Cressida is pleased that tonight is hers—that Helion will be joining her. In some ways, it is not natural for them to fall into the rhythm that they do. The sun has no business joining the moon during the evening and the moon does not belong in the afternoon sky—but they have never been fully natural. So the pair abides their own rhythms, answering their own calls. They deny their desires and stay up for too long or sleep during the times that are not natural for them and Cressida would not have it any other way.

She stands in the dying light of day when he finds her as herself, silvery wings tucked over her young back and her horned head tipped back to look at her brother’s kin making its descent. She only looks away when she catches the sound of his exaggerated yawn—and while she wants to roll her eyes, she just casts him a gentle smile, her pale gold eyes shining. “I thought that we could go flying,” she says, knowing that the moon would be at its fullest tonight. She liked being amongst the stars when that happened. She always felt the most like herself, the most purely Cressida, during those moments.

But his next question catches her off guard, startles her, and her eyes widen.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, her silvery voice laced with laughter, “did you say hatched?”

She blinks at him, wondering if perhaps she had managed to mishear him.

“Like birds?”

Cressida is not inclined to laugh often—although that is not to say that she does not find enjoyment in life. Instead, her joy is a softer variety. It’s found in the lilting smile that touches the corner of a silvery mouth. In the flash of amusement in pale gold eyes. It’s in the way her heart leaps at the sight of something beautiful. But she does not laugh quick and easy—not like her brother.

So she enjoys these moments when he draws it out of her. When his sunlight washes over her and she can feel, even fleetingly, like a creature of the golden warmth too. It invades her soul and she can almost taste what it is like to be him. To live within the day. To bask in the summer heat.

It’s an enjoyable, momentary pleasure—but she always finds herself missing her cool dusk.

Still, she smiles at him, at ease in his presence, any guards she may keep up completely folding beneath the trust that exists between siblings. “I didn’t know fish hatched,” she admits, mulling over the thought of it as they walk together. She finds it strange to think of eggs bringing forth both creature of sea and air, but the world was a wondrous thing—and she is certain that she only knows the barest hint of its truth.

“I don’t think so,” she thinks, seriously contemplating the question. “But you never know! Mom does like to be a bird.” She thinks of Alaska in the air, her body morphing and twisting into the avian forms.

“I think I like being a bird too.”

Although not as much as she likes being a deer, she thinks, with a secret smile.