Rivane's people may once have been gods, and they may have walked among the nobility, but she is a creature of trade and she follows the ringing call of gold coins. It is how she finds herself at the Night Market just in time for a festival, like a bird finding its way across an ocean it has never seen to reach winter nesting grounds. Business is reasonable, and she knows how to be convincing, but as evening drifts softly down upon them, she finds herself becoming distracted. Scarlet eyes skim the road away from the beach where the cobbled road is still thick with bodies, but she is only interested in one of them, a small one, scuttling between the hooves of shopper and merchant alike. Beech is on the prowl for bread and baubles.
he's going to get himself crushed.
She nods quietly, but there has never been any stopping Beech. A rush of victory courses through her veins, and she grins, wide and bright, a crescent moon that cuts through the shadows of her face. It's the wrong sort of smile, though: the red-winged mare who has been perusing her table (and, frankly, taking entirely too long deciding on whether or not she wants to purchase the little mirror,) looks up at her suspiciously. The tabby cat that has made a nest in the hollow of the mare's back hisses its Lady's displeasure through bristling whiskers and in reply, the leather bag at Rivane's hip begins to shudder, the unlatched brass lock vibrating against itself, tik-a-tik-a-tik-a. A brown nose peeks out from underneath, twitching, tasting the air.
rivane. Barley's voice noses into her mind like an insistent child. rivane i don't think breadnut likes the cat. its probably a perfectly nice cat so im sure he's being unfair, but maybe you could make it go away?
"Lovely evening, Ma'am."
Her grin softens, voice all charm and innocence. The stranger's crimson wings ruffle softly, unconvinced, but at last she hmphs and moves on, and just in time: Beech is running back, triumphant. Something gleams like sunlight in his mouth and Rivane casts a wary eye back to the retreating form of the pegasus to be sure she has gone
i found treasure. Beech's nimble hands are stuffing the gold ring into her pack. Someone is sure to be missing it, the violet mare thinks, definitely time to go, then. His spoils safely tucked away, the blue-masked pirate climbs up her neck to sit in the crow's nest of her ears while Rivane packs up what remains of her trinkets for sale and heads for the drifting scent of bonfires.
i wish i was taller
"You would be a worse thief for it, Beech."
no. better. i could carry bigger things.
"You would look ridiculous, like a cat that swallowed an alligator"
The bag at her hip shudders again, but Beech laughs, delighted with the image. Ahead, faces in the firelight remind her of her caravan, of nights spent around the flickering flames, but this is not her family, and when she is not selling her odds and ends in the Market's, her charm falls away, her easy smile falls away, and she is as obscure as their beloved Night. Beech's anticipation of the fire-lit party and the things they might discover there pours out from each of his seventy whiskers and she can feel his eagerness sing to her blood, to the memories of her childhood, and the smell of roasted marshmallows pulls Barley out of the satchel, the sound of his sniffing almost as loud as the revelry below them, but she feels Breadnut's anxiety, too, and turns her head to look home again. There's comfort in solitude, in the old, familiar demons. Her breath comes in sharp, irritated exhalations and she dances like a moth, coming closer, then wheeling back again. There are strange folks here, some so odd that having four ears... Well, it probably isn't even a rarity, but the old seeds of prejudice have rooted in her heart and in her belly and at last Rivane pulls aside, her leonine tail lashing the air, testing the comforting weight of the blades concealed there.
"I'm going to need a drink."
She heads to the bar instead, and only Barley is pleased.
