The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
—
Her heart is beating fast as hummingbird wings and there is a faint coppery taste in her mouth. It is the first time Aster has experienced fear.
Her world - so peaceful, up until this point, the hush of her mother’s belly and the warm eye of the sun staring down at a silent island - is nothing but chaos. Somewhere in the corner of her vision is a bear with butterflies spreading wet wings where his eyes should go, somewhere there is a mirror version of herself and her twin, glimpsed as quickly and brokenly as though they are running through a thick black forest. And everywhere there are other horses, and all the noise that comes with them, and more and more of that tang of fear.
Aster knows nothing of death (and what should the child of an immortal god know?). She knows nothing of magic except that it is power. The filly knows nothing at all except that there is something at the end of all this, something as molten-gold as her own eyes, something she needs as much as she needs her brother’s heart, but can’t say why.
So she runs, down and down a black and gleaming path, too dark for her shadow to follow. She stays close to her brother and wonders about the way her muscles burn with strain and her heart beats like a mallet of bone against a deerskin drum. Do not burst, she thinks wildly, and it does not. (Maybe that is what she’ll remember, at the end of this: how the whole world was mad and her body sang a thousand warnings and she did not die.)
Leonidas slides to a stop. Instinctively Aster follows suit, wild-eyed, pressing her shoulder roughly into his ribs. She doesn’t look at him; her eyes are hungry, devouring the relic and the scarlet petals that fall from its rim. She’s never seen colors so vivid they hurt. She wonders if the whole world is like this.
But when her twin says run she doesn’t obey.
Aster waits.
Aster chooses Option 2
Her world - so peaceful, up until this point, the hush of her mother’s belly and the warm eye of the sun staring down at a silent island - is nothing but chaos. Somewhere in the corner of her vision is a bear with butterflies spreading wet wings where his eyes should go, somewhere there is a mirror version of herself and her twin, glimpsed as quickly and brokenly as though they are running through a thick black forest. And everywhere there are other horses, and all the noise that comes with them, and more and more of that tang of fear.
Aster knows nothing of death (and what should the child of an immortal god know?). She knows nothing of magic except that it is power. The filly knows nothing at all except that there is something at the end of all this, something as molten-gold as her own eyes, something she needs as much as she needs her brother’s heart, but can’t say why.
So she runs, down and down a black and gleaming path, too dark for her shadow to follow. She stays close to her brother and wonders about the way her muscles burn with strain and her heart beats like a mallet of bone against a deerskin drum. Do not burst, she thinks wildly, and it does not. (Maybe that is what she’ll remember, at the end of this: how the whole world was mad and her body sang a thousand warnings and she did not die.)
Leonidas slides to a stop. Instinctively Aster follows suit, wild-eyed, pressing her shoulder roughly into his ribs. She doesn’t look at him; her eyes are hungry, devouring the relic and the scarlet petals that fall from its rim. She’s never seen colors so vivid they hurt. She wonders if the whole world is like this.
But when her twin says run she doesn’t obey.
Aster waits.
Aster chooses Option 2
