“It is a perfect flower,” she says only, but there is a smile on her full pale lips that says a little more. “Are you sure you wish for me to have it?” She asks, before allowing her dark muzzle to press against it, as if she were more butterfly than equine. He smiles and she thinks it bold and beautiful, like comets across skies. (Has he flown in the night with them before?)
He moves.
She moves.
He tips his head upwards she follows the action, but sees her world through blue eyes (forget-me-nots) instead of gold (buttercups). She pictures the sunny skies growing stormy and how the wild boy must look when he dances inside it. “And how fine of a dance partner does the lightning make?” She asks, tipping her face down and flashing a smile that looks as wild as rain in his direction.
“It's lovely to meet you, storm dancer. I'm Elliana but please, call me Elli.” She says, an echo of her crimson godmother. In the earliest days of her youth, her name had felt like the most important word in the world. It was the only word she knew and she’d happily parroted it back at her mother, GiGi, and father. Now, now it just feels like something she consistently wants to give away, that it would be better suited on the lips of others than her own.
She steps up to his shoulder with his invitation. A nod of her head. What strange magic would they find? The storm dancer and the shadow whisperer? Surely, of all the children in Novus, they would be the ones to discover the strangest of magic it could offer. “Wait,” she says and decides, places hat flower in his hair, nestles it next to the golden, pointed ensemble he wears. “Take me,” she says then, and her smile grows upon her face as adventure sits on her tongue, and it taste not sickly sweet like strawberries, but the sweetness of the summer rain she has yet to know.
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