She paces anxiously, awaiting Ampere’s arrival with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Half of her hopes the electric mare won’t hear – that her voice will not carry, her scent will be dulled by the wind on the sea. The other half prays to get this over with quickly, aches for resolution, yearns to unburden herself at last. There is a bittersweet quality to standing on the sand, staring at the island where she spent so much of her youth; Fire Dancer yearns for those rolling dunes, but they are gone now, her key returned, her legs grounding her firmly on this side of the sea.

Ampere is a dark stain on the far horizon; the child feels herself drawn toward her, eagerness and anxiety fueling her tightly wound form. They meet on the seashore and for a moment she’s still, a mess of emotions rising in her chest. Familiarity, forgotten memory- the blue mare is a catalyst for the copper child; their meetings are always fraught with emotion, and the Fire Dancer relishes this moment of calm before the storm. “No,” she answers, deep voice shaking with things unsaid. The girl shakes her head, searching for words, inevitably falling short. “No.”

She notices the green bird, and despite the trail of magic between them the significance does not register to the girl – the idea of Ampere with a companion is utterly unfathomable, and Tandavi is too wrapped up in her present predicament to notice this significant change in the mare. Copper child is struggling, trying to balance her heightened emotion with tact, trying to find the right way to confess, to tell Ampere all she has to say. Natraj would know; Natraj would tell her. But Natraj isn’t here.

“Ampere,” the girl repeats, solemn, severe- and then, tongue tied, stops. A million times she thought this through, planning the words, preparing her statement- but now that she stands before the mare she is mute, unable to thrust this information upon her friend/herdmate/partner in dramatic events. Does Ampere deserve to know this? Is she strong enough? Is Tandavi strong enough to bear the potential weight of her wrath?

In the end, she goes with blunt. Dark eyes focus on the windblown Pegasus, and the girl’s voice is flat and still. “I think Aithniel is your daughter. I was there when she hatched, abandoned in the desert. I was too young to take care of her.” She doesn’t get into Hertz- not yet. She waits for the inevitability of Ampere’s response, anticipating anger from the volatile mare; but as she waits she breathes easier, a little of the weight off her overburdened chest.

- Tandavi -

I'll light a fire in your new shoes - look out that your soles don't burn to the floor