, bright voiced and and loud with a boyish charm. "I've been flying," she replies, her voice a whisper of flame on the breeze, and for a moment - for that moment - all is well.

She knows it is a lie. Why they're lying she does not understand- all is not well, all has never been well, and she sees not the point in pretending it is. Unless, of course, it isn't pretend, unless this is how he feels, how he has always felt- unless she means so little to him that her sins do not matter, for there is no regard left she can possibly lose. This idea stings far more than the rest, because it means that she has been a fool, that her affection - her friendship - meant zilch to the boy.

You're stupid. Natraj eyes her critically from behind a face full of grub, shaking his head as he returns from the hunt. It's all the attention he pays to the girl; he's bored with her adolescent, puberty-induced sulk, angry with her drama and uninterested in her pain. Instead he digs into his decadent meal, eyeing Inari and silently daring the one-tail to try, just try steal some of the pile which now threatens to rival them both in sheer weight. It's an invitation, of course, a chance for the youngster to prove himself worthy of the magnificent feast, and a chance to escape the equines and their games.

And as for the girl, well, the words are enough to push her over the edge, the accusation of foolishness kindling those latent embers of wrath. She's stupid? She's stupid? No. The rest of the world is stupid, with their lies and their games, their betrayals and their laughs. It's the rest of the world which dissolves into chaos, and she's just entrapped, forced to try and make sense of a fucked, senseless life. "I'm sorry," she says, and her voice is blank, eyes trained on the sky just a footstep away. I'm sorry for everything. Just tell me I matter.

@[Sacre]

[soft nudge]

Hesitation, guilt, insecurity and even sadness threatened to topple the colt from his happy heights. So much so that his usual welcoming smile cracked at the edges and his eyes became tight with worry, a whirlwind of emotions robbed him of complete composure. There was a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, the kind one only feels when they think they may have hurt someone who was incredibly important to them. Sacre had always been a ball of energy, quick to smile and even quicker to say friend. He loved deeply and cared a great amount, a trait learned from doting on his twin brother for so long. The words had already left his mouth, there was no running away from her now and Sacre did his best to prepare himself for what she might say. Thinking back to his own behaviour, he wouldn't blame Tandavi if she shouted at him or even if she screamed at him. Just as long as she said something, anything! Even if it was hatred, he would try win her back. Even if it was tears, he would make her smile again. Nothing... He wasn't sure he could deal with nothing.

The wait, though short, felt like a life time.

Flying. She'd been flying. Sacre blinked at her and made a comedic attempt to blatantly look at her sides for the sign of feathered wings. Confusion and a crooked smile formed on his face as the colt used humour to temporarily cover the anxiety he felt. Did she mean the clouds that took them to the island? Or could she actually... Fly. Sacre shook his head in awe of the thought, contrary to everything his family stood for, the stained child had always thought it a wonderful ability. Though his cloven hooves quite liked the safety of the ground. "Flying?" The Sleuth cast his gaze to the floating clouds with a whimsical sigh "I wish I could fly. The world seems beautiful from up here" he commented softly.

In their short conversation not once had the fire touched filly looked at him. It did nothing for the sick feeling, perhaps she didn't want him here, maybe she didn't want to talk to him at all. Was even looking at him was painful for her? Panic rose and the dark youth tried hard to force his feet to be still, to not march up to her face and demand she forgive him. Look at me, please, look at me he repeated to himself over and over. Inari made no move to comfort his nervous wreck of a friend, the fox was far more interested in the rather large pile of food calling his name with Natraj's daring gaze challenging him. The one tailed vulpine took his chance and, with a quick swipe with his mouth, attempted to take a cherry near the top of the towering assortment of grub. His little heart thundering with excitement and his belly growling at the mouth watering prospect.

Tandavi's final words drifted over the ears of Inari, but latched onto the black lobes of Sacre, who was taken aback in shock. Sorry? Whatever for?! No, no, this was almost worse than silence. She hadn't acted idiotically in front of a complete stranger and disregarded all feelings of those around him. Tandavi hadn't caused the gaping rift that now divided them! "Why? Why? It's me who should apologize." His voice trembled with sincere apology echoed by his rattling nerves. "I'm sorry Tandavi. I'm sorry for creating this distance between us, I'm sorry for not being strong enough... I'm sorry if I hurt you." He sobbed the words to her, praying for forgiveness as his vibrant blue gaze sought her captivatingly shrouded eyes.

[sososo sorry for making you wait charks!! <3]
@[Tandavi]

kaydeniro & larfsalot @deviantart | subtlepatterns.com

There is a soft breeze which tugs at her mane, a zephyr which begs her to arc back around, to look at the pain on the dark boy's face. It is trying to warn her, the small gust of wind, to help her understand the mistake she has made, the misunderstanding which grows deeper in time, threatening a chasm too wide to traverse. If only she looks then she might comprehend, halt her harsh thoughts and soften her heart; if only she looks then it might be okay, and the void illuminated before it grows too late.

The wind cannot force her to turn, but his voice does. She pivots abruptly, surprised and confused, black eyes growing narrow as she stares into his face. Why? Is he joking? Is he mocking her pain? But no- he might not care about her, but the boy is not cruel; she is certain of this, though all else is unsure. Then... could he not know? No; her sins mounted up far too high, there was no way he could possibly have forgotten them all. She stares at him, unsure, not knowing what to say. She has come prepared to leave unforgiven. Now she wonders what it is she could have to forgive.

She sighs and she frowns, shaking her head. Why is it so hard for him to understand? "I'm the one who fucked everything up." Bright, bitter anger creeps into her voice. He has rejected her apology, and his sadness confounds her, stabs her with deep guilt. She trains her dark gaze on the grass by his feet, unable to meet those electric blue eyes. Why will he not acknowledge her faults? The sins of her mother, the bright burning sun, and now this betrayal, this power abuse? She'd used magic on him, made him act outside of his head. The expressions which passed across his broad face, the adoring touches he had tried to bestow... they had all been her fault, and worse, so much worse, part of her liked it. His attention, affection... but it was a lie. He'd never look at her like that on his own.

"I can't control my magic." The words are a whisper in the echo of his cry, wistfully hopeful, mournfully soft. She looks to his eyes without accusation or rage; she is open now, broken, her pieces exposed. Gone is the armor, the wondering still, the silent demeanor and the cautious reserve. She is tired of losing, tired of watching her care thrown aside. Once, she had thought Sacre might be her friend... but once she had believed that her family would stay, and once she had not been afraid of the dark. Now nothing is certain and it all rests on her, weighing down the waif-like shoulders until at last she begins to break.

@[Sacre]