Once, Sylvi dreamt that Ebon flew into her window, and rearing on his hind legs, shook off his skin. His forelegs melted into arms, and his face flattened and pinked. His was a gorgeous form, like a stonemason youth's, with black hair and deepest eyes. And his wings spread from his shoulder blades, glorious and full. "I think I liked the mane better," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Of course you do," he said, in a lilting voice that vibrated and rippled across her skin. And he touched her, running his hands up her body and out through her own feathered shoulders, his wings covering them both.
Once, Ebon dreamt that Sylvi came to him as an auburn pegasus, with soft eyes, silky tail, and delicate feathers. She brought her alula-hands forward and stroked his face, and he found to his delight that her fingers and wrists were as strong and supple as they ever were. He turned his nose into her palm, and blew gently on her feathers, and raised his own wings. And his wrists were strong, too, and he flexed his fingers wonderingly, before gently touching the spot between her eyes that all pegasi know. And she took his forelock between her teeth and gently pulled.
And they woke, and looked at each other. Ebon reached down to pull a lock of Sylvi's hair, and Sylvi put her arms around Ebon's neck, and their eyes were wet with tears.