He kept sprinting along the thick branch, hopping and switching altitude on the reaching limbs of the trees as he scampered over their deep ridges. No gashes edged on his feet, his steps were light, fast, and swift. He felt the presence of his competitor beside him as they both dashed through the trees, edging ever closer to their home. The shadow of his opponent came into view beside him, smirking with confidence at the nearing victory, their equally smug mouthtail flicking its tongue tauntingly at him.
The sight of Eruyt was closing in before them, faster than their eyes could follow.
The sounds of their kin cheering them on whistled in their large ears as they burst through the last brush of leaves that over-covered their village. Determination burned in both their eyes. He could feel his victory on the cusp, and just as he was about to sprint across the line drawn in the ground below them, the shape beside him whisked by in a millisecond.
It was too late. Only a second too late. He skidded to a fast halt as echoes of cheers came rushing into his ears, but they were not for him. They were for the figure that stood a few feet away, taking in the smiles and words of a congratulatory nature that they were receiving. The praised figure stalked across the wide branches over to where he stood, their sharp, dark eyes gleaming.
“Fina ea’I phirnes es iph Cynder.”
(“Your focus was off Cynder.”) She spoke in a manner a teacher might speak to a student, but much closer were they, and these talks were not uncommon. The smaller of the two, Cynder, swept soft gray bangs from over his fiery orange eyes and sighed.
“A sis rgisi Xirin.” He replied, to which Xirin laughed and offered her hand to help him stand.
(“I was close Xirin”)
“Fie adihe riisi idinky.”
(“Yet not close enough.”) Cynder seemed deterred by this; as if past this he would never become his sister’s equal. But Xirin gave him a hard rub on his gray, black tipped hair, scratching the sides of his large ears before beginning to walk back down one of the many built walkways that curbed the body of the trees. Xirin always admired Cynder’s will to learn from her. Born the physically weaker one it was challenging feeling as though you lived in the shadow of someone else. But Xirin was encouraging and knowledgeable, and also, surprisingly deadly, when the need arose.
“Dis, gia’s kil yare yiphiay rilyia phoines sti sta’i kide.”
(“Now, let’s get back before mother figures we were gone.”)
The two headed down the middle road, of which all other pathways to the three trees that sat on their side of the river deviated. The crowds from before had dispersed, but they would be back again if they ever decided to race one another once more. It was a common trend with them, always gauging themselves against each other. Often Cynder would be badgered with questions as to why he lost nearly every time. Cynder had no, adequate response. But he was certain he knew why they were confused. He was different, or as different as you could come with beings that had two minds to balance. Because of this he was very valued in Eruyt; he helped the others keep the lights inside and outside of their homes burning bright. The sudden thought of it made him ask
“Ar A sajik?” Cynder asked as he and Xirin climbed the stairs that led to their home inside the tree.
(Am I strong?)
“Sel jheis fina eladd si?” Xirin questioned back, truly unobservant to Cynder’s quiet criticism of himself.
(What makes you think so?)
Cynder’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. He loved his sister, he did. But sometimes her lack of attention proved more intolerable then constantly being her second. He shook his head, signaling it didn’t matter enough to him to ask further. He felt a nudge on his ankle and looked down to see his mouthtail Zara’s furry head poking at him with a low growl. He lightly pushed Zara away the tip of her tusks.
He ignored the obvious push by his mouthtail to press the question. But he felt like he needed conformation of this fact; other than being the only one here who can produce fire strong enough to light up the village. Or any fire at all for that matter! And it was not by magic either. Had it been a magically gained skill the others would’ve thought less of it. But Cynder was born with eyes like tiny embers, and the ability to make fire dance in his hands.
Answers to the multitude of questions he had all seemed very far off. True he was never discouraged from his curious nature; if anything it seemed his family would celebrate it. But Cynder, always having an ear open to Zara, who was much more intuitive than him; knew that there was an underlying mindset of just “forgetting”. Not in current knowledge or prowess; of which the Ourisoma had much; but in the need to have more. Everyone was content with what was, and what could be.
And inside, Cynder felt alone. The only consolation he had was the thinking that Jote understood him. He’d never met her, or seen her, but he could feel her presence, her power in all of Odaigra. But even that was a somewhat hollow feeling; despite it being such a staple in his ideals.
Xirin was the only real comfort. It was very much a double edged sword. On one hand, he hated being so far behind her. But on the other hand, she was the only one who listened. Truly listened to what he had to say. And she would tell him of places beyond theirs. Other worlds that was just on the other side of Odaigra’s mystical walls.
Did such places exist? Cynder could never be sure, but Xirin spoke in such a way that Cynder concluded she could only be speaking the truth. It was something to fill his curiousness.
The two finally melted into their hollowed out section of the trunk, dimming the lights and confiding into a single circular room. The only outside portals being the door, and one window situated a few feet next to it. They both curled close to each other, their mouthtails curving to the shape their bodies took on the floor. The beings of Eruyt, of Odaigra, slept whenever they deemed it necessary. And now was the time for Cynder and Xirin to once again descend into sleep.
Beyond the borders of Eruyt Village, deeper into the denser areas of the forest, there stood someone who quietly overlooked the village with a calm demeanor and watchful eye. She was tall and radiant in both ways of light and darkness. She sat, legs crossed beneath her black dress relaxed against one of the grander trees within the forest. She was running her pale, swirl covered hands through her long, raven black hair as she hummed quietly to herself. Her ghost white skin was almost hauntingly beautiful against the blackness that covered her head and body, and a strange, blue and red fire like light danced around the tips of her hair. The never-ending red and blue petals on her dress seemed to fall, then re-grow. The fallen petals becoming ash as they touched the embers of the candles that rested on the dresses hem. She stared out over the half asleep, half awake village of Eruyt. Her glowing yellow and red eyes wandering over one particular tailmouth. He sat curled up on the inside of one of the many trees that they called home. She watched him with a sweet, nostalgic remembrance. The black stitches connecting the corners of her lips to the ends of her ears curled in a slight smile. She felt a certain surge, she wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a strange feeling that something…dangerous was approaching on the horizon. Being as old as time itself she had grown accustom to sensing such things.
She could only hope that it was just her sensitivity, and not anything true.
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