Moira - - i am your lion girl, i am your crying girl
I've come for you, she thinks as she kisses Florentine's cheek, sending the Dusk girl off to her home where her people can see her merry and bright once more. For who could avoid a sun when it walks among them? Who would dare turn away from the girl that would give everything for her people and has returned as a wish on the wind coming true? None. Moira knows that her new friend needs time among her people, so she watches as that golden smile slips away and with it the light of a thousand dying stars. It is okay, she reminds herself, wishing instead to be pressed against Neerja. At least with her companion she would not feel so bare, so alone. Somewhere, there is a deep rumbling of a tigress answering the call of her winged cub, a humming between them even over the many miles they are apart. It is a minor comfort as the phoenix steps once more onto the soil that seems born of his blood, that ties him to these people and these lands. Oh, she is not yet bold enough to ruin the revelry, she is not yet strong enough to step into the crowds smiling and laughing and dancing. There are memories that flash and barbaric grins and wild grins that flash when she closes her eyes. Frosting lines her lips and cheek and smile when she blinks, and for a moment Moira Tonnerre wishes she could turn back time. Back to when things were simpler. Back to when she understood so much more and so much less. But she cannot. So instead honeyed eyes travel over the horizon, over heads bobbing and weaving with a destination in sight, until they land on brown so rich it oozes with life. Brown so bright it screams for attention. Brown so warm plants could grow and grow and grow from it and never die. Moira sees the Pegasus girl and her companion and feels a twitching in her heart - the absence of her own beloved Neerja. On the sighing of the wind she hears the words, knows they must be talking to one another as only bondeds can do. Curiosity pulls the healer closer, draws the Emissary in until she is two lengths, then a single length, then nearly upon them both. "If they jumped, I think they would fly. Those of Dusk seem made of light and fantasy; something so lovely would never plummet and fall." A smile, a peace offering, a shy grin passes from one to the other. She is not ready for names and new friends. She is not ready to smash the broken glass inside of her into crystalline dust that would blow away like dandelions in a puff of air. So she does not offer it, but she offers that grin with a spark of the phoenix within bleeding bright into her skin, her smile, her eyes. |
