The white stallion. The black beach. The sea, hush, hush, hushing against the sand—
The gulls are silent, and his breath is silent, and the sand underfoot makes no telltale sh-shush-sh-shush beneath their hooves.
“At the dawning of the world—“ the white stallion whispers, “There were only two divinities. The Sea, and the Land.”
Tap.
Taptap.
TAP!
Aeneas jolts awake. But once conscious, it takes him a moment to orientate himself. The tapping continues, and then stops. He blinks the sleep from his eyes; there is a moment he feels fear, the uncertainty of what was that sound? but then he rises and tiptoes past his sleeping sister to glance out the window.
(He had read a story, recently, a boy who was visited by a monster each and every night. The monster was an ancient tree that transformed into a primordial creature each day when the sun set. But rather than be frightening, the monster offered sage advice and life counsel—perhaps this would be like that!)
When he sees Elliana peering up from below, he knows for a fact that whatever adventure she has planned will be even better than a monster come walking. The smile that emerges is almost too broad; but it is thoughtless, and lacking any degree of self consciousness. “Elliana,” he greets her quietly. “What are you doing here?” Before he has the opportunity to ask more questions, however, she tells him—vaguely, but she tells him nonetheless.
He cracks open the window as quietly as possible; he shares a glance over his shoulder and hesitates. Should he wake Hilde, and invite her? Aeneas knows he ought to—he knows they could all three share the adventure, and he could introduce them—
But… there is something about this friendship, he thinks, he wants to belong to him and him alone. The selfishness of it strikes him bitterly; but that bitterness is gone, as he thinks of how he and his twin have always shared everything, and that this, this can be his.
Aeneas carefully, carefully, opens the window. He climbs onto the ledge—and then with deft, almost playful mischief, he steps from the edge.
(This haphazard trick has been replicated in his mind for weeks, now, after he had seen Leonidas perform it on the cliffside—it is one he has attempted to master toward the point of dangerousness).
He snaps out his wings so that, rather than fall, he catches the air and glides down to land perfectly beside her.
“What’s your plan?” Aeneas asks, in a whisper. His eyes are bright with excitement and he leans in confidently close to listen.
Aeneas
you long to be just honeyed skin and soft curls, but beneath it all, your blood boils fiercely; you were born with heaven and hell already in you, holy fire, hell fire
you long to be just honeyed skin and soft curls, but beneath it all, your blood boils fiercely; you were born with heaven and hell already in you, holy fire, hell fire
