Desreal: moondance; any, an encounter

So maybe Alanna lacks a common sense gene or ten.

But Desreal is, and always has been, her favorite of all of Legend’s realms, and, despite the protests of her older siblings and family, she refuses to give it the berth that she probably should.

It’s a warm night, and Alanna in a fit of extreme blondeness (that her white coat does not justify) finds herself striding through the wide paths on the outskirts of the forest, humming to herself, ruminating. She’d love to find Era, to tell her about Alanna’s new nephew, Connor. Era is also one of the only horses who, like Alanna, would be found in Desreal at night. So maybe she’s feeling hopeful.

The lark-mare hesitates; she hears a soft sound, lighter, it seems, than a hoofbeat. A feather-light rustle of undergrowth behind her.

Alanna’s breath catches in her throat and for a moment she curses her foolishness.

But that’s when something dark slides past her, catching the moonlight in a splendid contrast of jet-black and blue-white as the light dances off of smooth, thin skin, not scales.

Alanna watches as the black mare – young, by the look of her – moves like a gust of wind out between the trees. The black mare drops her haunches and spins, in a swirl of silken raven tendrils, and halts facing Alanna with a mischievous shadow of a smile on her beautiful face. Emerald eyes meet sapphire ones, Lightning with Air in an age-old clash that has persisted far before the meeting of these two. “Are you looking for someone?” the black filly asks, cocking her head to one side with a little half-smile.

“Yeah, my friend, Era,” she says. She’s trying to decide if the black mare in front of her is real or not. Right now she’s leaning slightly toward imaginary, which makes Alanna exceedingly curious. “I’m Alanna.”

“Hi, Alanna,” the black mare says, and her eyes shine, like brilliant emerald gems. “I’m Stymie. And I know of Era – she’s my younger sister.”

Alanna’s eyes widen. “Really?”

Stymie nods. “Though I haven’t seen her in a very long time.”

They stand for a moment – black and white, a yin-yang of unlikelihood, both somehow fascinated by the other. Princesses, somehow – dragon-princess and the daughter of Solira’s queen. And then, Alanna asks, “Aren’t you frightened, being out here alone?”

Stymie only laughs, a delicate sound like starshine, and shakes her head. “This is my home. Like a fish travels through water and a bird flies in the sky.”

“Night-time?” Alanna asks, noticing the almost-seamless way the raven Stymie fits amidst the moonlit background. She realizes then that there is nothing frightening about this Desreal image – Stymie could be unnerving, to some, with the whimsicality, the unearthly flightiness of the other girl. But Alanna sees only the moonshine, illuminating the plain and forest with a sharp blue-white glow, shining off of both of them and dying Alanna blue and reflecting splendidly off of Stymie’s gleaming coat. It is quiet, peaceful – otherworldly.

Stymie jerks her head in a quick nod. “Yes. Would you like to fly through it with me?” a spark of excitement lights in her emerald eyes.

Alanna nods, eagerly.

The two of them take off at a gallop – light as feathers, sailing around the perimeter of the forest, black and white. Dark and light. Daughter of Alshain and Saphira, daughter of Kurai and Aquila. Distantly kin – the lark-princess of Solira and the peculiar raven-mare who is made up of both enemies.

Whatever shouldn’t happen, always does.