Cirrus the WindDancer

Laughter tumbled from her charred mouth in much that same manner as everything tumbled from this mare - it was beautifully poetically chaotic, a symphony of angels and a herald of the devil's doings all at once. It bounded from her lips and took to the winds the same way her tresses flew and danced from their roots along her nape and elongated tail, streaming long and far, dancing with whimsical motions that none could ever predict. She was storm-born, and her life had been a whirlwind of storms and sunny days since, her laughter a reflection of that, as it spoke of the chaos that was her life and livelihood that had been mirrored upon her pelt since that rainy day of her birth on the sands of the Endless Blue. Cirrus was a pure creature, a mistress constructed of elements, who both contained and controlled elements of her own, and was influenced by them too. As her laughter filled the ears of those nearby, so too did her magic fill in the scenery, with delightful breezes and warm rays of sunlight. Sometimes Cirrus enjoyed the rain and the chaos of storms too, but for now, the wind and breeze would be gentle and uplifting, the sun caressing her sunkissed hide with a pleasant and delicate light.

At least, until her retreating form was chased by a new, different kind of storm, a beast of chaos and darkness and magnificence all of his own, who chased away her sunlight and painted her with the blues and blacks of stormclouds. Even as the cloudmare felt the patterns trickle across her hide, she did not feel darkness tainting them, but rather an exhilarating sensation of magic, magic that rode and carved the winds as hers did, magic that summoned storms and rain and clouds as hers did, magic that could create chaos or just as easily quell it - she felt it, and it excited her. Within her breast her heart beat that much faster, her wings stretched that much more broadly, her laughter grew that much more bold. Eyes of sapphires peered around her own storm-ridden hide to view its crafter, the gilded one who would give her chase.

A runaway thought of fear might have crossed her mind - had she angered him, upset him, for simply crossing his borders with a mocking laugh and taunting gaze? Had she gone too far with her boldness, her audacity, her "charm"? Was that the true reason why he threw a storm at her?

No, for this storm filled her wings with joy and euphoria, surely something so wonderful (albeit powerful) could not mean something so horrible as rejection.

Cirrus felt her own magic react, the excitement rising first within her, then without. It spiralled out of her, the wind first, then above them, the clouds rolled and roiled further, thickening. Fat droplets fell from the sky, but they were few and far between - this was mostly a dry storm, an electrical one that ran on currents of emotions too quick and fleeting, like lightning, to define. Across her hide the cloud did glow and shimmer, as Kaj summoned his sparks and lightning, she felt them rise and fall in power even as his whims brought them into existence. The girl had lost track of her whereabouts - were they somewhere over the Falls now? Was that rushing water below her, or somewhere in the clouds above her? It matter little, for all that mattered now was the chase, this chase that she had wanted from the start. Her heart leapt within her chest, and for once it leapt with a joyful excitement that was not tarnished by a guilt that would normally follow - Cirrus had ever lived in the moment, and the great abyss she carried with her since Sitka's departure was in every one of those moments, but only recently had she learned to accept that it was the case. He, this gilded, caramel beast of storm-rider, had helped her, however little or much, live in the moment.

And at this moment, she was being bitten.

By lightning.

A squeal, sharp and clearly offended, took over the laughter that had otherwise been streaming from her maw. Ears plummeted into the dark depths of her tangled mane, as eyes flashed, rimmed with ivory, rolled about her skull. The mare twisted, tucking her wings in close and rolling sharply to her right, kicking out with her hind hooves as she did so. She wasn't trying to kick him, didn’t even aim at him, but rather was trying to disperse the static zap that had taken hold of her rump by his touch. He is the lightning-bringer, she thought as she rolled through her motions with all the expertise of an athlete and warrior, righting herself easily as she opened her wings and let the wind fill them once more. He is the lightning to my storm, she thought with an almost manic grin curling her lips, the joy possibly easily mistaken for rage (as her ears were still plastered to her head), as she twisted in the air to spy his retreating form.

That he might be having second thoughts about this game did not even cross her mind, Cirrus was wholly committed to giving chase now. From the depths of her feathers she pulled the all-too familiar spear, though she had no intention of using the end that held the hardened silver point - it was a handy whacking stick as well as a sharp weapon, depending on how one chose to wield it. The wild child encouraged the wind to fill her feathery appendages, to propel her forth and into the stallion - in this arena, they were far more evenly matched, for his height meant little when she could fly higher and faster, or smack him on the nose with the wooden end of her spear - which is exactly what she tried to do, before wheeling around and up, up into the clouds above.

"C'mon!" she called around her spear, which she hastily shoved back into the folds of feathers where it hid, safely, as she climbed and climbed in altitude (and attitude), revelling in the sensation of having a partner to ride this perfect storm with her.