Page 113 of Kissed By the Gods
It’s not a goat.
There’s a faravar shaking off the snow I dumped on her, prancing light-footed across the frozen river stretched beneath our feet.
The world tilts.
My heart slams against my ribs. The edges of my vision blur. A sound rushes into my ears—not words, but something older. Deeper. Truer. I take an unthinking step toward her, drawn by an invisible tether.
She tilts her head, eyes like polished obsidian catching the light. And in those bottomless depths—I see myself. A current of recognition sweeps through me, and a thread—invisible until this moment—pulls taught, binding us.
Her coat shimmers. It’s an otherworldly white, even more pristine than the freshly fallen snow that covers the canyon floor. She spreads her wings and flutters them, sending a flurry of snow arcing through the air, and it cascades over me, covering my hair and my newly dried coat in a smattering of snow.
She whinnies, and the sound is musical and light. She’s laughing, I realize with a start, her light amusement filling thehard, bitter spaces in my heart. I smile, the weight of the world falling away. The stars could shatter above us, the earth could crumble below, and I’m not sure I would even notice.
I bend down and pick up a fistful of snow, packing it together in a perfect snowball, and lob it right for her. She prances easily away and the snowball misses, smashing against the canyon wall behind her. But she’s still laughing as she dances around with playful grace, and her hooves barely touch the ground as she moves. Her wings flutter lightly, catching the morning sunlight and reflecting a subtle opalescence, like a pearl. Her mane and tail are like silver thread, and wave wildly in the wind as she moves. Her eyes spark with intelligence and mischief.
“Hello, gorgeous.” I step forward, still in complete awe.
She throws her mane back and prances forward, as excited about this meeting as I am. I reach for her as she nudges her nose against my hand. One more step from each of us and we’re touching, bodies pressed together. Every other sound fades away, replaced by the shared rhythm of our heartbeats. I press my lips to her smooth, soft coat and am overwhelmed with something ethereal and sweet. She presses her nostrils into my hair, and runs her long muzzle up and down, rubbing her cheek against mine.
I glide my hands up and down her neck, patting and petting her. Despite her stunning beauty, she’s very clearly a beast of war like the other faravars I’ve encountered. Every inch of her body radiates power. She has strong, sinewy legs and a proud, arched neck. Her wings span the full width of the chasm. Each movement radiates a fierce elegance—hooves striking the ice with a clang like a blacksmith's hammer, wings stirring the air with the whispered promise of a storm to come. At first glance, she looks almost delicate with her silken coat. But beneath that sleek surface lies a strength that does not bend.
She’s smaller than the male faravars I’ve seen, but she’s no less intimidating for it. In fact, there are some subtle differences that might make her more menacing. I slide my fingers down the front edge of one wing, and a trickle of blood blossoms like I ran them down a freshly honed sword.
“Magnificent.”
She tosses her voluminous mane, knowing exactly how splendid she is and making sure I do, too. Pride rolls off her in waves, and I can’t help but grin.
I keep walking around her, admiring her, reverently sliding my hands down her body as I go. The feathers on the backside of her wing are no less deadly—they’re sharp, too, their ends pointed like daggers. I whistle through my teeth, low and impressed.
“Ah. Beautiful and lethal.”
She preens. The same white feathers are interspersed through her tail, too, though these look less sharp. Soft, even. Almost like they’re there for decoration. She flicks her tail, and I run my fingers through the silvery strands.
“Aren’t you gorgeous, mmm?”
There’s no doubt—she’s a she. And though I’ve never heard of a female faravar before, it feels right. There’s never been a female Altor, either.
“Looks like it’s up to us to keep things interesting, huh?" I say, and she lets out a snort, tosses her head, and whinnies, like she’s telling me she’s already planned out our dramatic entrance.
Her emotions rush into me—bright and undeniable. A flicker of joy. A flash of playfulness. But underneath that … something steadier. Somethingearned. Courage. She stares at me with eyes that are ancient and bright. There’s so much there. She knows things, feels things I might never comprehend.
I push at the edges of my mind, searching for her. Inviting her in. I try to imagine her voice, to shape it out of memory and magic and bond. I focus. I will her in.
But there’s nothing.
No answering voice. No echo of thought.
I don’t even know her name.
For now, all I have are the things she feels. And though they’re rich and real and glorious—they’re not enough.
“I’m Leina Hav—” I stop. “I’m Leina of Stormriven.”
She spreads her wings out, and the wind whistling through the canyon picks her up, her hooves coming up off the ground. She whinnies again, her excitement a catching thing. She wants to fly.
Her excitement becomes my own, and adrenaline shoots through my veins.
Still, wariness creeps in. I have no idea what I’m doing.
