 Celina gives him a little time (she knows she looks pretty cool), but after a while she is glad for the end of their pause and the answer to her question. His admission that he can’t turn off the glow brings thoughtful twist to her scaled lips, but all she says is: “That’s okay. You will just have to work on it. That can be your homework for next time we meet up.”
“Yeah, different.” She tells him. “But you can use your kind of different to be a better kind of different.” The manner with which she speak is unquestionably confident, as is her nod when he asks her to confirm that doing so will make Dad happy. Of course it will, she thinks, he will be glad that she has taken in the scut work of teaching Nashua the basics. The word ‘sister’ brings a curious brightness to her eyes. Celina is accustomed to having brothers (they are all she has known), but she’s not applied the word to Nashua or Yanhua yet.
Celina knows the basics of the birds and the bees, and while she’d not put the pieces together, she does now with an easy nod. Yes, his sister, the nod says. While Celina hasn’t yet formed an opinion of Nash’s chestnut mother, it does only make sense that after her own mother had betrayed them all, he would need someone else with which to make the “very best children”. Celina is one such “very best”, and given the amount of time that Dad spends watching these two, it only makes sense that Nash and his twin are as well. Not the twin for long though, Celina thinks proudly not with Nashua under her tutelage.
Dad’s going to teach him to fly, the colt says, and Celina’s seafoam eyes narrow for a moment. Is he trying to imply Dad likes him more than he likes Celina because he’s going to teach him? Is he trying to one-up her so early? No, she reminds herself. No, Dad would have taught her if he’d been able. It doesn’t make Nash better, just different. Dad had been busy ‘shedding unnecessary burdens’ when Celina had learned to fly, which she imagines to be like the coils of a snake’s shed, if the reptiles were to shuck off a skin made of morality and other weakness. No, she reminds herself, she is older and bigger and obviously better still. Dad would probably like him less with scars across his cute face, Celina thinks, tucking the idea in the back of her mind in case she might need it later.
She doesn’t need it now though, content in her position as older sister and tutor.
“No,” she tells him. “But I can do other stuff. Cool stuff.”
Clearly about the demonstrate, the white youth shakes away the fireflies from where they’ve clustered in her dark mane. She stretches out on foreleg, and its white length glows soft yellow green. Then her teeth leave a long gash across the top of her knee, one quick bite that exposes muscle and bone. Though Celina does hiss in pain, the demonstration was remarkable both in the strength of her bite and then the way the wound heals itself over, the work of weeks compressed into the space of a few breaths.
“Are you sure you can’t do that, though?” She asks, gesturing to the healed knee that once more bears her weight. “I thought all of us can. Pteron can do it, anyway. Even Elio can do it. I could bite you, maybe, see if it works?” The potential side effects of him not being able to heal are unimportant, of course. They all must make sacrifices in their work towards making Dad proud. Nashua is still pretty small, but its not too early to learn.
celina
i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type
make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type
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@[Nashua]
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