Tandavi

I'll light a fire in your new shoes.

She finds him.

She finds him, as she always does: standing, staring, waiting for something (for her?) while the world coils around him, his body a porcelain picture of patience as hers has never been. She finds him as birds might find each other on migration, or fish on a reef. They enter each others orbits like heavenly bodies, stars and the sun caught for a moment in a dizzying, heady whirl, almost touching, almost close, and then gone, each veering into a slightly different path, each searching for a slightly different goal. The girl looks for herself while the boy looks for... what? Even now, she does not know, though part of her wonders if their pursuits are not the same.

She finds him standing, poised, a ghost in a scene of inky reds and green. Before him the blood-colored water falls and foams, as unnatural now as it had been that first time, when the girl stood among her peers and cast light upon a dark god. She does not like this place; she finds it eerie, stifling, and from his perch upon her haunches her silent brother agrees. Still she strides on legs of gold, avoiding roots and crushing brush, determined to find something here, some part of her she left behind in this wild wood. The pieces of her are scattered like so many parts of a tarnished puzzle, and she and her brother are treasure hunters, following a trail of memories, following a hazy map and waiting for the picture to become clear.

She recognizes him at once, his figure as familiar to her as any in this land. Her black eyes fill with him, and overflow; she can feel her body tremble as she steps into his orbit, leaving the woods behind her, casting shadows with fire and stone. She is not surprised to see him, not really; and yet at the same time there is nothing she expected less. Her ears pitch toward him, and before their proximity becomes hazardous, the girl's footsteps grow still, slate toes clinging to the edge of the red pool, not daring to touch the crimson tide. Her face is turned away from him, black eyes resting on the distant falls; her voice, though, calls out to him, dark and deep against the waves.

"A god died here," she tells her friend. "He fell through a hole into this world; and the world killed him." I remember. I was there.

At last she allows herself to bend, moonstruck face led by glittering eyes, swinging toward the boy. Her brother is already facing Caneo, his hopeful expression an echo of her own. Yet where the Fire Dancer's golden features are muted, Natraj's vulpine grin burns bright. He barks a welcome to their estranged friend, and the girl's lips curl in a sable smile; she is happy now, all at once, and it is a feeling she clings to as a stubborn tree might the edge of a cliff.

"I found you," Tandavi says; and there is teasing in her voice, a threat and a promise. Just like I always do. Just like I always will.

The girl begins to laugh.

Tandavi

I'll light a fire in your new shoes.

For a moment she thinks he might soften, that he might bend, that the subtle inclination of his head may continue its honey flow down his spine - but he does not, and it does not, and the girl is struck by the lack of it honesty in his porcelain face. He reflects her like a mirror: he smiles, but it is tight and without any warmth, an afterimage of her own vibrancy. Though he has always been a paler star to her ardent sun, there is something about it which bothers her today. Laughter flutters and falls on her lips, mirth replaced by curiosity, incredulity, the tensing of muscles into a frown.

Her ears flick backwards to the fox upon her back, but he offers no insight- at least, none she is willing to hear. Selfishly, silently, she wonders why there is strain in his eyes; she is hurt by the perceived slight, subtle way he draws away simply by refusing to come near. She ignores he brother's protest, his insistence that she has done the same to him, to everyone. She sees his coldness as a rejection of her warmth; his question is an accusation, though he speaks as softly as ever, and the girl's face grows almost stormy, her voice almost dark.

"Would it be wrong if I have?" she asks him softly, the crackle of embers accenting her words. She is not angry, not quite: more prying, demanding, her voice a challenge, her expression a dare. From his place on her haunches her brother starts, surprise and recognition lighting up his eyes- for in that moment Tandavi is more her mother than she has ever been, and Natraj is afraid to tell her so. He leaps from her copper hide, whining, inching toward Caneo in an attempt to ease the tension, to bridge the invisible gap.

Somehow, they have yet to notice the snake.

But Natraj's actions strike a chord. Her heart beats faster, harder, a sudden rejection of easy melancholy rising in her breast. The girl is ardent as ever, though it is a different kind of boldness, not mirth but something less innocent, something that wants. She wants him to smile, wants him to laugh, wants him to want her - not her body, but her soul.

She wants him to dance with her, to melt like snow against her side- and to this end she gambols forward, her body a warm thing of edges and embers, her hair wild and luminous in the forest's murky dark, her endless eyes transfixed on Caneo's face. One step, and she stops, but their bodies are closer, his scent is stronger. She does not want to be let in past his defenses: she wants to shatter them, to leave them in ruins, smoldering and useless in her wake. For a moment she is a creature of fire, a thing possessed-

"I'd never run away from you, Caneo," she breathes- and behind her words is something else, a promise, a plea, a protestation of innocence, a reminder that they have done this already, that they are already close; a confession of something she cannot name.

Tandavi

I'll light a fire in your new shoes.

"You are always running away."

She jerks back, rigid, her entire body flinching with the cruel sting of his silver voice. He casts himself upon her like a shadow over the sun, storm clouds swallowing the light from the sky; and she shrinks, no longer ardent, no longer bright, her brilliance dimmed by the force of his wrath. She remembers the terror she feels in the dark (I told you, I told you, and I told no one else), the way it enveloped her, cutting out all warmth-

-and she remembers waking up from it lost and alone, without even Natraj-

-and she remembers running, fleeing when Lace needed her most (Is that why they chased me away from his grave?)-

-and she remembers running, again, when Gaucho gave her a crown she never sought to wear-

-and she remembers his words, just moments ago, because they're echoes, repetitions, the same cruel strain she repeats to herself when she can't sleep at night-

"You are always running away."

-but it's not-

"Always running away."

-but I-

"Always."

-I didn't want to-

"Running."

-You don't understand-

"Away."

-I...-

-You...-

"You ran away, first," she whispers to the boy, her voice cold fire and hot rage, her eyes burning embers, her ears flat on her skull. Fury (with whom?) shakes her to her bones, a flaring wrath overtaking her (I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry) as she stares Caneo down, refusing to step away, refusing to yield, refusing to let the loathing and despair that rises like a tidal wave of mire within her belly reach its abyssal claws around her burning heart and swallow it, snarling and smiling, into its hungry pit.

She resists the urge to snarl back.

Instead she takes another step, rigid and coiled, knowing there is danger here, knowing he could strike, and almost wishing he would. They could touch, now, if either would unwind; if softness were possible, for either wounded child. "You left. They left. Everyone left me behind." Let him hate her- at least then her fears would be confirmed. "They left me in a world of darkness - of monsters - and when it came time for me to save the last person I loved, I ran away. Like a coward." And there it is- her secret, her shame, the thing that haunts her in the night. The reason she runs- because If I failed that time, who's to say I will not fail again?

From the floor and in her mind Natraj whines, his tails flickering agitated fire, his desperate pleas falling on deaf ears.

Fire Dancer is lit in flame, embers flickering uproariously around her body; yet all she feels is cold. Anger and hurt wage war upon her moon-slashed face; she does not notice the hot tears which sit upon her cheeks, does not feel the heaving of her sides, the way her tail lashes, the twitching of her left flank as she glares upon Caneo with the force of all she is. She notices, at last, the snake which coils, infuriated, around his horn - and while normally this would cause the girl no small delight, she sees it now as another slight, a sting, a slap- Of course. He doesn't need me anymore. Again comes her brother's howled plea, urging her to calm, to reconsider- and again, it goes unheeded.

The mire monster in her belly grins. It can taste victory on its putrid tongue.

As abruptly as it rose, the girl's fury fades. What is the point? What did she expect? That he would be her hero, her stalwart stone in the storm of her soul, the one who forgave her, when she could not forgive herself? He is not alone anymore- why would he need her?

"You're right. I'm always running. But I never ran away from you," Her dark eyes are honest, tired, the flicker of a mirthless smile drawn across her narrow face. "I will, though, if you want me to." Her alto voice is settled smoke, calm black water, accusing, resigned. Hate me, it dares; Forgive me, it begs; Love me, it whispers, and knows he never will.

Tandavi

I'll light a fire in your new shoes.

Maybe you are.

She winces, pain an ugly smear on her moon-slashed face. Her heart lays between them, vulnerable and exposed- and Caneo's cloven hooves hover at its apex, a casual threat of violence quivering in his quiet voice. When did you grow so cruel? she wonders, disbelief blooming red, a twisting knife lodged in her gut. Did she do this, create a monster from a friend, run so far and so fast that he was left to wither, to shrink, to become something less than she knows him to be? Has she left another shadow, another demon in her wake? She wants to shout, to shake him, to cry; she wants to slap him for the ache in her belly; she wants to embrace him, to thaw away the collection of jagged crystals that have frozen around Caneo's core.

She stares at him, incensed and inflamed, the fire in her aching to arch out to him, to consume them both in its merciless path. She stares at him and she is staring at Lace, at Hototo, at her mother and Mirage, at everyone she has ever loved and lost. She sees them all in his distant eyes, each one a fragmented mirror of the girl's sins; is this her karma, her curse? Will Caneo, too, become nothing but a shard of glass in another disappointed gaze?

Fire Dancer's fury grows still; her flames turn to ash upon her tongue. He sees her see the snake; she knows this because he turns away as she draws back, his actions a mocking mirror of her own. It hurts, almost as much as his words- almost as much as her own cruel mind. Is this what they are destined to be: mirrors of each other, infinitely distant and infinitely sad? Travelers on their own set, planar paths, only able to intersect once before physics and fate draw them away, never again to meet? Perhaps they do not orbit, as she thought - perhaps, instead, they cannot orbit. Perhaps she is destined to be naught but a sun, surrounded by beings she can see but not touch.

Perhaps she is doomed to burn all who come too close.

He draws the snake away from her, and the girl swallows her hurt, her curiosity, but holds her mirthless smile. So this is his decision, to hide away his heart- and though she understands this, anticipated it even, that does not lessen the stabbing in her chest. The pain is sharp, like glass in her throat; she wants to accuse him of betrayal, but her tongue is lead behind inky lips. Was I nothing to you? her eyes demand, but it is a weak accusation; her gaze is directed at the ground. There is no weight behind her blame, only doubt, despair, the exhaustion of a child who has failed too many times, and no longer knows how to succeed.

She came here to find the pieces of herself, but all she has are tears.

Her body tenses, preparing to leave (though her hooves remain reluctant and her brother screams stay). Her eyes remain upon the ground, head low, searching for words she will not find; she steels herself against his inevitable dismissal, ready to be sliced again by the crystals on his lips. Her ears flick back as he speaks, reflexively, and then dart forward in abject surprise. Instead of dismissal he offers a name, and though it is little, it is enough. Copper child's heart beats again, a tentative flutter in the hollow of her chest.

"Ophiria?" the Fire Dancer repeats. A pause; a breath; an honest remark: "That's beautiful." She steals a sidelong glance at the boy, carefully shielded by the curtain of her forelock, the shade of her lashes. She is afraid to look too directly, afraid to even move, lest he prove to be nothing but a mirage, vanishing in the light.

He is not as afraid, though, and the weight of her stare bores into her, cruel and uncompromising. She inhales sharply against his words, closing her own onyx eyes. She tries to remember the way they were, the way he looked on a Frostfall night; she wishes she could turn back time, to recoil and regress back to that point and a million before it, but the dream is fruitless; she is here.

She turns herself upon him, her narrow features weary, dim in the murky light. Even now, she cannot meet his eyes; instead her gaze traces the snake, following its movements, the rigid fluidity of its form, as though she expects to decipher some secret from the pattern of its scales. "Why?" she asks him hollowly, her voice a breath between silken lips. Why do they come back, if only to tell her of her faults? Why look, if he was so determined to reject what he found? Is it only to be here, to do this, to watch what he could bring her to and bask in the power of it, the sight of her crumbling esteem, her cracking soul? To parade before her what she has created with her failure, her cowardice, her neglect? To remind her of the failings she already knows, already reflects on every day?

"I'm sorry, Caneo," she whispers to the boy, to herself, to the fox who curls at her golden hocks, wishing he could absorb and abscond with even half of her guilt.

Tandavi

I'll light a fire in your new shoes.

Warm surprise flashes across the curves and lines of her features; she remembers saying it, of course she does, but any expectation that he would recall, that he would hold on to her words with any sort of sincerity or commitment... it simply had not existed outside the beautiful bubble of that night. She looks upon the boy with confusion and wonder, momentarily distracted from her adamant desire to avoid his eyes. She imagines him looking for her, seeking her out among the desert sands, those blue eyes peering through starry skies in an attempt to capture fire. Had his thoughts followed the same path as hers- for she had never stopped looking for him, either. She looked for everyone she loved.

It's just that, over time, her looking had grown passive, cautious- copper child had given up on love looking back.

Something hot rises on her spine; it squeezes around her lungs, holding her in its vice-like grip until she exhales, "Oh."

Silence stretches between them once more, hot and unsteady, thin and fragile as crafted glass. Fire Dancer regards her friend, heart beating an unsteady melody against hollow ribs - prat-a-tat, prat-a-tat - black eyes regarding him with patient expectation, a child awaiting the newest revelation about the world. Even the kitsune is quiet, his distress quelled for the moment being, though he remains uncertain, on edge. He is deeply curious about the snake that coils around Caneo's horn- he has never met a companion who is also food; he wonders if she is afraid of them, the way she hangs back, a visual representation of the stallion's hesitancy.

The silence stretches just too long, and the girl fears it will never end- until it does, though the climax is lackluster, weary. Two-toned ears flip to catch Caneo's sigh; the girl is a statue locked in his mouth, afraid to move lest he crush her between his teeth. He frowns as he confesses, three words that make her heart skip, though there is irritation in the beat. I missed you he says, and she wants to answer why?, to demand a reason, a deeper glance into the guarded mysteries of the boy's soul. She sees a little of it, a little of him, peering out from between the frozen crystals that he has become; she yearns to reach out and tear the stone away, the weariness, the months and years- to reach within him and grab that boy who was so in love with the moon, and this time, never let him go.

Carefully, cautiously, the girl drifts forward, her narrow body that much closer to his. She could almost reach him, were she to strain and stretch; instead she lowers her neck and tilts her head, peering at the boy through hooded eyes. She is not fully convinced of his decision to stay, but she is hopeful. "I missed you, too- " and with this she does extend, taking a chance and searching with her lips for for his pale cheek, the soft curve of it, though she knows she cannot reach without his help.

"I'm glad you kept looking," the girl confesses, her voice smoke in the space between them, sincere with laughter and quiet relief. She cannot help it; she burns bright around him, a bonfire beneath his night of stars. "I didn't mean to be so hard to find."