wrapped in shrouds of muscles
—
They both look a little like they’re in a trance as the light from the single torch flickers over the cavern. Their shadows dance wildly, clinging to their feet, but the unicorn is slowly tracing and unmaking the painted figures and Aster is watching her as keenly as an owl. Here, unlike most other places, she doesn’t think about using her magic; everything already feels slow, slow, slow and strange. Like they are two ancient things caught in amber, another story on a wall somewhere.
Only when the strange girl speaks does the white mare twist an ear back, and tip her head to the side.
“That’s an old story,” Aster says, with a little shiver of a shrug that is almost dismissive.
Death, she thinks, is the oldest story there is - except for birth. Her father had known that cycle, back when he was a god (she wonders if he is a god again, in whatever world they have gone to), and had told it to her when her legs were long and thin and her wings were only a fledgling’s. Back before she was alone.
And it is not a story that frightens her. This girl does not frighten her either, and the way Aster’s golden eyes watch the arc of her tail-blade is more like a cat watching a cat than a bird watching a snake. The antlered girl doesn’t take a step, but she rocks back on her golden hooves with a little smile on her face.
When she reaches out with her magic to the torch, it slows so much that the light is almost steady, and even their shadows stop dancing and fall still at their sides. Now the only sound is the scrape of the other girl's tail on the floor of the cave.
“But you can tell it to me,” she says to the unicorn.
@Isolt
Only when the strange girl speaks does the white mare twist an ear back, and tip her head to the side.
“That’s an old story,” Aster says, with a little shiver of a shrug that is almost dismissive.
Death, she thinks, is the oldest story there is - except for birth. Her father had known that cycle, back when he was a god (she wonders if he is a god again, in whatever world they have gone to), and had told it to her when her legs were long and thin and her wings were only a fledgling’s. Back before she was alone.
And it is not a story that frightens her. This girl does not frighten her either, and the way Aster’s golden eyes watch the arc of her tail-blade is more like a cat watching a cat than a bird watching a snake. The antlered girl doesn’t take a step, but she rocks back on her golden hooves with a little smile on her face.
When she reaches out with her magic to the torch, it slows so much that the light is almost steady, and even their shadows stop dancing and fall still at their sides. Now the only sound is the scrape of the other girl's tail on the floor of the cave.
“But you can tell it to me,” she says to the unicorn.
@Isolt
