Duck Lake [m] Let it go, paint my body gold

Lestan. Was it him, truly? She looked up with eyes glassy and dark from pupils blown, lips parted slightly as if she meant to say something. Yet she was only silent.
She studied him as if seeing something unreal, from another world; or perhaps it was the other way round? Too bright, it was all too bright, him most of all. She could only look for a moment. Then she turned away like the lash of a golden whip, tail arcing in a beckoning gesture. Lestan, if it was truly him, would follow; she felt that if anything was true, if anything was real, it was this. He would know her. She looked over her shoulder only once, chin delicately tipped skyward, a look about her that was by turns feral and filled with wonder.