she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death
Wishbone has never had a little sister before. In her youth, she stirred up trouble with the likes of Wolfbane and his family, running between tropical fronds and over meandering lava streams. But there was no little sister to spring from Wound’s loins the following spring, perhaps because she had finally decided Warrick’s heart belonged to another or perhaps because other circumstances swept her autumn into winter too quickly.
Regardless, she’s grown up under the shadow of Svedka and Solace and now she is the one casting the shadow. A smile of apologies finds Wishbone’s face when her sister admits the skull already having a name, but too quickly they are moving past and she is grateful to forget disappointing Sibyl. There’s glee when the mahogany mentions swimming, at which point the filly nearly takes off toward the water before pressing a dainty kiss to the skull’s head.
Wishbone catches the name of the skeleton (which is still Benji, in her mind) in the whisper upon Sibyl’s lips. Kaiode. Perhaps she might understand the significance of such a name if she knew of Solace’s terrible history, but their feet are drifting into the brine and seafoam before Wishbone has much time to consider it. “That’s a good plan, Sib.” She’s decided on the nickname before it even slips from her mouth.
A laugh drips from her mouth then, rushing like the waves upon the granite shores back in Nerine. A memory clicks into her mind, one of humpback whales swimming out to sea and Wishbone swimming with them before nearly drowning among the depths. Wolfbane had saved her then (and at this thought, a quiet little sigh slips from her throat) in the days of their youth.
“Don’t try to chase the whales. They’ll win every time, I promise.” She’s already wading deeper, intent on going only as far as Sibyl can, and the water is deliciously warm on her legs. Wishbone dips her nose low toward the waves, puffing air out of her lungs to press bubbles into the water. She knows her sister will come closer, perhaps to see the bubbles or perhaps to merely play, and if she does, Wishbone will toss her nose in Sibyl’s direction, sending with it a small wave and a splattering of droplets. Another laugh, wild and free, careens out of her dark mouth.
wishbone
@[Sibyl]