They’re together when he comes home, tangled in a heap of limbs and color. They’re usually together, of course, but since the filly was torn from her twin and sent on a strange, somewhat hell-like adventure, they have been especially close. Olivier had been terrified by her sudden disappearance, and she by her adventure – but in the irrepressible way of children, they recovered. And since they were pretty much inseparable before, their increased closeness is not even very noticeable. She chatters her way across the distance, both of them trailing behind Brennen as he strides to the meeting.
“…and anyway, it’s not like we’re going to get lost. I don’t understand why you think it’s such a bad idea-” The gold boy turns to his sister with a small sound, something between annoyance and fondness. “Dagny, shh. They’re starting.” She glances at the assembled men and decides he’s right, at least this once, and quiets. They step up beside Brennen, the oddly bright girl (though the color has begun to fade, the mark of her time with the fae is still bold on her coat) tucked neatly into the space between her father and her slightly-taller twin, half-hidden beneath the shelter of one of his massive wings. She’s still young enough to find comfort in edging herself underneath that wing, feathers trailing down her far side.
They are, amazingly for them, mostly quiet. Only a few times does she murmur something into her twin’s ears, quiet enough to not disturb the group, and he responds in kind. But he is the first to address the group – because Errant had said that some of them would earn wings. And the twins have spent many hours as high on the cliffs as they can climb, staring down at the Tundra, wondering how their father saw the world. She was vocal and dreamy with it – a phase, an adventure to be conquered, the dreaming enough in itself. He had internalized it, this desire to be like his sire, and it burned there within like the first ember of a wildfire. “I’d like to be in the airforce,” he pipes up, apparently unaware of the fact that he’s barely a year old, still half legs and an air of freshness that can’t be had by anyone truly grown. “I mean…if there’s room.” He adds when Dagny turns to stare at him, clearly not as unaware of their age.
Or, coincidentally, of her gender. When her father talks of the Falls, of sending children or girls, Dagny knows that she would be first on the list. A part of her leaps at the opportunity, the adventure, but a sudden part is fearful of being separated from Olivier. They don’t do separate well, as proven by her recent adventure.