Mamihlapinatapai
Smolder breathes, and the sky obliges.
The sunset is pushed back in exhalations, its colours trailing behind as it departs. The canvas grows pale, the scarlets and pinks and ambers that have stained her heart become mute echoes, and soon even Smolder's hopes and fears are just soothed wounds, lost to another moment in time.
And then the stars are born.
Far above Moonreach Hill, the constellations creep into existence. Smolder can hear the chatter of the other students settle into rhythmic appreciation as they notice and gaze up. She smiles as she watches them, but resists the urge to join in, focusing instead on the lush coolness of the long grass upon her back. The sensation is too fleeting; her body forgets its touch almost instantly, but her mind clings on like a whelp consuming the last spots of heat from its birth shell. She knows that, living for as long as she will, these years will become weeks in time, and sensations will be forgotten like heartbeats if given the chance. Smolder wonders if that's why she hoards and treasures them more than gold and gemstones.
There's a murmur on the warm summer breeze, and Smolder looks sidelong at Ocellus. The changeling is lying on her back beside her, the book in her forelegs held to the sky as though it's a shield. Her lips move, pushing and cajoling the smile that's been on them since she joined Smolder on the crest of the hill, and her head leans between the pages and the stars. Smolder listens, partly because she's interested in astronomy and partly because Ocellus' excited voice is another treasure she doesn't want to forget the sensation of owning, even if it's for just a few brief moments.
Ocellus points out a sequence of stars, her chitinous hoof tracing them as though they're a pattern sewn onto cloth. Her voice becomes giddy, and suddenly there's a quill in her mouth and she's scribbling a tick on the page. She glances across at Smolder and giggles, and for a moment it feels as though the sun has pulled itself back over the horizon. Smolder makes a big show of rolling her eyes, but she nevertheless returns the smile, and the sun rises higher.
When their eyes meet, an increasingly inevitable event, Smolder feels the jittery yearning that's been gripping her this past year. Ocellus is radiant, and Smolder just wants to close the already small gap between them and feel the warmth of the night grow. The changeling's expression gives nothing away, but Smolder notices that she's stopped blinking. Her stomach tightens and the skin beneath her scales prickles, but she doesn't look away. Ocellus surprises her by holding her gaze firm too, despite the dark crimson blooming across her cheeks. There's a question in her eyes, or maybe a statement; try as she might Smolder can't decipher it, and instead hopes that it's simply a reflection of her own.
She wills herself to halve the distance, to quarter it even. Her heart increases its tempo, forcing blood into reluctant limbs.
Ocellus' eyes drop to the ground between them, her body a mass of hard angles. Her breathing becomes shallow as she returns to the book and starts talking about constellations again. Smolder watches her, unsure if she is feeling relief or disappointment. Ocellus chews her lip before pointing to a page, bending the book open to bridge the space between them. Smolder feels her skin catch alight as she recognises the invitation. She starts talking, asking some stupid question she knows the answer to as an excuse to move closer, and it's like the grass is mocking her as she creeps across in self-conscious jerks. She glares at the constellations above, but within seconds the anxiety is forgotten, and she's close enough to see the moonlight pouring across Ocellus' body.
They start talking about the stars again, about the whole star-gazing trip Headmare Twilight had organised for them, about how late it is and how tired they're going to be in the morning, especially if Yona starts snoring again. Smolder stands guard over the conversation, hunting for any silence creeping in between them and filling it with questions and jokes, anything to keep Ocellus' laughter ringing out against the night.
And then Headmare Twilight is calling across the orchestra of voices, her voice indulging even as she bids for calm. Companionable silence becomes thoughtful as the students once again return to their books and telescopes, and Smolder reluctantly stares at the charts in Ocellus' book. The changeling hasn't moved position, her smooth skin still cool against Smolder's scales, and the gradual realisation births a thousand butterflies. Heat blossoms across Smolder's cheeks, across her entire body, and the world disintegrates into giddy hopes and what-ifs.
Ocellus slowly turns the book into a shield for two, and Smolder moves her head closer before dragon instincts have a chance to take control. She's as close to her now as she's ever dared to be, as close as her pride and anxiety has ever allowed, and the tilted affirmation from Ocellus' head feels like it might be one butterfly too many.
Smolder steals glances at the changeling, wondering whether Ocellus has also been waiting for a moment like this, whether the last year for her has too been an exercise in compression, in hoping. For a moment it doesn't appear as though Ocellus is thinking about anything at all, her eyes wide and staring at something beyond Smolder's reach and ken. She bites her lip as her tail begins to cut a glittering arc through the air, coming to a rest against Smolder's leg. There's a pause, and as Ocellus' body gradually relaxes, Smolder realises that her body is doing the same. She searches for her gaze, but Ocellus keeps her head forward, a burble of words about some constellation or other pouring from her mouth.
The mere suggestion of a challenge is enough to be seized on, and Smolder pushes her nerves aside and moves her head again. It's barely an inch, but it's enough—she can feel it make contact with Ocellus' cheek, and though her voice trembles the changeling again makes no attempt to move away. Instead she lifts a foreleg across Smolder's stomach, bent awkwardly as her other continues to grip the book. Smolder holds her breath as the foreleg makes wide circles over her ventral scales, painfully hesitant at first but growing bold in the absence of an interruption.
Together they watch the stars, sharing favourite constellations like secrets that have been hidden away for far too long. Ocellus talks about The Selkie, about how all changelings have come to revere the story of the pony who couldn't decide which skin allowed her to truly feel alive, and who chose to relinquish both to guide other lost souls from the sky. The blush across her face deepens as she stumbles through the explanation, and Smolder is again reminded of how vulnerable the changeling is when talking about identity. It's a beautiful fragility, and Smolder yearns to take it and wear it as her own.
So she starts to talk about the stars too, blushing as she recalls the nights she chose to spend buried in textbooks. She points at The Colossus, looming across the sky beside The Selkie, and offers up what it means to her. Mostly it's the fact that she really likes the idea of being someone who will stand strong between her friends and danger, but as she speaks Smolder realises that such fragility is a double-edged sword. Quickly she mumbles a revision about it being the biggest constellation, and so obviously the best, and is relived to hear Ocellus' giggles smooth out her exposed edges.
A look from the others and they fall silent, mapping the sky with shared eyes. Time and time again though Smolder is drawn back to the edge of her constellation, to the point where it reaches out towards The Selkie. If she squints, and if she forgets all of the celestial knowledge she's worked so hard to learn, then it almost appears as though the two are seeking unity. Almost, but not quite.
She turns to Ocellus, and finds the changeling already looking at her. In the silence they stare at each other, snouts almost touching. Smolder wishes she could read the changeling's expression, that her own expression is earnest and unguarded.
She can feel Ocellus' hard chitin move a fraction closer against her scales.
And still they stare.
Smolder forces air down her throat. She lowers an arm across her chest, leaving it to rest beside Ocellus' foreleg.
And still they stare.
Ocellus bites her lip, and then her guard falls. For the first time Smolder sees the deep ambience of her wide eyes, the hard strong angles of her chitinous face. She sees the smile, scared of its own existence. She sees the Ocellus who is confident in the rules of her own world, and the Ocellus who might crack and break beyond it. Smolder sees her laughter and her tears, her hopes and her dreams.
For the first time in her life, for the first frightening time, Smolder wants her heart to be that open. She wills it to be that open.
And still they stare.
Ocellus breathes in ragged puffs. Her eyes are anchors of moonlight, holding Smolder in place as her head moves in little jagged movements. Pins dance across Smolder's body, her senses smothered by the changeling beside her. It might be her imagination, or just the cascade of moonlight against chitin, but Smolder is certain that Ocellus has begun to glow. She wordlessly urges the changeling to close down the remaining distance, so that she too can light up the night sky.
A cool breeze washes over them, carrying sweet pollen and the fragrance of the wilds. Smolder drinks deep the magic of the moment, her head full and heavy. Her free arm trembles as she slowly reaches out towards Ocellus' face, and light bleaches her amber scales. Smolder takes a breath. So does Ocellus.
High above, dancing across the sky, the reflections of their constellations collide.
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Ocellus is gonna need to go on a diet after tonight...
9826328
I know, right? Who'd have thought that The Changeling Diet: Love Love, Not Food would just be another health fad that didn't deliver.
What does the name mean?
Restrained, yearning, and hopeful creatures would be my dragon hoard, and I'm collecting this story as part of it.
The scene where Ocellus touches and draws small circles on Smolder's scales is just lovely. Really, really enjoyed reading this!
9826595
It's a word that originates from the Yahgan tribe in South America; it has two broad contemporary meanings, but for the purposes of this story I drew upon the meaning of two people sharing a look, both wishing for the other to initiate something that they both desire, but are both reluctant to begin.
9826631
Oh my, such kind words. Thank you, and I'm delighted you enjoyed the story, and I appreciate you taking the time to read it. It's pretty flattering to know that it's going to end up in someone's hoard.
nicely done, you were able paint the scene beautifully. Made me feel the what the characters felt. you are doing well, keep it up
!
9827489
Ah, thanks kindly, chum. I'm delighted that the story worked for you, and really appreciate you putting the time aside to read my work. Means a lot, that, considering the amount of material on the site!
A beautiful story, and a poetic experiment to try and express emotions without dialogue. Your mastery of the prose is exceptional to give so much detail and emotion behind little movements, though I do actually feel at least some dialogue toward the end would've helped. It'd bring a nice conclusion to the story, to sum up two feelings that want to be mutual, but can't know for sure if they are.
Still, this is a remarkable piece of literature that I hope gets a lot more attention than it currently has!
When I think about the paths my life has taken, I don't think I ever would have guessed that I'd be reading stories about dragons and bugs doing astronomy and cuddling. Not that I mind, though.
Your prose is very atmospheric, and I mean that wholeheartedly. You have a way of painting vivid pictures with your words, filling in all of the details and letting the readers revel at the imagery you've created. That said, I don't think it was a great fit for the story told here.
This right here. Mission accomplished, author. You did exactly what you set out to do—so take this with a grain of salt—but I don't think the mission really fit the task. The storytelling was strong, but your staunch avoidance of dialogue gives this story a dreamlike feel, like we're viewing this scene through a cloudy lens or with the haze of an old memory. If this was a flashback in a larger story, or if the subject matter wasn't so intimate, it would work fine. However, this is a romance oneshot. We need immediacy, to be in the moment with the characters for it to have the desired effect. Dialogue is a great way to convey immediacy, and the lack of it makes it harder to connect with the story being told.
Overall, this is a very strongly written story, but I feel like the style and the subject matter aren't as compatible as they could be. Regardless, I enjoyed reading it, so have an updoot!
9827773
9828106
Thanks for your feedback, but more sincerely for taking the time to read my story in the first place. Honestly, the fact you've been kind enough to do that puts a smile on my face. I'm going to do a joint response seeing as you have both touched upon the same critique.
And it's a fair critique. I'm not going to dispute any of those points. When I was writing the piece there were a few moments where I was saying to myself "Dialogue would work well here", and the big issue (for me, anyway) revealed itself in how many times in a dialogue-free story I referenced them actually "talking". In hindsight (actually, I can't even hide behind hindsight) I should have either gone all-in or all-out.
But I decided early on this was the tone and style I wanted to experiment with, so I stuck with it. Honestly, I'm pleased that I did. I enjoyed writing it (something I've learned not to take for granted) and the learning and feedback from the process has been incredibly valuable. Ultimately the story shifted a little too much from the original scene, and said tone and style were unable to keep up and support it sufficiently. It's flawed, no two ways about it.
That said, I strive towards, and pride myself on, writing effective and atmospheric prose, and it's something I'm keen to develop as my voice. Obviously I've got some lessons to learn in managing this voice, and your feedback will help enormously there. So thank you, sincerely, for taking the time to share it. It's been just awesome.
9828206
Experimenting is the heart of innovation, and it's absolutely a sign of a creative writer to do so! Much like science, experiments help us find new directions for what does and doesn't work. This is why I want my criticism to be constructive. You have an amazing talent, and I want you to keep going! Even though this particular fic could have used a little bit of dialogue, it still works on many levels. I'd give it a 9/10 rating :).
This is how I wish I could write. I feel like whenever I try to, I fail miserably. Nothing I write ever seems to feel quite like it strikes the same notes when I read it back. It's a beautiful story, and the lack of dialogue was something I really enjoyed, making it atmospheric.
Stories like this make me want to write. They make me want to try to improve. The feelings I felt while reading this are the ones I want to be able to make people feel reading my own stories.
9832017
Thank you for putting the time aside to read this story too. That means a lot.
Hello again!
I think that's par for the course, isn't it? I'm often reading the work of others and wishing I could write as well as they do. I've lost track of the amount of times I've read someone's story and it's influenced how I write, or at least made me reflect on the direction I want to take my writing in. I went a bit overboard with this one (it was sort of an experiment I stuck to my guns with, even though I should have relaxed some of the self-imposed critera) but by and large the prose is what I'm hoping to establish as my voice/style. Still got such a long ways to go though.
And I'm still reading some of your stories, but I think you've got a very nice and engaging style! If you ever want to shoot the breeze or get a second opinion though, I'm always up for offering that. The one bit of advice I can offer (and I feel very silly offering advice, because I'm still learning so much myself) on what helped me improve this style is to write poetry. I used to write a lot, and I think focusing on the detail of moments, of conveying worlds and feelings within the form and structure of poetry really help shaped the visual and emotional aspects of my writing.
Thank you again for such kind and wonderful comments. You've really made my day!
9829105
I really appreciate that, and thanks, your feedback has indeed been helpful. I'm working on a longer story at the moment, and it's been really nice to shape it using such critiques. It's less of a thematic experiment and more of a genre/length experiment (I have generally struggled with writing and planning longer fiction, and haven't really tackled an adventure story, even though it will have a romantic plot), so I'm hopeful I'm going to get the balance a little more correct this time.
You have such a beautiful and poetic way of writing that works really well for romance like this. I could pick out a hundred lines I loved, but that one about how it was as if the sun came back up over the horizon for Smolder when Ocellus giggled was just amazing.
9860265
Ah, thank you so very much for the kind words. I'm glad the style worked for you in this story; it's becoming my preferred style when writing but it's a tricksy balancing act to not flood the stories with overly flowery prose. I don't always manage it, but it's a learning game after all.
Honestly, it's some high-tier compliment to hear of lines vying for the 'favourite' spot. You really have made my day with that. Thanks kindly for taking the time to read my work. It's super appreciated.
I'm very impressed how a good chunk of this scene is dialogue driven, but you didn't write a word of it.
I would say this was a successful experiment. While I'm a sucker for good dialogue, you conveyed so much through the prose that I didn't find myself missing it. This was such a lovely, intimate piece. Almost dreamlike, in a good way. Such gorgeous imagery that I'm honestly in awe.
Fantastic.