It would be an easy thing to believe they were both Gods.
Star-marked @[Skandar] with a myriad of stars strewn across his blue-and-orange hide holds every promise of becoming a mystery. There are so many stories written across his skin - secrets of a universe that exists worlds away above their proud heads, existences they haven't even begun to fathom yet. Aela thinks she is getting closer with each shift he makes. She thinks that she might be able to unravel him and this makes her bold (as the golden girl so often is). Perhaps even foolish because she still believes his undoing could only be for her benefit.
But as he draws closer - changing from the imperial gray of Nerinian granite to luminous shards of ice - the benefits and merits of this unusual relationship start to blur in her mind. Skandar is as clear and commanding as the daylight surrounding them; it's normally something she wouldn't appreciate. With her plans - for this greatness that she is seeking - there are those that she considers malleable to those goals. They have a purpose and role in those plans and nothing more.
Maybe the ice-stallion is so close that he can sense the way those plans have started to swirl (like his frozen-away constellations) in her dream-filled mind. He is near enough to her that she can feel the chill from him and yet there is nothing cold in his voice. He speaks of trust and Aela turns those blue eyes up to him briefly. Her mind goes blank, realizing that she doesn't have a memory to reply with. For a moment, he becomes her equal. He becomes as god-like as she is divine and she has no way to vocalize this.
What happens when deities interact? When they meet and play games? They are young yet - Aela still in the infancy of her immortality (and how do you age something that could fashion themselves into any age they wished?) - and this game they've created is just child's play. They - like the old Gods whose names have been long forgotten - create and thus they come back to the beginning of their meeting; if Aela was a Seer, she might have glimpsed more than just the light that refracts through him.
She doesn't know how to speak of trust yet. Or how to conceive what it might look like between the two of them - would they be makers of dynasties, breakers of alliances, founders of kingdoms? Her breath pools against the presence of his phantom touch, so close that the air between them materializes into plumes of silver smoke from her pale nostrils. A touch that might have promised something more if the golden girl hadn't sensed the world changing behind her back, that something was amiss in Pangea.
In ways that should have been impossible for how quick it was, she disappears in a fluid turn.
Aela makes towards the West with only the betrayal of a single flickering ear to signal her mortality.
That she was hoping he might follow.