The Thief did not often try new things. He found comfort in the familiar, and rarely stepped beyond the boundaries of his own expertise aside from whatever stretches of the imagination his chicanery required. He was far too distracted by the unexplored territory of dance to notice Lena’s sudden bashfulness, acknowledging only the brilliance of her smile as he approached, and feeling rather out of place in the midst of the party, at odds with the exultant celebration of which he would normally want no part in. But it had been far too long since Roland had seen her last, and if their meeting would add another skill, however trivial, to his bag of tricks then there could be little harm in attempting their sport.

He stood for a moment at her side, not entirely willing to trust the coordination of his own feet; believing that he might stumble on the uneven ground, bump into Lena, or otherwise make a fool of himself, but she willingly accepted his request and slid into place at his front. He watched the shift of her feet, the dip and sway of her frame as she moved, and gradually, hesitantly, followed her lead. Through her suggestion he tilted his head a fraction, listened to the cadence of their steps, a pattern of hoof beats stamped out upon the ground along with the flinty note of rocks struck upon one another, and with it he began to carve out his own sequence. He felt Lena’s muzzle against his neck, a guiding pressure, and in the half lit darkness he focused on its pulse, gaze fixated upon the shifting image of his own front feet. As moments passed he grew bolder, mimicking the Time Mender’s movements until he was confident enough to curl his neck towards her, offer a diffident smile.

The Thief cast a curious gaze across those gathered, noting the refinement of their steps, practiced, at ease. He smiled at the inexperienced movements of a coral filly, satisfied that he was not the only one who lacked the dexterity to perform without fault. Nevertheless, he approached it with ambition, twisting and turning as instructed, insinuating a bow of his head, a turn of his hindquarters while following in the Time Mender’s wake. With every step the unease melted from his form, and he relaxed into an easy rhythm. The lights shifted across their hides, illuminated in a mantle of sterling moonlight before at once traipsing into shadow. They slipped in and out of the darkness as they danced, the occasional press of Lena’s lips against his shoulder a reminder to maintain the rhythm. The Thief’s hooves twisted in the grass as he lowered his head, tail curling against his hocks. “How am I doing?” He asked softly, to avoid disturbing their company, and sought out her gaze with an amused glint in his eye. No doubt he was a work in progress, but it was no longer the daunting prospect it had seemed at first. There was no denying the cathartic nature of dance, to know and think of nothing besides the arrangement of his own feet, to focus on the sway and swell of music, wending its way across the constant whisper of wind through grass.

So he persevered, watching the Time Mender as she demonstrated each movement until he was confident enough in the simple dance, until he could move with little doubt or question in his own actions, and a smile stayed steady upon his lips. His pace only faltered once the wind picked up, a sudden strong gale that pulled at the fabric of the tent and hissed savagely through the grass, and the Thief paused as its chilling undercurrent swept across his skin. A portentous feeling crawled along his spine, prickling at the edges of his mind as his feet ceased their movements, and he turned to search the edges of their congregation. A strangled, sinister call broke through their revelry, pursued by a bloodied stag. It stumbled its way into their midst with sharp antlers brandished, the tines failing to catch or snag upon those standing nearest to it, much to Roland’s relief. Crimson dripped from its open mouth, ragged breaths shattering the aura of merriment until all had fallen deathly silent. The Thief stood his ground, ignoring the fearful pound of his heart as he watched the buck topple, noticing only as its legs buckled beneath it that the head of a predator was still latched onto its limb, fangs sunk into fragile flesh. As suddenly as it appeared, the wounded creature was swallowed up by the earth, leaving only the ominous echo of its call. The Thief’s mind raced from one thought to another, gaze fixed upon the unblemished grass. Had it been a crude warning of things to come, an omen to heed; or perhaps some cruel joke to tear apart their innocuous festivities? Did something else lie in wait beneath the cover of night? The exhilaration of earlier had faded, and with apprehension curling talons into his skin, he looked to their gilded leader for an indication of what might transpire next.

@[Lena]