meet me here on the hill

is this heartache we can fix?

in the morning when we wake?

Is it light outside? Is that the sun that wanes and waxes along the building in the distance? Or is it the lighthouse, the beam of light within as powerful as the sun, illuminating the night with little of the warmth. It’s still warm from earlier, when the sun rampaged overhead, pouring its heat into the rocks and grasses along the cliffs – and that is where Sunjata slithers along, searching for that particularly perfect rock to perch upon.

He finds it when he spots something of a brilliant glimmering opal, reflecting the light from the lighthouse. It almost looks like it’s on fire, something that calls to the Flood more and more with each passing day. He wonders if he might find Lusea within the flames, these magical spiraling fingers reaching toward the sky.

So of course, he makes his way there, perching himself atop the rock. He thinks he remains as a snake, scales soaking up the heat of the flat rock beneath the lighthouse, but in reality the man lays upon the stone on his back in another jet black shift. The panther shift, tail sweeping along the grasses below – a clawed paw lifting to pull at the flames he’s engulfed himself in when the lighthouse light sweeps past. Fire’s not so bad. He’s purring, whiskers twitching, watching the flames from the middle of them all.

when i'm sober, would you stay?

SUNJATA

acres of longing, mountains of tenderness

Some days she's in Torchline. Some days she's in the Grounds. She feels like her body lives without her mind, bouncing between moments and portals from place to place to place. Only sometimes does she go with it; the rest of the time she is flying through stars, searching for the sun.

This is not the sun. This is a bright light that burns and pierces, cutting through the darkness at a pulsing interval and leaving shadows crisp and fleeting to spread across the ground. She wants to catch it, to bask within it, to watch her shadow dance behind her, to finally feel warm.

On hands and knees (or paws and feet?) Amalia chases the light, running in a wide arc through the rocks and grass. It's only when she sees her shadow that she stops-

Except the shadow doesn't move as the light slides by, leaving Amalia blink at it in abject surprise.

Amalia

is this heartache we can fix?

in the morning when we wake?

There’s a sound – he thinks there is at least. A sound of running, a brief image of a creature dancing through the flames just as he plays from the center of them. His head turns, spotting the other feline, the spots that dance along furry skin. He doesn’t think of Amalia, doesn’t think he knows this creature. But her spots look like stars, and the panther slowly begins to shift onto his stomach, his steel gaze focusing and ears perking up.

And then he deduces the only thing that makes sense to him. That Safrin has come to dance in the flames with him. It was she, after all, who had gifted him this shift. He supposes it’s only fair she comes to see it for herself, right?

He pulls himself from the rock, approaching Amalia with ears raised high, gaze focused intently on the snow leopard. Have you come to dance in the flames with me, Safrin? As he nears, his boxy head reaches out to try and nuzzle against Amalia’s cheek, a loud purr of greeting.

when i'm sober, would you stay?

SUNJATA

acres of longing, mountains of tenderness

There is no light for a moment, but there is certainly dark. An inky reflection, a it rises and steps towards her, but Amalia doesn't back off. Her shadow moves and touches her, which shadows are not supposed to do. It sends a shiver down her spine, her fur standing on end.

Is Safrin here? Is she Safrin? You're made from fire and light, the snow leopard remarks, her own purr rising at the caress. Where it doesn't shine. She presses her own cheek up against his, then moves, her long body dancing across the length of his until she breaks away.

Are you in love with the starlight, Shadow? she wonders, setting off in pursuit of it at a gentle lope.

Amalia

is this heartache we can fix?

in the morning when we wake?

Fire and light.

Shadows and night.

He is darkness and he is light, he is water and he is flame. And where he touches her, a spark of warmth beams along his side where their bodies touch, as if she’s tearing him open and reaching in to grasp and tear out his soul. He turns when she breaks away, craving the familiarity and the warmth – watching as the spots on her pelt flicker in starlight and flame. Yes. He breathes, focused entirely on her as he moves to follow her.

A shadow to the flame of the stars, a shadow on the throne.

Are you my starlight? Will you guide my way home?

His speed picks up to try and match her easy pursuit, paws taking him further (or closer) to the fires rampaging in the distance.

Will you take me where the galaxies collide?

when i'm sober, would you stay?

SUNJATA

acres of longing, mountains of tenderness

Is she Safrin? Is she a star? Does he love her? Who is he? Amalia does not know the answers to any of these questions, all she knows is that he is shadow and smoke and she is light, and thus they must belong. Why would I guide you? she asks with something that might be a laugh, a whuff of music notes that turn to gravel in her throat.

She turns back, still running, still chasing the light. Motes and fireflies and tiki torches and the edge of the world: she follows them all, or thinks she does, chasing down oblivion and eternity at once. Why do you love the stars? she wonders. Why should they love you?

Amalia

is this heartache we can fix?

in the morning when we wake?

Because you are flame and bright. He begins, amusement flickering through the bond, a dance between them as he follows – her shadow, always following, always there. Because we are born from the stars, and it is there we will return. He suddenly wonders if he’s dying and she’s taking him to the stars, if the hot singing line of her caress prior down his side had been a blade, sunk deep into his side. Is it truly fire he sees surrounding them?

Is it the light at the end? Should he follow it?

No, he follows the body of sparkling stars, of smoke that drifts from the leopard before him. He picks up speed, moving to block her pursuit – head craned to effectively bump his cheek along her side again, to take the stars and try and implement them to his own pelt.

The stars made me.

You made me.

They made me yours.

He yearns to absorb her light, to take –

and take –

and take –

He tries to knock her down with him, to wrap around her in a mix of black and white.

You can be mine too.

when i'm sober, would you stay?

SUNJATA

acres of longing, mountains of tenderness

The shadows curve around her, trying to snuff out her light. Or worse, to steal it - the hard-earned brightness she so dearly clings to, desperate for redemption, to represent the sun. He wants to keep her from being what she can be, to hold here here away from the light.

She doesn't want a shadow. She only wants the light.

You are not mine, the leopard of stars retorts, snarling, snapping, long fangs snatching at the air beside his ear. Along the length of her, life blooms: vibrant green with crimson tips, thorns entwined in the dense dark fur.

She pushes past him, through him, or maybe just against him. He's a shadow; the thorns won't hurt him, but perhaps rejection will. Starlight does not need the shadows. I do not need you.

Amalia

is this heartache we can fix?

in the morning when we wake?

He doesn’t try to snuff, doesn’t try to take. He simply tries to mesh and meld with the light, with the blossoming stars that explode along her pelt. But it seems internally, he’s suddenly at war with himself.

She tells him that he isn’t hers.

And that certainly can’t be right. She’d made him. She’d attuned him. She’d asked him to be her dagger, her blade in the night. Her shadow. And that is what he’s becoming – at least, for a moment before flowers bloom in her hair and the thorns snag on his skin, and he distances himself from her as she pushes herself away.

You do. He insists, tail flicking low against the grass as he lets his steel gaze focus on her. Without the dark, how would you be able to see the brilliance of the stars?

when i'm sober, would you stay?

SUNJATA

acres of longing, mountains of tenderness

She wants him and she doesn't, because he completes her, shadow to stars, and she does not want to be made. She wants to simply be as she is, free to chase whatever light might beckon, searching for warmth in other sources, places that aren't men.

The stars do not need shadows, Amalia counters, snarling suddenly, body pressing low upon the ground. Small white flowers shiver and bloom across the length of her spine, brilliant silver reflections of the stars he will never have. They have their own darkness. They are cold and they will burn you, tearing you apart.

A sudden surge of feline energy, and the leopardess is flying through the midnight sky. At least, she thinks that she is flying; in truth she has only managed a small leap, clearing Sunjata and little more.

A flick of her tail and she turns back to face him, imperious, large head drawn high. Find your own light, shadow cat. You cannot steal mine. And with that she turns and streaks away, light in the darkness, sick and small, in search of something she cannot see.

{fin}

Amalia