her gaze turns toward him, pale and cold where his are dark. were her and her brother so similar? she did not think so, but she supposes the assumption was close enough. yes. she nods. he is my brother.

the path dips ahead toward a narrow run of water, its banks churned soft by the traffic of spring. fa’liya continues toward it, but there is a new stiffness in the line of her back. the girl omits the fact that they inherited that blue from the same sire.

she glances sidelong at nen’tah, taking in the roundness youth has not yet pared away, the clean promise of a body made correctly. there is no fault in him for possessing what she has spent her life wanting, and yet the resentment builds roots indiscriminately.

at the water’s edge, she gestures toward the shallows with her muzzle before dipping her head to drink upstream from the boy.

He nodded once, satisfied. The blue of her eyes was wholly unique to her line, as far as Nen'tah was concerned; he would never forget the cold fire with which Caan had pierced him that singular day. A lack of speech lent a natural talent for observance, a trait he would grow into as he did.

But he was still a child.

Standing at the edge of the water, Nen'tah took a moment to study his reflection. It wobbled in time with the ripple-rings that lapped at the water's edge, but he could still make out a vague outline of his features - round and dark, with two large eyes of obsidian staring back with focused intensity. Only the bright red feather around his neck made any meaningful distinction in the mirror.

And then, as a child was wont to do, he suddenly plunged into the shallow stream and splashed delightedly; his expression lit up into something uncharacteristically joyous, although he took care not to stray too close to Fa'liya lest she become collateral damage. Nen'tah spent a little time enjoying his romp, stomping his paws and enjoying the puddles they made on the shore, and wondered what she liked to do for fun.

He stopped and gave her a questioning look.

the first splash makes fa’liya jerk her head back. water spatters harmlessly against the bank beneath her muzzle, and for an instant she stares at him with something near offense. then nen’tah does it again, stomping through the shallows with the graceless delight of a child who has apparently forgotten the original purpose of entering them.

there is something almost alien in it. joy without occasion. joy without having first earned it. he does not seem to care that his fur is soaked now, nor that mud has replaced vomit upon his paws. he simply enjoys the water because it is there.

fa’liya lowers her muzzle again, taking a careful drink while the water settles around his legs. cold eases some of the sourness from her mouth, though not the raw ache left behind. when he stops, fa’liya is still staring.

his look turns expectant. her ears tip backward. why, she has no idea. what?