"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Isilya’s smile brightens, if it’s even possible, when Brinly repeats her name. She doesn’t think that her name sounds rough or harsh on the tongue of the other mare, if anything it sounds a little more exciting. This shimmering girl wishes she had known how wonderful it felt to hear someone else speak her name, the soft thrill and delight of being known by someone. She might not have spent so much time losing herself to trees and flowers.
What comes next, the gasp that tears out of Brinly, is so sharply in contrast with the wonderful little moment Isilya thought that they were having – it feels as though someone has kicked her in the chest. Her gold-and-green eyes widen in concern and fear – not for herself, of course. Though there’s a brief flash of heartbreak that cracks like lightning through Isilya when the Brinly scrambles away from her – fearful that she had somehow caused offense or pain. Never before had someone scrambled away from Isilya’s touch with quite so much ferocity and it is not a feeling she enjoys.
But all thoughts of her own minor hurt are whisked away in an instant when Brinly apologizes even as her eyes are burning.
Confusion clouds the flower-adorned mare for a moment but she thinks she understands and her expression softens. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have tried to…” Her apologies fumble out of her awkwardly so she takes a deep breath and smiles encouragingly instead. “You can’t burn me, Brinly.”
Is it truly possible that someone could cause burns just by a touch? Isilya’s only been back in the world for a few years but hugs are common for her already and she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to fear someone touching you, to fear what you would do to them.
She stays where she is, not wanting to cause further upset, and instead lets her calm voice cross the gap between them. All she wants to do is wrap her neck around that of this beautiful, burning mare and give her the mother of all hugs. She thinks, however, that just chasing Brinly around and attempting to hug her might not be the best way to make a friend here.
“Well, not now that I know you could have. Remember that spark of magic I mentioned? It’s good for more than just making pretty birds out of flowers.” Isilya watches for understanding, wondering how she could explain the near limitless possibilities of the magic that is hosted inside of this ivory and gold package. So, although she doesn’t actually need the external show of it she thinks it might help and with a wink, a wave of shimmering, iridescent ivory scales covers her entire body.
Isilya takes a single, small step forward. Her gentle gaze doesn’t shift from Brinly and she does her best to make the other mare understand the truth between the four words that she speaks next: “You can’t hurt me.”
