It could say, yes, if she poured it all out into the snow until all she became is a storm turned to snowflakes. But she's a unicorn, and her flesh is a cage, and her blood is singing for violence while her heart is singing for love.
She does not understand what it means to learn with him. Already she understands the way the stars paint constellations on his skin, and she could follow the map of his blood in her dreams. Are those not traditions? They are hers, she knows no others, needs no others. But, oh, oh how she wants them!
So she says nothing about all the things she want's to do 'together' with him.
Thana steps closer to the fire and calls it home. Each flame feels hot against her skin and the snow at her hooves is melting. It leaves blooms of death around her. Grass turns to seed then, seed gone bad and turned to mold. The distance she puts between them yawns like a great-toothed thing walking up from hibernation. Her heart yawns with it and each bone making up the cage of her ribs feels like a tooth curling inward underneath her belly. She wonders if he can see the way she's falling apart and falling away from him.
“The ocean is dark.” Thana does not think it is so dark in his heart or his head. He is made of stars, and twilight, and mortal things that she knows how to unmake. Of course he is made of magic too, but she was made to understand the way horses are made of magic (and the way in which it makes them all monsters).
Yet when she looks at him and the firelight dances in his eyes like small suns, she's not thinking of unmaking or magic. There are still a hundred small wishes, and a hundred dead things, flourishing in all the places of her Asterion will never see. She looks to the stars briefly, and then back to the brighter ones shining in firelight across his sides.
Thana does not look away again.
“Wouldn't it be better to throw them to the moonlight?” If his eyes shine like two caught suns, her own shine like purple oceans in which the sea is all wrong, wrong, wrong.
@Asterion
