walking in circles seems to have meaning somehow; shahrizai

[Carinae]

astra inclinant, non necessitant ------ (the stars incline; they do not compel) How can you be from the stars? he asks. “I don’t know,” she responds, quite honestly. She doesn’t know why she was borne in the galaxies rather than in a quiet meadow, she doesn’t know why she spent her childhood in a queer void she aches for and fears. They are simply facts – she was born of the stars, she is the color of the skies, the grass is green. It is her reality, this strangeness in which she was begotten, and she forgets that it is not everyone’s reality. To them, she is a mystery. Or simply a liar. (She has not met that type yet, luckily Beqanna is wrought with magicians and mythos, her paltry origin story matters little.) “We lived there,” she says, not quite answering, “mother and father and sister.” (She doesn’t know their names. She doesn’t know that father came here, painted like the nebula where she was born, and spawned legions of children, marked with celestial colors.) “Only I came back,” she continues, and here her voice is traced in longing. She misses sister most, the shared closeness of twins, standing there reflecting each other, their own private hall of mirrors. “I’m alone now,” and oh, it hurts to say it, even in space where she sometimes felt so small her insides hurt, she never quite felt alone. carinae

[Shahrizai]

all things are possible
even the worst of things

It is impossible to fathom for someone such as he. He has a curiosity that at times is much greater than himself. His mind soaks up knowledge like a sand dune soaks up rain. He is always hungry for more, his curiosity a driving force and an undeniable bane. And this mare, she is like a thunderstorm. More, a torrential river miring his hungry mind in mud. He has a million questions, but cannot seem to extract one from the mess.

For a moment, he again becomes lost in the beauty of her coat (the poor fellow cannot seem to help himself. His mother really should have taught him better manners).

You are beautiful.

The words slip from his mouth before he realizes what he said. Jerking himself up, he clears his throat in discomfort. If a horse could blush, his cheeks would be scalding. Clearing his throat yet again, he attempts to explain himself (badly).

I mean, um... It’s just… Your coat, it’s very pretty.

Having failed so miserably at justifying his accidental outburst, he decides his wisest course of action now would be to move on. And so he does, as well as anyone who has just made an embarrassingly awkward fool of himself can.

I’m sorry you’re alone. I’d like to be your friend. That is, uh, if you want me to.

shahrizai

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[Carinae]

astra inclinant, non necessitant ------ (the stars incline; they do not compel) He’s the first to call her beautiful. She was nothing in the stars – sister mirrored her, mother was a rich teal, father was…well, father was a hundred different things. Mostly he was a nebula, a comet streaking across their field of vision. But a paltry reflection, as she is, is so small and pointless when there is vastness engulfing you, when black holes are tearing open over your shoulders. It wasn’t until she came here that she realized her mirroring was different, if not entirely unique. There are many colors, some of them shifting, some of them static. She thinks they’re all lovely, even if so few remind her of home. “Thank you,” she says. She is as unsure how to accept a compliment as he is at how to give them. For all her experiences, her social interactions have been few and far between. “I’d like that,” she says, and finds herself smiling. She’s never had friends – only her family, who are lost to the stars for now (she holds out hope they will return, or she will – that one day she will open her eyes to a world of stars and galaxies, to sister’s smile). “I don’t know how to have friends,” she confesses, suddenly seeming young, a child again, “I’ll try to be good at it.” carinae

[Shahrizai]

all things are possible
even the worst of things

The pewter colt is as ordinary as she is unique. And though she may not believe it, even in this land of one of a kind creatures, she stands out. Shahrizai’s single, slightly interesting feature is insignificant in comparison. His own mother has but a nub for tail (the least of her unique features, considering she is hairless and covered in tattoos of flame). Even seeing such difference on a daily basis since his birth, he finds her fascinating. He wonders what it would be like, out there amongst the stars. It must surely be beautiful. He has no doubt the night sky is a poor imitation of what it must be like out there in the heavens. And in his incredibly limited knowledge of that fathomless expansion he is dissatisfied. He is hungry to know to more, to know everything.

When the mare agrees to his friendship, he grins, a happy expression settling easily onto his features. He has few friends himself. And if he bungles it, that is his only excuse (well, perhaps not his only excuse, but it is the one he will use). So when she expresses her desire to be a good friend, he can only echo the sentiment.

Then we’ll learn together. And you know what? I think we’ll be awesome at it.

He offers her a slightly cocky, teasing grin, dark eyes sparkling with humor and anticipation. And because he can’t help himself, he has to ask her the question that has been haunting his thoughts since she had first spoken of it.

What’s it like living in the stars? It must be amazing.

shahrizai

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[Carinae]

astra inclinant, non necessitant ------ (the stars incline; they do not compel) “It was,” she says, voice etched with nostalgia. “I was there with my sister – she looks just like me – and mother, she was a star once, I think. Father was there and he was…a nebula, sometimes. He changed a lot. He’s the one who kept us there, I think.” Her understanding of magic is vague at best – her whole life has been magic, it’s hard to remember that she is no longer in a world of it. “I don’t know how I ended up here,” she adds, and she truly doesn’t. That time is lost to her – she was in the stars, and then she was in the woods, the earth strange beneath her feet, marching to obey the orders of a strange owl on a quest she had no stake in. (She’d learned things about herself there, that part of her wants to hurt, that she wants to survive desperately.) “How did you lose your tail?” she asks, curious. She wants to ask if it hurts, to miss part of yourself, wonders if it’s anything like her ache for the stars. They had been a part of her, she’d been made and  born and raised in and among them, and now she is exiled, meant only to look up at them. carinae

[Shahrizai]

all things are possible
even the worst of things

He can only listen with complete fascination as she describes her life amongst the heavens, of her mother the star and her father the nebula. He has little concept of what she says. To him, stars are the faint white lights that twinkle high up in the night sky. He has never seen a nebula before. Only the faint imitations that hang in the atmosphere once in a very great while. To him, everything she says sounds beautiful and fascinating. And it is all so different and foreign that he cannot help the sparks of imagination that run away with him. And though the pictures in his mind do little justice to what she is truly talking of, his imagination makes them large and fantastic in a way she had probably never dreamed. In his mind, he can see her, see himself, running amongst a field of white stars, laughing and gamboling about in delight. And though he knows his imaginings are just that, a fantasy, he cannot help the small smile that touches his dark lips.

When she states that she does not know how she ended up here, he nearly asks if it matters. But he does not. Because, to him, it would matter. His ever curious mind would want to know, would need to know. It would be like a song, with one discordant note that you can’t quite catch or fix. It would be maddening. At least to him it would be. So he does not ask.

You must miss it there.

A touch of sympathy enters his dark gaze. He knows only that if he could never see his mother or father again, he would miss them terribly. And for that his young heart goes out to her. He can only imagine what it would be like to be ripped from the only home you have ever known. And it is not a pleasant imagining.

Do you like it here at least?

When she asks about his missing tail, he flicks a brief glance at his decidedly bare behind. He has never known what it’s like to have a tail. Is it possible to miss something you have never known? It was not something he had ever really given much thought to. To him, it just is.

I was born without one.

shahrizai

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