[open] When it all goes up in smoke; any

[Cleo]

To many, Spring is the epitome of new. New life, new growth; pink and white and sunshine yellow flowers prodding through the winter's old decay and the cry of new babies as they search for their dam's teat. To many, this time was meant for celebration. However, to the girlchild picking her way through the grass, Spring simply felt hot. How could anyone possibly think about flowers and babies and lovers' lanes when the earth felt like it was going to burst into flames? Not that anyone would think those things about her, of course. At least, no one ever had.

She moved sluggishly, eyes downcast against the heat of the sun. Annoyance colored every line of her red-dark body. Flames – live, rippling - sprouted along her neck, as well as flashed against her rump. Where her flamed-tail touched, the grass darkened and dried; however, the flames that licked her skin left no mark behind (a small mercy, as her dam used to say). The little mare heaves a not-so-little sigh as, overly warm beneath the Spring sun, she stops at a small pond. The pond is tucked in a curve of land. Reeds grow wildly at its far edge and a pair of ducks drift lazily through the center. Though the water tastes of algae, she drinks her fill, dark eyes closed in satisfaction. Bits of fiery forelock dip into the water's surface and begin to smoke, though she doesn't notice. 

After several moments, she lifts her head and with a sudden smile on her flame-shadowed face, she leaps forward, splashing into the pond's lukewarm water with a childish laugh. The water sizzles around her, smoking, as the flames dance merrily against her brow and hips.

Cleo

when it all goes up in smoke

[Longclaw]

Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.

He watches her. How could you not? Every step she takes into the Field draws eyes while simultaneously pushing bodies away. She’s fire and blood, cloaked by a crimson god that seemed to have a penchant for beauty and gifted with an element that turns such a beauty into a deadly beast. Longclaw can’t tear his green eyes away from those tongues of flame as they lick her flesh and leave no trail behind but for the scorched earth at her heels. He’s … got a thing for fire.

So it comes as no surprise when he finds that his legs are suddenly rolling easily beneath him, sending him languidly in her direction as she dips around a corner and all but disappears from sight. He weaves easily enough among the grouped throng, never deterred by outside interference, only glancing down every now and then to catch sight of the charred grass that will lead him to his quarry. Tracking her is not so difficult.

Approaching her, however, may be. She’s immersed herself by the time he stops near the lip of the pond, her copper frame accentuated by the soft halo of midday sunlight. That telltale trim of hers is sizzling beneath the water, undeterred by its elemental enemy so much so that her hind is surrounded with rising bubbles of heat. Any longer in there and Longclaw speculates she might boil herself a fish dinner. “And I thought that I was stifling in this heat.” He says at last, when his presence has been too long in hers for silence to remain appropriate.

A smile rouses lazily over his blue lips, touching the corners of his eyes with mirth as he waits for her to turn about. When she does, it’ll be to gaze at an equally interesting creature. As red as she is, Longclaw is blue - it cloaks him nose to tail and flashes first to gold and then, quickly, to green with every shift of his youthful body. At two, he’s still young; there’s potential though, an irritating attractiveness to every line and curve of his shape. If you dissected him there would be faults, and plenty, but together as a whole they somehow seem to make him impossible to fault.

And he knows this. “Would you mind some company? Or, if not that, would you mind if I knew your name?”

Longclaw

[Ledger]

Bound for trouble from the start
I've been walking through this old world in the dark

He needs an escape. His heart writhes and beats against his chest for her and yet he stays away. She had a family, she had a son. She had Dahmer. There is no anger towards her, he refuses to acknowledge just how deep he has fallen. That first love, it always sweeps you away, spirals out of control. You have no control, it’s a love that slowly kills you.

Distractions are most welcome and he seeks them in trying to provide for the kingdom. Clinging to any task, any purpose to keep thoughts of her at bay. Escaping the humid coast of Tephra, he returns to the usually haunts of the Meadow before stopping by the open expanse of grassland.  A soft breeze tickles loose strands of forelock against the black stretched skin of his hollowed socket, the good eye trailing over the signs of spring before him.

One catches his eye (ha ha get it?), it’s the flames of course. The weird obsession with fire ever since the ice had pierced his heart was still confusing to him. His gaunt frame moves in her direction as she sizzles and smokes in the small pond. Pushing his skeletal reddish chest through the reeds, he watches her pleasure and slightly smiles in response. ”Hello.”

He doesn’t see the swirling blues of Longclaw at first, having missed the way he had slipped in before him. Yet the familiar scent of salt, sweat, and ash reaches his nostrils. His skull dips slightly, tilting to catch him in the range of his good eye and gives a slight nod of his muzzle once he does. Although the other had beaten him here, he figures he might as well stay. Keep the demons at bay. ”I’m Ledger, do you mind me joining you?”

Ledger