The eggs hatch, as eggs are wont to do, and both Fire Dancer and her brother watch with interest as new bonds, like new life, are born. The magic of them is obvious, clean and crystal and melodious; the girl closes her eyes contentedly, some of the tension of these past few months finally fading away. At least they will always have each other, she thinks. At least they have their companions. Natraj voices his agreement through their bond - they had been joined since birth, after all, and in the face of an absentee mother it had kept them sane.

An absentee mother. Because with the world ending and her conflicted feelings, that is what the girl fears she will become - absentee, wayward, unable to provide emotionally for the impetuous twins who have already caused her so much strife.

Right now, though, she does not feel strife. The girl arcs her copper neck, trying to gaze over the backs of her daughters without intruding, or rising- her body is still weary from her long labor through the night. Neaera is the first to be born, the first to rise, the first to find a bond, and the Fire Dancer wonders if this will be a pattern for her children in the coming days and years. "A phoenix," she murmurs to her older girl, her chin resting gently on the child's flank. Natraj does not hesitate to get into the action, squirming his way to Neaera's side, looking on jovially at her emerging chick. He suggests a name, and the mare vocalizes- "Natraj suggests you call him Charon."

Her attention is drawn back to her youngest, who now lies upon the ground beside her once more, her own new companion seeming determined to nest on the girl's face. The little cat-owl is dreadfully familiar, and with a pang the Fire Dancer thinks of Kali, her mother's bonded, a partner on so many early adventures. "Devi," she whispers to Savera, burying her nose in the girl's mane to hide the wave of emotion that hits her like a hammer. At once she wants to cry, and laugh, to grab her children and hold them close and to run away with all of her terror and never, ever come back.

Their father stops her. She feels him approach even before she sees him, his magic a familiar push against her own. Dark eyes lift from her pink-hued child; she eyes him warily, pulling herself up into a standing position and moving so slightly to hover over her children, an instinctive protectiveness possessing her suddenly as she watches the sire of her girls. "Mesec," she breathes back a careful welcome, remembering their last encounter, their flawed history, her harsh words. From Neaera's side Natraj calls a greeting, clearly trying to ease the tension, his tails raised in friendship at the stallion and his fox. Be nice, he pleads of his sister. No more magic. Just you.

The girl clears her throat, dark eyes unyielding but deep voice gentle. "I named them," she tells him quietly, "Neaera and Savera." She gestures to each, her two-colored ears and gold-slashed face always on the stallion. She wants to say more - I carried them, I birthed them, I bonded them, I was scared, I am scared, I'm sorry - but her face says most of it, her expressive gaze softening as she watches, yearning for redemption - from him, if no-one else.

"This is your father," she tells her girls, alto tones deep in the brightening day. Because no matter what she may wish, it is him, not his brother, who sired her children - and they are theirs, not just hers or his, a pair of troublesome, joyful mistakes to be shared between them, the creatures of Fire and Night.