tell me why my gods look like you
It’s instinct that brings forth the flames.
They come roaring to life along her back, the water around her bubbles—boiling hot—and a few unfortunate fish come floating up to the surface; she regards the lion with her red eyes, wide and terrified, and swallows hard when he comes splashing to a halt. He asks questions, his voice deep and growly. She swivels her ears forwards, eager to listen, ever curious about what the big cat might want—he could have eaten her then and there, surely. She imagines what death might have been like, what being torn asunder by those claws and fangs might have felt like; there’s an image in the back of her mind and for a second, she thinks she’s familiar with such a death.
Almost as if it’s happened… before.
(It couldn’t have, not when she stands before him now so alive and well.)
‘Just a daydream,’ she thinks, her tongue feeling uncomfortable in her mouth.
He expects her to speak now, doesn’t he?
“Swimmin’,” she responds simply, motioning around with her head to indicate the water. The fire along her back has died down, it smolders weakly down her spine and she shivers at the sudden lack of warmth. “My mom doesn’t live here, I don’t think. I’ve never seen her before.” If her confused demeanor isn’t a dead giveaway, her accent certainly is—she sounds as if she’d be better suited to some place down in a holler—she isn’t from around here.
“D’you think you could help me find her?” The filly muses, cautiously continuing her trek towards the shore. She’s careful to keep an eye on the lion. It’s only natural, after all, and despite being certain she cannot outrun him or even take off in enough time to fly away, her claw-tipped wings fan out and then flap anxiously before folding at her sides. “I’d like to meet her at least once.” Not that the lion owes her any favors. He’d been taking a stroll along the beach and happened to be curious enough to approach her, she reckons. Maybe children weren’t supposed to be all by themselves.
Which stings.
“Do you have a name?” She asks, turning around to face him, her cloven hooves wiggling down into the white sand. “I don’t, not yet. I think moms are supposed to do that.”
