They moved as one, side by side, flanks pressed together, blue and onyx locks interwoven. Her seclusion, her reluctancy to socialize drew them closer. Now they new naught but the company of each other. Their minds so tightly entwined, so singular, that they almost lacked individuality. Their conversations were no longer one sided, and each could contribute intellectual ideas, but their thoughts were becoming indistinguishable.

Silence proved easier for them, and felt natural, especially in the mornings. Despite their seemingly singular mind, they still learned, even in silence. They learned they enjoyed the night, the stars, and how the ones that danced across the sky matched the ones entangled in her mane. They learned they liked the sunrise, watching the soft vermillion hues spill into seas of gold and azure. They grew into a habit of staying up late, rising early, and sleeping sporadically throughout the day. They learned mornings were seldom lively, but the opposite could be said of the night.

But this morning the air had a compelling awareness to it, one so bold that it was almost palpable. Their bodies were tingling, minds racing, though neither could explain why. They assumed it was just the quality of sleep they had gotten, or the alignment of the stars simply being in their favor. They did not consider the possibility of new life being welcomed into the world as the culprit, but when Altair spotted the egg shell of his horned brethren, they knew.

He stopped before she did, causing immediate confusion and discord on her end of the bond. She felt unsettled by the sudden shift in his mind, diverted from her own in a single, sweeping gaze. She faltered, her own mind scattering to find the continuity that his usually offered, but it was not there. Instead she found curiosity, tingling and edging into her own.

For the first time since their arrival in the Basin, they were individuals.

Her beast stalked forward, ignoring the tentative, anxious calls from his bonded to reach the deer. She followed reluctantly, jaded gaze flickering with jealousy and apprehension (who are you to take him from me? he is all I have). Altair was not bothered by her trivial, fragile mind, for his own was now vivid, awakened by the prospect of belonging.

He stopped a handful of lengths from the trio, silvery blue eyes wide and round. He had never met one like him before, at least, not one bound to the life of another. He assumed he was alone, the first and last, but peering upon the brothers, he realized he was wrong. He called to them, a tentative tone, one lined with intrigue and hope.

She closed the gap between her and her companion rapidly, with lengthy strides of her ebony pillars. Distrust shone in her eyes until she saw the two deer, tangled in each other's embrace, so fragile, so delicate. She softened, watching their interactions and reminiscing on when Altair had been that small. Slowly, the idea of turning their indistinguishable mind into, say, something more distinguishable didn't sound so horrible to her.

She laced her leonine tail in between her dark pillars, instinctively leaning into the side of her roan companion as she noticed the stallion, standing, watching over the deer. "Congratulations," She murmured, jaded gaze flicking anxiously from deer to stallion. She was afraid, afraid of him, afraid of his companions, afraid of what she might be interrupting, for she found bonds sacred and intimate. She had never hid behind the planets that orbited her head before, but in that moment, she considered it.