Sunsrise

Osthryn found that the days leading to Norostag morning passed in a blink. If she were slightly less effective in her query responses than usual, Oswald did not mention it. Sleep had come with difficulty the night before. The apprehension of what Silovar could mean for the day at the fairy hill had ensured it. Osthryn eventually finds herself sitting cross-legged and fully dressed on a made bed, waiting for the night sky to lighten just enough to where she knows she could leave in time for sunsrise to meet her at the Western Gate.

Sunsrise meets her there, as does Silovar. The twin suns’ rays peeking over the horizon behind her falls gently over the contours of Silovar’s body, the glint of his silver hair in this light evoking an image of his scales. A strange warmth spreads through her chest as she takes in what feels like an almost regal beauty – even if she still does not know his true nature, she feels his stature would have the same effect in this lighting. As Osthryn closes the distance between them, she notes how he leans with crossed arms against the pillars of the gate, a perfect picture of nonchalance.

The clear buzzing eagerness that Silovar tries and fails to mask soon overshadows any regal or nonchalant bearing he is otherwise projecting. Osthryn’s anticipation of what would happen on this mysterious morning takes on a note of apprehension. Knowing Silovar as well as she does by now, especially thinking back to the encounter at the cliff, it is likely that anything that makes him this excited is contrary to her common sense understanding of sanity.

“How did you sleep?" Silovar asks as she arrives, his excitement only slightly tempered by the care flitting through his eyes.

"Wēs Hāl to you too. Well enough, I am sure. And yourself?"

Silovar chuckles as he pushes himself from leaning against the pillar, “Better than you did, I doubt your definition of ’well enough’ is sufficient.” Silovar gestures at Osthryn’s face, amusement dancing over his countenance.

“Do I look that bad?” Osthryn frowns, feeling more put out by the comment than she would have been on a full night’s sleep. Silovar’s eyes soften. “I doubt you could look bad if you tried, you just look like you spent the night waiting for sunrise with bated breath.”

Osthryn chuckles dryly. "Not far off," she murmurs.

“Were you that excited to see me again?" Silovar grins as they set off through the Western Gate on the same trail they walked that fateful Westag evening before.

“Oh, don’t be so full of yourself," Osthryn pans, regretting the intensity of her sarcasm for a moment when Silovar’s face falls imperceptibly for a split second. She makes a mental note to reign in the side effects of her sleep deprivation a bit. “I was racking my brain for all the hare-minded plans you might have cooked up for this morning," Osthryn admits sheepishly.

“And yet," Silovar spins on his heel to face her, walking backwards with hands characteristically folded behind his back, grin returning in full force, “you still came!"

“I don’t know if that makes me brave or a fool," Osthryn mutters, shaking her head.

“Oh, that is a foolishly thin line," Silovar returns, spinning back to face forward, slowing his cadence for Osthryn to keep in step. Osthryn finds it a peculiar pattern that she once again finds herself struggling to keep in step with someone. Silovar’s speed, unlike Oswald's, could be accounted to being head and shoulders taller than Osthryn herself. But Silovar, for all his teasing and impulsiveness, is attentive enough to slow down for her. She appreciates that.

“I was wondering something," Silovar asks. Osthryn wonders whether he truly does wonder about all the things he asks, or if it is a habit of his to perpetually fill the silence. “Do you maintain your human form all the time?"

Osthryn snorts “Maintain? It is practically my nature. I can’t remember the last time I was fully in my scales. I must have been scarcely a hatchling."

Silovar pauses, his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “You are not joking?"

“No," Osthryn admits, suppressing the urge to tap her cheek that rises with her anxiety. “My scales do show at times, and I was even partially transformed on a few occasions, but never fully transformed. Not since perhaps a few days or so after I hatched. I can hardly remember it."

“That’s impossible." Silovar frowns, the corners of his eyes creasing with a mixture of disbelief, wonder and abject horror at the thought. Osthryn shrugs. It is what she knows, although she wishes it could be different.

Silovar’s brow creases further. “No, really. You have never allowed yourself to just … be? I don’t mind this form myself, but it’s work. It’s meant to be a temporary state."

“It must be one of the luxuries that your people took South with you," Osthryn suggests acerbically, “just like the right to fly without fear, it seems." She immediately feels a pang of embarrassment at her outburst.

Silovar raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s the story with that?"

Osthryn hugs herself, sighing. “You know the rhyme," she says quietly. "The one you threw back in the face of those who sent your ancestors on their way to find hope, never to return with it." Her finger unconsciously taps her arm where she grips it.

Osthryn feels that Silovar is too quiet for too long. She begins to fear that she has offended him, or perhaps that he has no context for what she has said after all. She moves to correct herself, to apologise. “Silovar ...”

“Do you ever have the instinct to fly?" Silovar interjects abruptly, his expression shifting to curiosity. Osthryn takes a small step back. Silovar’s directness is something that can be counted on, it seems.

“All Dragons do." She replies simply, letting her arms fall to her sides in a display of false nonchalance. Silovar starts walking again, motioning for Osthryn to follow. Silovar starts walking again, motioning for Osthryn to follow. “Yes, so it is said, but do you want to fly?" He asks, watching her reaction. Her face remains impassive. "If the pain of falling was removed from your mind," he continues up the path, Osthryn following him, “would you try?"

Osthryn gives a derisive laugh. “If only that could happen." Her face falls to seriousness when she sees Silovar standing unmoved, waiting for her honest response. Osthryn takes a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she lets the answer come. She clenches her fist.

“If all I could do to fly was to forget the pain, I would. I ache to fly, but the fear is so deep that it paralyses me." Her breath shudders as she feels the ghost of her shoulders twisting to fight the familiar bloom of pain across her back. She unclenches her fists and looks Silovar in the eyes, the emerald shining green with emotion.

"When you flew over Mountainkeep on that morning I was filled with such jealousy that any semblance of awe at the sight was immediately squashed. I wanted to join you. I needed to join you. My soul was screaming for it. But just then, when I wished to soar as you did, I... I felt it all over again." She clenches and unclenches her fists again, shaking her head to get rid of the unwelcome sensations creeping up and down her back. “I felt the pain of the landing."

She watches him as he watches her. She looks for any sign of ridicule. She is only half a Dragon, if that. But there is none of it to find. Silovar steps toward her, and like he did on the night of the cliff, he gently takes her hand in his. He smiles as he turns his wrist, his silver scales glinting gently in the morning light. The contact is comforting, reassuring. It surprises her that his smile does not feel like pity. A feeling suddenly rushes over her, that she knows that he sees her. She squeezes his hand, and he lets it go.

Silovar begins walking backward. Osthryn notices they are at the cliff again. She looks beyond him to the steep drop below back into his eyes, the steel-blue orbs now shining with mischief. “So, I make you jealous, don’t I?" he quips, his characteristic grin creeping over his face.

“Don’t let it get to your head, you are not that wonderful," Osthryn returns in kind. Her darting eyes watch his every move, she braces herself for what is coming.

“Oh, please," Silovar scoffs, spinning neatly on his heels and letting himself fall off the cliff with his arms outstretched. Osthryn’s heart skips a beat, but this time she knows what to expect.

“As if these pristine scales are not to die for," the voice re-emerges along with Silovar hovering in place above the cliff.

Osthryn rolls her eyes in response, but makes little effort to hide the smile creeping on her own face. Her heart thunders in her chest. Yes, she has seen him fully in his scales before, but today it is almost as if she can appreciate it for the first time. And it is thrilling.

Silovar lands and lies down flat, folding his wings against his sides.

“Climb up."