Laughter cuts into their isolation, and the girl's neck swings up and back in surprise, dark eyes wide as she seeks the source of the intrusion. Anger pins her ears back; she's flustered at being caught in this vulnerable moment, her faults as a sister on proud display. She is ready to snap, bright frustration rising to her tongue in retort to this intrusion- but then it's him, and her anger dies as quickly as it rose, her face contorting from aggravation to surprise in the span of a silent second. "Sacre," the Firedancer breathes into the swirling mist, the beginning of something warm creeping into her gold-slashed cheeks. Her heart jumps, slightly, the silver mixture of pleasure and embarrassment that his presence never fails to bring dancing and peeking through her exhaustion, her fear.

He is preceded by a familiar pair of foxes, and both Firedancer and her brother feel their tension soften in the presence of the jovial trio they hold so dear. Natraj, never one to misplace his frustrations, is quick to respond to his friend's advances, his small body leaping into reciprocal action. Through yips and yowls he communicates in the strange secret language of foxes how much he's missed them, how much horses can be a pain in the ass. His sister picks up the gist of this bemoaning, and the rueful echo of what might be a smile slips across her lips, relief at his happiness shadowed slightly by pain that it couldn't be she who brought it back. This is what he'd wanted, after all: to be with friends, with comrades. To build a world outside each other, a stable, consistent world- to have a home.

Her onyx gaze flicks to Sacre, to the soft lines of happiness on his face, the familiarity of red and black that plays across his hide. "I made him leave this," she confesses, a gesture of her head indicating the reunited gaggle of foxes. "And he missed it."

She hesitates, then, a wraith wrapped in twinkling embers, apprehension suddenly gripping at her throat. In days gone by she would leave it at this, conclude with few things said and a million things felt. She would leave the rest of her thoughts to stew behind her eyes, praying for the world to read them and taking it as rejection when it, reasonably, could not. For all of her passion the girl is reserved, a slow-burning ember where flames used to fly, doused again and again by darkness and doubt until it is all she can do to maintain her faint glow. And where has it led her? Here, to this point, her defenses built so high that even her bonded is tired of trying to tear them down.

And Sacre? Sacre is happiness, consistency, familiarity, hope. He is the warmth she yearns for, yet even from him she quells and hides. Why? She's blamed the world for her isolation for so long, but maybe it is she who has to come out, not he who has to fight his way in.

"We missed you- I missed you, Sacre," she whispers, her voice faltering but ardent, her body moving hesitantly as she takes a step toward him. She is barely able to hear herself over the flutter of her heart, the raging doubt that warns her to stop now, that he doesn't want to hear it, that he doesn't care. His magic fills her, familiar musk and purple filling her nostrils, the comforting taste of it lending boldness to her hesitant tongue. "I'm sorry I keep leaving-" and she tries to meet his gaze, black eyes searching for blue ones, for some sign that this means something to him, that she means something to him, the way he means so much to her.

Means what? comes the ill-timed voice of Natraj; he has chosen now, of all times, to reassert his presence in their bond, and with it comes a jarring return to reality for the girl. She blinks, her eyes leaving Sacre in pursuit of the fox, her ears falling back in embarrassed uncertainty as she all but physically steps away, retreating toward the safety of her well-built defenses. But a crack remains open, a gaping invitation, and where she was minutes ago little but a smoldering ember there is a spark, a potential for something brighter, if only she can be brave enough to breathe light into the fire of her soul.

For now, she is eager to turn attention away from herself, to know more about him. "What have you done, since we saw you last?" she questions, her gaze turning back to land on his, her alto voice earnest and honest and inviting- she wants to know, to hear his stories; to be part of them, even, someday.

Your faith has you immured
So don't try and tell me that you still believe
No don't preach to me