jamie
from the destruction, out of the flame
He doesn’t understand.
Even with the clear memory of the afternoon he’d found her with Beyza and the rabbit. The afternoon when she had beamed at him, delighted by the teeth that Beyza had given her. How she’d said, ‘look, I’m just like you!’.
He doesn’t understand why she would have gone to the mountain when there had been a magician in Pangea willing to help her.
And, oh, he would tear the teeth out of his mouth and give them to her, too.
He studies the lion’s body. The smooth hide, the teeth, how all of these things so seamlessly belong to her. He draws his bright yellow eyes back to her red ones.
He knows nothing of the mountain or the things it costs those who seek help from it. He does not understand the dark forces or how keen the faeries are to take rather than give. He drags in a rattling breath and edges closer, reaches for her. Touches the soft edges of his nose against her shoulder. Still, he feels nothing.
“What will it take to get you back?” he asks, wheezes, pants.
He doesn’t understand how intoxicating the pull of blood. Not yet. But he won’t leave her like this. He takes a pair of small steps backward to meet her eye again, peculiar head tilted.
“Do we need to find mother?” Surely the shadow magician can help.
you need a villain, give me a name
