Shipka
She holds her breath for what feels like an eternity. It is, in reality, barely more than a few seconds, but in slow motion she sees the other girl freeze, then draw closer to the security of her brother. She sees him look at her and approach her, smiling. He is bold, and she is glad she is standing up on the rocks looking down because the boy comes straight for her with his reluctant sister in tow. He glows, like Islas, but it's different, somehow, not that pulsating glow, but something gentler. He glows but he calls her a star, and the girl scoffs, her small ears angling back.
"Don't be silly!" She is not any of the things he says, of course, her color is perfectly natural - never mind she is actually blue, it's dark enough to pass for black, most days - but she half jumps, half stumbles down to their level, eyes searching the pair eagerly. She never met anyone her age before.
"I met a real star and she was beautiful." Her small head lifts high, as if having met a star somehow transfers that magnificence onto her, "I don't look anything like her."
But she is like the sky at night, when no clouds drift across it, and she is like the night, too, when the stars are hidden away and the snow falls in flurries, dusting the world with wonder.
"Crius, Rhaenyss," Islas. "I'm Shipka." She commits names to memory, repeating them softly, finding a pattern to their sound that her own name fails to fit and wonders what that might mean. There is a feeling of otherness that brushes lightly against her heart, but the filly lets it drop nearly as soon as she picks it up, forgetting it in a new discovery. The dove-grey girl has scales and they grab her interest, pulling her attention away from Crius. "Rhaenyss?" Her voice drops back to that shy whisper, "Can I touch your scales?"
"Don't be silly!" She is not any of the things he says, of course, her color is perfectly natural - never mind she is actually blue, it's dark enough to pass for black, most days - but she half jumps, half stumbles down to their level, eyes searching the pair eagerly. She never met anyone her age before.
"I met a real star and she was beautiful." Her small head lifts high, as if having met a star somehow transfers that magnificence onto her, "I don't look anything like her."
But she is like the sky at night, when no clouds drift across it, and she is like the night, too, when the stars are hidden away and the snow falls in flurries, dusting the world with wonder.
"Crius, Rhaenyss," Islas. "I'm Shipka." She commits names to memory, repeating them softly, finding a pattern to their sound that her own name fails to fit and wonders what that might mean. There is a feeling of otherness that brushes lightly against her heart, but the filly lets it drop nearly as soon as she picks it up, forgetting it in a new discovery. The dove-grey girl has scales and they grab her interest, pulling her attention away from Crius. "Rhaenyss?" Her voice drops back to that shy whisper, "Can I touch your scales?"
@[Crius]