[private] she keeps me alive; Ciri

[Leokadia]

Leokadia is keenly aware of every sound within the cave, Ciri’s breathing, the scrape of her hooves as she backs away. When she does, Leokadia’s eyes flick quickly away from her and she turns her face to train her gaze on a benign crack in the cave wall, attention rolling up to the ceiling. Hopefully concealing the confused expression that had tried to bully its way onto her usually unaffected features. The little cremello is certain she invented some feeling just now and is glad she has said nothing else beyond her lovely friend’s name. The wind is picking up, clawing around the mouth of the cave. Ravenous chill bites at Lo’s sleek skin and her wings shift to fend it off.

Ciri has curled up on the cave floor and when Leokadia looks her way once more she finds that the black mare is watching her. The way Ciri’s dark mane lies against her neck and around her face softens her features into something even more beautiful. Lo has never missed her mane, does not know that without it there is a sharpness to her appearance, offset perfectly by the soft femininity of her feathered wings. Does Ciri think her odd without it?

It stops mattering a second later. They don’t need to speak loudly, their voices bouncing back from the cave walls. I’m glad you’re here. “So am I. Leokadia says immediately, softly. Her heart runs away in her chest when she moves away from the cold and turns around to lie down beside Ciri, so that they are shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the cave. “We should bring some dry grass or leaves in here, so we can be warmer and more comfortable.” Says the smaller mare matter-of-factly. It takes her a moment to realize that she has implied that she will sleep here again. Inviting herself once more. Except she doesn’t worry about it, doesn’t wait for Ciri to scoff. Leokadia wriggles a bit, makes an annoyed noise as she untucks her awkwardly folded wing, and then spreads the other over herself. The liberated pinion flutters, and then relaxes over Ciri’s back, long white feathers whispering over her own starry wings and ebony skin. Tucking her chin and eyeing the other woman, Leokadia touches her own pale muzzle to Ciri’s dark one. “Still glad?” The words have a teasing quality, though her voice does not lilt or play like another’s would. Lo has always been so small and yet taken up so much space.

Leokadia