"So what's your name?"
The bright moonlight lit up the white chalk cliffs of Prospit's coast, the seabreeze cool but not biting. Two little trolls sat on the grass, both wrapped up warmly, though the girl's fine gold-trimmed blue clothing far outclassed the boy's simple brown. Between them, a tiny winged bull chewed joyfully at an apple bigger than its head.
"I-I'm Tavros," the boy said, nibbling at the apple in his own hand. He felt bad about it; he'd just met the girl as she was climbing over the wall of the orchard up the path with her pockets and hat stuffed with the small sharp-tasting fruit, and she had grabbed his hand and pulled him down the path to the little cliffside meadow before she had even looked him in the eye. He had been too surprised to stop her. Apart from the theft, he was sure the apples weren't quite ripe yet, but she'd looked down her nose at him until he took a bite.
"Vriska Serket!" the girl said, pumping his hand hard enough to hurt. "I serve the Light."
Tavros' eyes widened. "No way, I'm Breath!" From under his coat he produced a little polished wooden pendant on a chain, bearing the swirling blue mark. Vriska pulled out her own, a sun made of gold, and the children giggled. Breath and Light were a linked pair within the pantheon, their sacred months occupying opposing points of the year in the human calendar. Breath was spring, welcoming warmth and growing daytime, and Light was autumn, drawing the cold breezes and rains; each contained the other, and their churches worked together often.
"Hey, we've even got the right colours!" Vriska's blue clothing almost matched the Breath sign, and as she cackled he blushed almost the shade of orange traditionally worn by Light's mages and priests. "That's it. We gotta get married."
"What?!"
"Well, not now," she explained in patronising tones. "Some day. We gotta get ready though. I mean, I'm gonna be four next sweep, that's what, halfway till we can already?"
Tavros nodded nervously. "Which quadrant?" He hoped she wouldn't say black. Blackrom made him nervous, and Vriska made him nervous; the two in conjunction wouldn't be fun.
"Can't be ashen, there's only two of us," said Vriska, and paused, thoughtfully sucking apple skin shreds from between her fangs. "I got a moirail and I think you're a bit wussy for black."
"You, uhh, have a moirail?" Tavros asked, really interested. Three sweeps was surely a bit young to have a steady quadrant. Wow, Vriska was cool.
"Yeah! Her name's Kanaya and her mom went away and mine's always at sea, so it's just us and our lusii and our sisters. And she's jade and she's Space and she's really nice and I think you'll like her..." Vriska paused. "But anyway, that means it's gotta be red." She tossed her apple core away and plunked herself down in his lap. "So hug me!" He did, blushing harder, and she hugged back. It was nice, really; she was softer than his brother and father, and smelled sweeter. She was cold, as highbloods were, and he wanted to warm her up. His bull noticed and headbutted his hand, chirping, and he patted it.
"Oh, look!" He pointed up, and she climbed off him and knelt up to look where he was pointing. "Can you see the cherubs?"
"No way's that a cherub," she said, squinting at the moving patch of darkness in the sky. "That's just a cloud or... no, wait, I see! It is!" She jumped up and down, waving. "Hi, cherubs!"
"Don't do that!" Tavros grabbed her arm. "What if He sees you?"
"Then She'll stop him," Vriska said, pouting. "That's Her job."
Tavros watched the shadow for signs of coming closer. The Queen of Space and the Voice of Time, gods forever bound in combat in the skies of Skaia. He wished Vriska's moirail were here, one who shared the holy aspect of Prospit's guardian.
Vriska tapped her chin. "Think we could find their egg before Derse does?"
"Um, I hope so," said Tavros, still watching.
"No, I mean us, not Prospit! We can find it and be heroes!"
Tavros was unsure about this. "Um, I think we should go home. My dad's gonna be, uhh, wondering, where I am, he told me, and Tinkerbull, to stay, near the orchard wall." The little bull squeaked in agreement.
"And if you listened to your dad you wouldn't have met me, would you?" Vriska put her hands on her hips and shook her mane of hair. "Adventurers don't listen to their dads all the time! And won't he be happy when you bring back a cherub egg and a Marquise's daughter?"
Tavros considered this, and nodded. Surely his dad would come and find him, they weren't that far away from where he'd been told to wait. Vriska's legs weren't much longer than his, she couldn't take him too far away...
"Waaaaiiiit a minute," she said, her mouth twisting in thought. "What's your sigil name?"
"What? Um, it's, uhh, Nitram." He opened his coat to show the horned circle emblazoned on his tunic.
Vriska grabbed his shoulders and whooped. "I knew it! I recognised those horns! Well, now we can really find the egg - you just gotta fly up and ask!"
"What?!"
"Everyone knows your dad can fly! Just think happy thoughts and you will too, like in the book, right?"
"No! No, I can't fly, I don't have any wings!" Tavros backed away from the enthusiastic girl, thinking he was still a safe distance from the cliff edge, not knowing how long the overhanging grass was. "My dad can't fly that high anyway!"
"Well, you can beat him! Come on, I wouldn't be friends with you if you weren't awesome enough to fly that high," Vriska said, pouting and shoving Tavros gently in the chest. He wobbled and backed up again. "Are you scared of heights? Come on, you can so do it! Just try! That's what my mom said when she taught me to swim."
"No, I can't!" Tavros pushed back, not budging Vriska at all. Tinkerbull fluttered around her head and pushed at her with his horns, and she batted him away.
"Yes you can!"
"No I can't!"
"Yes, you can!" With that, Vriska shoved him much harder, his back foot slipped on the grass, his arms pinwheeled briefly, and he went over the cliff backwards with a piercing scream, Tinkerbull plummeting over after him. Vriska was still waiting for him to fly up when she heard the horrible crunching sound and the scream cut short. She stopped dead, fear clutching her chest. When she learned to swim, her mother had picked her up and dropped her in a quiet tidal pool, and much splashing and spluttering later she had successfully kept her head above water. Perhaps flying wasn't really like swimming after all.
She peered over the cliff, little hands clinging tightly to the grass. Luckily the cliff wasn't a very high one, but it was more than high enough to break bones. Tavros was lying in a small but spreading pool of brown blood, Tinkerbull nuzzling his face. He tried to push himself up on his arms as she watched. Good, he wasn't dead.
"Stay there, I'll go get help!" she shouted down at him, and ran off back up the path. She never spotted the sail of the little skiff in a hidden bay not far up the beach.
By the time she returned with Tavros' father, the local carapacian doctor, and a number of other curious and helpful passersby, Tavros and Tinkerbull were gone.