03-23-2018, 06:41 PM
As he is headed towards the mountain, they are coming down the side paths, returning to solid ground with light steps. They’d been checking on the egg; over the months it had grown, incubated by the heat of the volcano, and only in recent weeks, as pregnant mares started to become alarmingly large, it had finally started to harden and even become thinner; they could see the shadow of their child inside, see it stirring restlessly when they speak to it from outside.
But while the egg is nestled into a crevice and sheltered, there is little shelter for the twins on the mountain, so they descend after each visit to their egg to the main floor of Tephra. Furthermore, their constant presence on the cliff-side would only draw attention to the creamy incubator, and the whole point of leaving on the side of a volcano was to protect it. It is once they reach level ground that she lifts her head and spots him, and she grins, calling, ”Hello!” in a friendly voice. He is, as ever, a half-step behind her and he says nothing, merely lifting his head and inspecting the stranger, green-hazel eyes intent in his gold face.
Dagny is not shy, dancing forward with curiosity in her eyes and excess energy in every movement she makes. Her sides are bare today; she has shed the wings that she sometimes bears (and isn’t that always a sight, with an explosion of blue and yellow feathers left behind) but the blue and yellow that decorates her body remains. ”I’m Dagny,” she introduces herself and because she is in a magnanimous mood, she gives her twin’s preferred name instead of his nick-name, ”This is Olivier.”
He walks up alongside her, her opposite in many ways. Where she is fire and energy, his every motion is precise and careful, and the gaze he fixes on the stranger is cautious rather than curious. He brushes his side against hers as he comes to stand beside her, standing pressed to her side just short of even. ”Do you live here?” she asks. ”It’s such a fascinating place.”
But while the egg is nestled into a crevice and sheltered, there is little shelter for the twins on the mountain, so they descend after each visit to their egg to the main floor of Tephra. Furthermore, their constant presence on the cliff-side would only draw attention to the creamy incubator, and the whole point of leaving on the side of a volcano was to protect it. It is once they reach level ground that she lifts her head and spots him, and she grins, calling, ”Hello!” in a friendly voice. He is, as ever, a half-step behind her and he says nothing, merely lifting his head and inspecting the stranger, green-hazel eyes intent in his gold face.
Dagny is not shy, dancing forward with curiosity in her eyes and excess energy in every movement she makes. Her sides are bare today; she has shed the wings that she sometimes bears (and isn’t that always a sight, with an explosion of blue and yellow feathers left behind) but the blue and yellow that decorates her body remains. ”I’m Dagny,” she introduces herself and because she is in a magnanimous mood, she gives her twin’s preferred name instead of his nick-name, ”This is Olivier.”
He walks up alongside her, her opposite in many ways. Where she is fire and energy, his every motion is precise and careful, and the gaze he fixes on the stranger is cautious rather than curious. He brushes his side against hers as he comes to stand beside her, standing pressed to her side just short of even. ”Do you live here?” she asks. ”It’s such a fascinating place.”
Dagny & Olivier
I won't let you go; so don't let go of me
no one can ever follow; no one can ever know