[AW] kindling in my soul;

[Acton]

Acton these violent delights have violent ends He grinned and ducked his head at Mila’s response, amber eyes flashing at the look in her jeweled green. “Good. Shattering hearts as well, I’ve no doubt.” Indeed, the girl’s eventual disdain for her admirers was well-known in Denocte (and unheeded, most of the time), perhaps second only to that of her twin. As if the thought had conjured her, Lavinia’s voice rang out over the stone, and Acton turned toward the red girl, giving a nod and grin in welcome. He had often wondered what it might be like to have a twin, a bond like the one between the two flame-touched girls before him. Acton always decided that he wouldn’t want someone to know his deepest secrets. To be fully understood – what a wonderful, terrible, strange thing that would be. He hardly understood himself, some days. The stallion kept an ear on them both, but couldn’t help his attention slipping back to the skies. The storm had drawn closer, now; the sharp-chemical smell of ozone was thick, even all the way up on the parapet walk. Soon they would be able to see the rain, the thick sweep of it from far across the valley. Acton never tired of watching that curtain of silver sweep in. All the better that this time, something else swept in with it. At first he thought it must be some sort of eagle or crane, something huge and tempest-tossed that fought with the tumultuous wind. But as it dove nearer it resolved very clearly into Raglan, and Acton laughed even as he backed away to give the Silvertongue space to land. “I’ve heard of storms heralding strange things, but nothing quite so strange as you,” he said with a grin, admiring the sight of the wind-tossed Crow. The buckskin, half distracted from the storm itself, now, leaned companionably against Mila and shook his head at the wild-haired boy. “I thought it was the hens that did all the work.” Whatever he was up to, it was for the best that Raglan had a job – idle hooves were the devil's playground, and all that. What a strange and complimentary gathering they were – Reichenbach’s flames, all orange and red and burnished and wild. Gods help anyone who got in their way. Another groan of thunder, and there it was – the rain was coming in. @Lavinia @Mila @Raglan <33333