AS TWO CUTS LIE
PARALLEL IN THE SAME FLESH
The sound of the stranger’s voice is oddly comforting, soft and easy as the sound of the waves washing up against the bright sand. O’s natural inclination is to be wary of strangers; maybe it’s her young age, the way she was raised, the sound of her father’s voice in the back of her head saying be careful. But the fear isn’t within her now. No, the face that looks back at her — strange and foreign though it is — is perfectly calm and unwaveringly kind, even from a cloud of cold white vapor that swirls over her skin. O watches intently as the mare dips her head toward the clear water, reverent as if in a prayer, but just like her, she doesn’t move any farther in, too cautious to chance it.
The water looks normal, if a little too clear. A few yards ahead, sprigs of brightly colored, flowering coral pour upward from the sand; schools of silvery fish go slipping by, weaving, twisting and turning in the easy ocean. The air is clean with the smell of salt and moving wind, ruffling O’s short, dark hair into a frenzy. She blinks rapidly to clear sand from her eyes and squints into the breeze, then turns her head sideways against it, facing Bel more fully. Though the island may be dangerous, it is beautiful, and this stretch of beach is far calmer than whatever waits in the dark, chittering jungle that towers behind them.
I’m from a far colder place than Novus. O starts to nod, as if it makes sense, but stops abruptly with wide eyes as she watches steam curl off the mare’s skin. O leans toward it, and the vapor that brushes her face is icy, snowy cold, though only for a brief moment before it is swallowed by the island’s humid heat and fades away. “What is that? How far?” Her tone is light and filled with wonder, a curiosity much more childlike than any other part of her. She’s seen magic, more than once — used it, too — but this is not it, or at least she doesn’t think so. No, this is something different, something she has yet to learn about. Like the rest of the island.
“Well—“ the girl starts to speak, then pauses abruptly, as if trying to search for the right reason. Her gaze turns back toward the jungle, burnt green and teeming with life. She watches crowds of people pass by the shore. Songs of cats and birds ring out over the island, and O’s ears twitch as she takes it in. “It’s peaceful,” she says finally, and looks back at Bel with a smile almost too solemn for a girl her age. “More peaceful than at home.”
If O told her more — a deeper truth, the story of why home is riotous - it probably wouldn’t be so bad. Bel is kind, as far as she can tell, and might even have some advice for her. But some part of Apolonia is still ashamed that all of the things her family has done (never even mind the things that have been done to them), and so she leaves it at that, and waits for an answer to where the mare is from.
