Their world had changed, when Cy brought them here.
Not in the imploding, impossible sense that accompanies some tragedies – but not in the natural, slow, quiet way of a normal life either. More like the snap of a twig when you step on it – or the snap of bone breaking, if you stand to be a little more morbid. A sudden, sharp break – they’d had their mother, and then they were here with their father instead.
But even in the face of change, they have one thing they have always had – each other.
“Come on, Ollie!” the girl scrambles up another sharp incline, over another haphazard jumble of rocks, green eyes fixed with determination on the summit. The colt looks up at her, his red sister bright against the rocks, and bites back a sigh. It’s a long way to the top, still, but his twin is determined and so here they are. “I don’t think this is what dad meant by, ‘do a little exploring’,” the colt offers, moving up in her wake. “I think he meant closer to the ground.”
The girl turns a frown on him, a scowl really, that turns just as quickly to a quicksilver laugh. “Can’t you feel it?” her eyes glow with the adventure, with the excitement. “We’re so close.” She takes another leap, scrambling for a moment to find purchase but unphased by the slippage (she doesn’t quite understand danger, that childlike oblivion to death). “It’s not that close,” he retorts, using his horn to clear a few mid-size rocks from his intended path. “What do you even expect to find up here?”
Not coming was never an option. Letting her out of his sight hasn’t been an option – not since they were born. She is his everything. “We’re going to be able to see everything, Ollie, I’m sure of it.” And she wants to see everything – like papa can, from the sky, but she was not blessed with feathery wings to lift her on the thermals. Still – mountain cliffs will have to do the job.