“That doesn’t…. make any sense, Ben,” Nim murmured, watching the sphere of light coalesce between Bentin’s claws. She’d watched him play with his light-manipulating abilities before, but had never really observed it up close.
“What doesn’t?” The bright white light flickered blue, briefly, before glittering into several distinct golden spheres.
“This light- light of this frequency should give off heat, but it’s…” Nim trailed off, her wings fluttering in agitation as she reached out for one of the balls of light. Her hand passed through without feeling anything but a cool patch of air, tingling slightly in the webbing of her fingers. “It’s cold.”
Bentin shrugged. “The sun is hot, but it has things making its light. I figure that if my light comes from me, and I’m not a big bunch of gas or an electrical thing, it makes sense that it’s cool.”
“No!” Nim stood up, her cheeks glowing a bright yellow. “It doesn’t make any sense at all!” You shouldn’t even be able to generate light, or manipulate it the way you do! You shouldn’t be able to create illusions or- or beams of sunlight. It shouldn’t be cool, it shouldn’t even exist!!”
Bentin waited a moment before letting his hands down, green sparkles dissipating up his furred arms with the fading light. “Like your stuff with the shadows? How you can make them dance without anything blocking light?”
Nim’s shoulders went slack and the tips of her wings drooped to the floor. She opened her mouth once, twice, and then shut it, scrubbing tears from her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice suddenly very small. “Like that.”