If am lost, I am lost on purpose.
She cannot imagine the kind of power one must wield to be able to read another’s mind.
She has, of course, heard whisperings of gifts like that. Whisperings of powers that go far beyond her ability to simply change her shape and form. But she has never truly paid them much mind. She has been far more interested in the purely physical of her gift—the way that she can mold herself like clay, turning her body into something new and different. Should she want wings? To sprout horns? To change her color or to simply imagine herself as small as the forest creatures who scamper by, she merely need to think it.
What use does she have of the more cerebral gifts?
The ones that, when used correctly, could have such greater impact—such sharper teeth?
She throws her head back as the water rushes around her, some of it leaping over the curve of her back, and nearly forgets about the green boy on the bank who had just seconds before been the center of her thoughts. It is so difficult to hold onto thoughts like that when the world was singing around her—when it was pulling her forward at an unbearable, unforgiving pace. So difficult to remember, to know—
But she does remember.
At least, she does when his voice cuts through the rapid-fire of her mind.
She brings her head down, the crimson of her mane drenched and splattered to her neck and cheek. Her lips spread into a wide grin, eyes glittering with her own amusement and joy that he felt it too.
“Isn’t it?” she cries over the roar of the river around them.
She studies him for a second, laughing as the water slaps up against her throat.
“How are you able to stand out here?”
