No Music

He is forgotten. Just as well; without the ferocious gaze of the winged girl upon him, Seiji relaxes. He remains wary, of course, light on his feet, aware of the spear and the pointed horn, both. Of Kiada’s size. Of the darkness lingering somewhere in the wood. He's pleased, at least, to learn the girls are strangers to each other as well as to himself. A company of strangers makes for better company altogether than a pair plus one. Briefly, he blinks at the winged girl when she says her name. Valkyrie: beautiful and sleek, a name for cliffs. For someone pale and cold, though Seiji thinks she runs a little hot. She doesn't speak to him, of course; amusement glitters in the dark of his eyes as he studies the expression on her face. Rapt; maybe smitten. Seiji was never so brash in his adolescence but he remembers being impulsive. The creaking of gulls, the hiss of the waves, the taste of blood and old words mingling on his tongue. Impulsive. Yes. The impression of a day long ago: the winding shore, wood splintered around him. The feasting of birds. Farther out: fins slicing the waves. The next time he blinks, the memory flees, and his mind roots once more in his flesh. Maybe some things are never lost to time, but he can’t see the feathers, can’t smell the blood and the rime. It become abstract. He lets out a breath. Kiada is speaking; he doesn’t know for how long. She approaches, in her wake a miniature sun like the one Valkyrie tows. He hadn’t noticed hers, but now it moves on its own like a firefly, like something alive. His ears crane forward; his neck arches, the long swan’s bend. And it splits: two tiny suns, one traveling toward him. For a moment, only the sphere exists. No word for the miraculous bubble in his chest, the feeling warm and suffocating all at once. It isn't alive. It doesn't speak. But it is his, his first companion in so many long days, and it trembles a little in the brilliance of his eyes. Only when it drifts beside him, dormant, does he return his face to Kiada. Thank you. Another nod, slower, deeper than the ones before. He doesn't know what it means but he senses it is a gift, a worthy gift. His eyes linger on her face - certain she must be young, as well, but so different from Valkyrie. What's happened to make her so much older than she is? He thinks, maybe suffering, but he doesn't dwell on it. Rude to wonder. Better to move on. But she has more to say. Seiji listens politely to the rest, stowing carefully in his memory more names: Helovia, Kisamoa, Halyven. A direction: east. He has what he needs. But he lingers, returning the girl's smile with a gentle one of his own. They could be friends, he thinks. If this were elsewhere. If his were a happier tale. He dares not regret. He does look with interest at the bird called Khairi, something he would call familiar in the master's tongue. Something they had other names for in the languages of rock and mist. But something Kiada only calls soul-bound. As she explains, Seiji steps forward, his nose extended. He does not intend to touch, but curiosity pulls him near. Just one? He wonders. One forever? It has a name. It isn't anything he understands. For the first time, his left shoulder is visible, with its false wing - maybe only to Valkyrie. He isn't paying attention. He's looking at the bird. He's thinking of the noise wings make in flight, the graceful arc of Khairi’s great ones. Another memory: feathers falling, falling all around him. He isn't ready for the fire, when it comes. With a huff of breath, he leaps back. Instinct kicks in his chest - run - but he doesn't run. He stands at a safe distance and stares at this girl who is, was, still a monster in his eyes. His gaze is quiet, vibrant, difficult to read. His ears twitch this way and that, and he’s full of - awe. Magic - how? She spoke no word. She… is it the bird? Rapidly, his eyes flick from Khairi to the empty space of Kiada’s back. And then, with a jerk, he gazes on Valkyrie. Hesitant. Expectant. What can she do?

img by Tildae @ flickr