The 'No' leaves her lips, and she wishes she could take it back- though she has no idea what should go in its place, what lie would be true enough to take back the tears which well in those silver eyes, quell the ache of the still beating heart. 'Yes' or 'She's dead'- even 'I am' would ring false, an ashen lie on a barbed tongue, and the fire dancer does not lie. She merely mourns, and regrets, and continues a helpless fight for a better tomorrow with every dawn, her brother a shadow, ever by her side.

Except just now, for he was still near the girl, carefully moving closer, trying to touch, to gain an embrace. He peers at her and slinks along, playful, bright, inspecting the child's cloven hooves and batting at the beginnings of baby feathers. He is his sister's keeper, and her compass, her anchor in a sea of sensation, emotions adrift.

She is not surprised by the anger, yet it still stings like a slap in the face, too-hot water on a frigid day. Ears falter, eyes dart, but she does not abandon the softness of her face, the affection in her eyes, the promise presented that she is a friend, that the girl can trust her, come back to her, let her try again.

Fire dancer is caught off guard when shame splashes onto the child's face. Dark eyes blink, lips uncurl. "I understand," and she truly does, sincerity in the alto notes of an expressive voice. Though she wishes the child would return to the Throat, she knows that homes can turn to dust, fall into ruin and memory and despair. Had she not left her childhood haunts, and was she not haunted by them now? No, though she does not like it she understands, and a smile presses further onto her face, a smile which only grows slightly strained when she learns where the child lives now.

The Basin. Land of demons and darkness and death.

Anger begins to sear the edges of her heart, and she hates herself for it, for it is an easy response to a difficult situation. She wonders if this is how parents feel when their children rebel, this anger and fear from a place of love. Does she love this filly she barely knows? The girl isn't sure, but she thinks she must, for she would do anything to keep the child safe, give anything to reclaim the opportunity lost. That the firebird should be hunting a murderer appalls her, even though the child has pursued the same killer, even though the dancer is herself still nearly a babe. "The Sun God?" she echoes softly, surprised to hear her deity's name. Who was this filly, that the God had asked her for his aid? Who were her friends, and were they decent like Sacre or intolerant, deadly, as she had heard from her mother many unicorns to be?

Ideas form, but are dismissed, to be mulled over later, in a sleepless night. The girl flickers, shifting in the snow; she must be grateful to have come this close. Instead of pleading for more she accepts what she is given, nodding as the girl offers a visit, a return to where she began. "We would love that," she answers honestly, speaking for herself and the kitsune who has attempted to find warmth within the child's tail.

And then she asks something she has been wondering all this time, something she feels foolish for not knowing, guilty for not giving, ugly for not asking. "What is your name?" she gently inquires, hoping that her egregious lack of knowledge will go unnoticed by the child.

@[Aithniel]