He had needed the solitude again, and like so many others, he found it in The Forest. Levi has created a sort of den for himself here, nestled warmly in the valley of two unremarkable hills. The saplings and spring growth in his burrow have been tramped down, four days dead. Deep in the forest, submerged in the murky chambers of its heart he eats, sleeps, paces, groans and does not burn.  Four days and four nights had passed since he had last used his fire; the longest stretch of time he had ever been without her. He felt the absence in his blood, his bones and his head. Never has his skull ached so bad as it had that second day.

But the lack of fire had made isolation easy to hold. His smoke and flames seemed to draw others like an oasis in the desert. It was a little ironic of course, how they were drawn to his flame… fire didn’t have much to give, but she could take the world if you asked her.

It was unusual, to say the least. This self-denial had been its own exercise, one that was more difficult than all the artful twisting and manipulating of the flames he had attempted before. He wanted to stay a secret, but mostly he had wanted to push himself. He would never be content, he would never grow bored because there was always something more he could be learning.

But for now, his abstinence is over.

He prays to her then, a quiet pray is all she need. He is forgiven. She would never turn him away – he is the vessel more than the keeper and vessels need to be filled.

Not to say he wouldn’t have fallen prostrate on the earth, groveling if she had wished it. He isn’t above that, isn’t above much she asks for.

But kindly, she comes to his gentle call. A thin whip of flame coils and uncoils before him never holding its shape for long. The tendril stretches and weaves to form the outline of a mare’s head, refined and precise in its depiction, Arabic in its influence.  A smile, almost innocent, plays on his lips as his eyes dance in her light. She is the only one he has ever felt at ease with.

She begins to develop depth - an arching brow bone, a fullness in her cheeks.  

But another scent reaches to him now. His ears pin back, sinking into the black mass of his mane.  His nostrils flare and mismatched eyes loose the hint of softness which had clouded them. The fire is gone and his body seems to solidify as his posture stiffens. Compared to the smoke, this scent is a sweet kind of musky - animalic and woman.

Frustrated, she boils in his belly. Levi is wary of anyone who is so deep in the Forest.

Levi