YOU'RE ONLY AS SICK AS YOUR SECRETS
It's been a while since Aela has had any sort of real fun. There had been the argument with Skandar at the start of the Eclipse, and with him, it seemed like the world had gotten dull as well as dark. There had been other things to focus on: survival becoming the most important. But even as the monsters came and crawled across Beqanna, only one or two dared to cross Aela.
(She has a few scars from those skirmishes, where she learned that those other-worldly things did not like worldly things such as emotions. They had attempted to prey across her lovely golden skin and Aela had learned that the fear mingled with her sweat made them frenzied. That realization led to others - that grief made them pause, that sorrow made them ache and only one ever stayed long enough to feel her despair.)
Aela has become quicker since then, with this Mountain-granted ability. It still needs polishing; the emotions pour too strong sometimes and can hardly be felt during others. She strives for perfection but even the striped memory-giver knows that Magic often has a mind of its own.
Wherewolf seems like a perfect opportunity to practice. Their few meetings have always ended with him using bullish strength and as her blue eyes carefully consider her half-brother, Aela doesn't want to waste this moment. The pegasus glares at her but she flashes a bright grin towards the buckskin before looking back to the other brute, "I think Aela suits just fine." Witches were rumored to be haggard, horrid-appearing things; Aela knows that she is neither.
And then, she doesn't mind illuminating the conversation a bit. The light catches around her slender legs and Aela pulls on her glow, adding some literal shine to their conversation from her gilded stripes. It lights up the shadowy space below from where Wherewolf holds his dusky-colored wings so tightly. "Better?" she asked the dappled stallion - far too sweetly to truly be kind - before glancing at the red-eyed one. The images that she can glean from him aren't of a place that she's been to before, but there is only one land in Beqanna with a sea of wildflowers.
"The Pampas?" she questions the rogue. It's something that a horse might have concluded just from the scent clinging to his onyx skin, of sweet grasses and floral bouquets. (Aela can't help herself though, can't help but share a few of the memories that she's seen of the Brilliant Pampas, from strangers and now this man, to Wherewolf. Just to remind him that she can.) Another coy smile tugs on the corner of her mouth while a delicate ear curves towards Wolf, "you don't look like any wildflower that I've seen."
@[Wherewolf] @[Obscene]