[Look, one doesn't keep hair this good and colorful without being able to see said color himself, despite the fact that more indigo and violet strands — matching the scales and mane of his Shift — are joining the mulberry ones each day.]
No swarms, but there were plenty of them, yeah. The ones I saw weren't much bigger than you, when you change.
[So not enough for him to eat. Just a little snack.]
[Pom slows, opening his eyes just enough to see what she's conjured; they water immediately, and he's forced to close them.]
Shorter tail, longer beak. I'd draw you a picture if I could.
[He's well aware his art is not exactly display-worthy even at the best of times; what he doesn't know is that he shouldn't leave his journal open on his desk for anyone who might come through a mirror to see, so Northly might have gotten a peek at some scrawled illustrations of not only a pink cat in a green cape and a bird-faced beast with a lumbering body, but even her own Shift form.]
[Don't ever let Pom see your fridge, Northly. He'll die of shame.]
All right.
[He falls quiet after that, listening to the woods around them as he lets her guide him toward the water. He can tell when they're getting close by the change in the scents, those of moisture and damp, muddy earth overpowering that of the trees and grasses.]
[He's about to ask about the flying fish, but then she says she'll bring them to him, implying she's leaving, and he feels his hand grip hers tighter, tight enough to hurt.]
Then you must come with me. [She steps on his foot, a friendly bounce. His grip on her hurts, but her limbs are so skinny now her hand gets lost in his much larger one.] The fish are in the water.
Am I a river or spring? I will be insulted if you call me a puddle. [She's teasing him now, and tugs on his hand, hoping the chatter will help. Besides, the water will protect his eyes, if he's not too frightened to open them.]
[She rubs her cheek on his.] It is different here. [Though she suspects that it was different to what Pom went through. People treat gods very differently to animals.]
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No swarms, but there were plenty of them, yeah. The ones I saw weren't much bigger than you, when you change.
[So not enough for him to eat. Just a little snack.]
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Like this?
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Shorter tail, longer beak. I'd draw you a picture if I could.
[He's well aware his art is not exactly display-worthy even at the best of times; what he doesn't know is that he shouldn't leave his journal open on his desk for anyone who might come through a mirror to see, so Northly might have gotten a peek at some scrawled illustrations of not only a pink cat in a green cape and a bird-faced beast with a lumbering body, but even her own Shift form.]
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When we return. [She likes his drawings, has stolen a few she didn't think would be missed, put them on the fridge.]
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All right.
[He falls quiet after that, listening to the woods around them as he lets her guide him toward the water. He can tell when they're getting close by the change in the scents, those of moisture and damp, muddy earth overpowering that of the trees and grasses.]
I don't have to get in, do I?
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You may stay out here if you wish, but the fish in this world do not fly. [Like they do in normal worlds.] I will bring them to you.
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Don't leave me.
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I can't. My hair.
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[His hair.]
The dye comes out. Takes ages to get like this. I don't... really like the water.
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Not a river, or spring, or puddle. You're Northly, my...
[Oh, that word is still hard sometimes. He tries again.]
My friend. A person.
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I've been there. I know how it is.
[His tone is apologetic.]
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I guess so. Probably helps that in coming here, we were given some kind of a clean slate. No one knowing who or what we were before.
[Except for themselves, of course. No one may know who Pom is, but that doesn't absolve him of his own guilt.]
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[He lets her lead him, a monster leashed by what should be prey. That's not a comforting thought.]
Kind of liked you that way, honestly. Magic is... hn.
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Nothing. I'd rather just have you as you. Not what you can do.