i am a lost boy from neverland; any

[burnt]

burnt.

There is no God and we are his prophets.
Burnt’s pulse began to subside too, as the lightning died off over the distant horizon’s edge.

She could feel it settle back into the familiar sluggish crawl through arteries and veins, and the throb of her heart began to slow too as the storm rumbled its last and left them in the typical throes of night. The eerie calm that seemed to lay about the land, blanketed her too and she breathed in the storm’s after-hush, taking it deep into her lungs before letting it back out.

Burnt can feel Topsail expanding her mind out towards Extinct who hides in the brush as she was told to do so. The mammoth-horse was ever so biddable and it pleased Burnt to command her to no end (Sinew had reprimanded her daughter more than once for ordering the thing around and making it do absurd things to please Burnt - she had been a foal, her telepathy had known few restraints and it was easy to make the mammoth-horse think it was thinking those thoughts for itself - it had such a deliciously weak mind!), and she knows that the other mare will taste those same weak and easily controllable thoughts in her sister-pet. It brings a smile to Burnt’s lips, although ‘smile’ is hardly the correct description for the way her lips curve sinisterly and slyly against the loveliness of her face.

Topsail says she will not bother Extinct, though Burnt never really worried over that. Of course, only she was allowed to bully the thing around but… a glance at the grulla mare and Burnt thinks there are always exceptions to the rule. She is not overly cruel but Extinct has yet to serve true purpose and purpose is what their mother saw in the thing when she took it to her side and nursed it on the milk meant for a not-yet-born Burnt, and thus, she tends toward cruelty without recognizing it. Still, part of her is admittedly glad that no harm shall befall the mammoth-horse from raptor or mare.

Thunder grumbles once more and Burnt, like Topsail, turns to regard the new storm being born out of the dregs of the old. Her eyes have an odd stormy shine to them as they slide back to Topsail, considering. “It is our pleasure as well,” her mind murmurs to the other, some channel between their brains open only to them for this type of communication and Burnt - who has a voice, but cannot remember what it ever sounded like in the first place, thinks it is probably just as singed and smoking as the feathers in her wings, is far too comfortable with the mind-speak they share. “Likewise,” and her mind’s laughter is hot like a coal newly taken to fire. “You are the first telepath I’ve come across.” Burnt expresses a hint of curiosity, a curl of dark thought that spreads like a shadow from her mind to the other’s, an unsaid what if.