she's the bright hot sun in the cold night
she's the cold black darkness in the starlight
She had once heard that her mother had found all of the voices overwhelming—that she had struggled at first to navigate through the noise of it all. Lynx could comprehend why someone would feel that way, but it had never been her reality. From the first breath, the humid air rushing into her tiny nostrils, she had found it right. It had been right that she had access to everyone’s innermost thoughts; it was right that she could tap into their collective knowledge, collective emotion without so much as a flinch.
It was right that she was given all of this power and more.
She did not struggle to control it, although perhaps she should have. Perhaps she would have learned some semblance of empathy had she found it difficult. Instead, she arrogantly breezed through her first few months of life, plucking through conversations, untangling the threads of their lives with the utmost ease. But instead of imbuing her with kindness, with grace, it left her cold. She focused on the worst of them, hardened herself before she ever had a chance. All souls were darkened. All souls were blackened.
That is the first lesson she learned as a child.
She cared for her family, as well as she could, but she often kept to herself, sneaking through the land to find whatever secrets she could hoard to her breast, and then, when she was more sure of herself, leaving the land entirely—going to the mature meeting grounds of the meadow and the forest to find further adventure. That is how she ended up in the meadow of all places today, the land teeming with life.
Her attention, however, was stolen by the sight of one that was vaguely familiar, the red of his coat a sight she had seen in her Tephra roaming although she had never bothered to introduce herself to him. His thoughts were loud though, and exuberant, and it caused her pretty face to scowl a little. What business did he have being so happy about being in the meadow? Peeved, she moved out from the shadows, her dual-colored eyes peering out from beneath the ink and snow of her fluffy forelock.
“You’re not lost,” her girlish voice curt. “You’re in the meadow, Fox.”
She plucked his thoughts from the air between them and jerked her head back to the border. “If you want to go home, it’s that way.” She sighed, rolled her shoulders. “Although I imagine you’d get lost then too.”
