"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Avelina first started noticing them a few days ago, the blinking golden lights waking her up from a nap and when she opened her eyes there were dozens of fireflies resting on her body and flitting about in the air around her. She didn’t understand it one bit, and there was a part of her sure that these last few days had all been part of a dream.
How else to explain this?
But she wasn’t going to complain, not when she knew what darker things could happen in dreams as well, so she would enjoy this as long as she could.
She learned that more drifted towards her at night, and in the forest - so that is where she’s been lingering. On this cool autumn afternoon, she wanders deep into the trees - collecting fireflies as she goes. They rest in the yearling’s forelock and mane or flicker around her, adding a gentle light to the thick shadows.
Hooves crunch the multi-coloured leaves strewn about on the ground and Avelina hums softly to herself and her new friends as her mind drifts in bliss. A dream world filled with laughter and dancing golden lights to balance out her quiet days in reality. Whatever else might be in store, whatever more wondrous things she might find in this dream, she’s sure all she needs to do is wander a little farther.
He finds himself lost in another world; far beyond the reaches of his volcanic home, trapezing about in places unknown without any thought to consequences or what might lurk in the depths of the forest’s shadows. He almost finds the forest preferable than the pile of ash that he knew as Tephra, where the days are far too long (and dull!) and the nights are filled with angry dreams that he won’t admit manifest from his longing for complacency.
Skandar and his sister - though loved - were only burdens to the family they had been born into. This has never been spoken aloud, of course, but the young colt could feel the difference. The galaxy strewn boy and his feline sister were so out of place between the myriad of feathers, blue, and leopard print - even without words he knew that they were not wanted.
So there was no love lost when he had snuck out beneath the depths of twilight, ready to make his own way in the world of Beqanna.
It is the sound of the satisfying crunch beneath her hooves that alerts him to another presence. His dark blue ears fall into the short orange and purple of his mane, those piercing violet eyes roving the silent, autumnal wood. A faint buzzing sound accompanies the slow-burning red that forms in his irises, growing ever stronger with each passing second.
Of course, until she comes into his view.
With a single toss of his head upwards, the bright glowing red of his eyes vanishes in a blink, replaced with those unusual purple that matches his swirled skin. She is harmless, he decides rather quickly but finds himself curiously lingering on the gently bouncing lights that hover around her obsidian body.
Skandar comes towards her, his neck outstretched so that his indigo muzzle might bump against the gently floating lights. Then, with a grin as he realizes what they are, he quietly announces to her: “Ah, fireflies.” As if she didn’t already know. His eyes fall to meet hers, still grinning.
The firefly-adorned filly does not have to wander long before the next wonderful thing can find her - and it only solidifies to her that she must be asleep somewhere. It is not hard for her to believe that she has dreamed up the boy that looks as though he has been dipped in the nightsky, but touched with a kaledescope of colours she might never have even thought possible. Colours she could only dream existed somewhere in the world.
A spirit, perhaps? But a gentle one that was woven from starlight.
She’s captivated as he moves towards her and watches with a growing, delighted grin as he stretches out and touches his muzzle to the dancing fireflies. “Aren’t they lovely?” The lights flurry around the pair of yearlings. It doesn’t occur to Avelina to be shy about personal space so she remains where she is, admiring his purple eyes.
Her own, soft green eyes dance in the gentle glow of the fireflies as he introduces himself and she replies in kind. “I’m Avelina.” Her voice is gentle in the shadows of the forest, a voice accustomed to whispering - but also simply because this little moment seems to deserve some reverence.
And then, well, she speaks her mind. Because this is a dream and what does she have to lose by being a little bold? “You’re beautiful, Skandar.” There’s a quiet earnestness to her voice. She hopes and assumes someone has told him this before - hopes he hears it every day - because he should. Even if he was only hearing it in her dream.
Had the galaxy-strewn colt had the ability to read her mind, he would have informed her immediately. But he doesn’t so he smiles lopsidedly at her instead, infatuated with the gentleness of the fireflies and how they adorn her head like a crown of lights. “They are,” he muses thoughtfully, their pulsing light gently reflecting in the deep violet of his eyes.
They would also make great target practice, he thinks to himself but then decides against doing so - at least at this moment, when he is in such proximity to her. Skandar might be rash and find things he does without consequence, but he isn’t heartless.
He would hate for the burning of his eyes to scar any part of her. Not until he knew more about her, at least.
“Avelina,” comes his voice again, still gentle and lost amongst the soft buzz of firefly wings. His eyes meet hers - almost devilishly - when she speaks of his appearance and there is no hesitancy in the grin that spreads across his face. “You think so?” He questions, tilting his head slightly.
His galaxy skin shudders and strips itself away, like feathers along his skin, and when they finally settle, the consultations and colors that once were Skandar are now gone. With a thought, Skandar likens himself to the fireflies that dance around her. His skin now resembles the exoskeleton of an insect, hard and shining. Then, he begins to glow softly, following the same pulse of the firefly’s abdomen. He could become one himself, he thinks, but instead only keeps their skin and their glow.
She laughs with delight as Skandar changes - pale green eyes wide in amazement as she watches as his constellations and colouring change until it resembles those of the tiny, perfect fireflies . Avelina doesn’t think anything of the fact that he has just stripped away what she has just complimented, instead she sees this as a delightful token - even if it is just from her own mind. It makes complete sense that the fireflies buzzing around her are now reflected in this remarkable boy.
“That’s incredible! You’re incredible.” This feels like too many compliments, though, even for her, and she grows a little sheepish. So, she makes her own change.
She turns into a firefly and joins the crowd of them - dancing around the air and, if he’ll let her, around Skandar for a short moment before turning back into herself and standing where she was originally. The actual fireflies settling around her once again and taking reprieves in her forelock.
Her eyes are still dancing. It's not as impressive as his trick, she thinks, but a tiny little thing she can share with this dream.
What would she think, he wonders, if she knew of all the things he could turn into? Would she laugh as sweetly as she does now if he were to turn into a predator - a dragon, a lion? Would the sound of her voice still be that of awe if he became the angry seas that froth and groan at the cliffs of Nerine, or if his body fell apart to give way to molten lava, slow-moving and dripping across the forest floor as it crawls towards her? The thought elicits a smile on his violet mouth though it is an expression he knows she will read as enthrallment - and that is fine by him.
Sometimes, the anger that fuels his power does not rear its ugly head - not like it so often does. Perhaps it is her little lights, the gentleness of her eyes, her sweet voice (that reminds him so much of his sister) that quells that brooding spitfire, soothing it for the time being. Skandar rather enjoys the feeling of calm this dark filly with the brilliant green gaze brings him. It is something that happens so few and far between, he holds onto it delicately and will attempt to stretch out the feeling for as long as he can.
It makes him wonder briefly if he had been born under different circumstances if this would be how he felt all the time. It’s a bitter thought and the fire flares inside him, but only showing itself physically by the flickering glow that he recreates of the dancing fireflies.
The skin-changer does not hesitate to show his surprise when in a literal blink, the girl blips herself into one of those very insects. He chuckles fondly, admiring her (one shifter to another, maybe, though he knows his power far outweighs her beautiful dance) as she dances around his head, lifting his now-dark muzzle to her glowing abdomen and wrinkling his nose when her wings tickle his skin.
His bright orange eyes watch her as she appears before him again, curiously watching as the fireflies alight in the dark tangles of her mane as if they belong to her. A beautiful crown to adorn her, he thinks.
“Anything the eye can see,” Skandar admits mischievously, wondering what kind of images she is now thinking up. Nothing like Aela, he muses, but perhaps violent things aren’t always what he needs to become. Here, in the quiet stillness of the forest and the fireflies’ glow, his once black exoskeleton begins to bubble and peel, flickering in layers and almost disturbingly clicking as the pieces move against each other. He fashions himself like the forest around him - pine bark for skin, deep evergreen needles falling off his mane and tail. Even thin and slender pinecones sprout to rest just behind his ears and at the dock of his tail in a cluster.
He could become a tree itself but settles for only mimicking the part for now.
When he says he can change into anything the eye can see, Avelina looks around them. She does not think of the trees, though, or the rocks or the forest itself. She’s drawing on her own experiences and notes instead the signs of the animals that live here in this dream-forest. The nest of a squirrel, the gentle tap of a woodpecker. She does not have the imagination to think beyond that, beyond what her own powers can do, so she is delighted to discover that when Skandar said anything - he really meant it.
But, of course, why not? Why shouldn’t a magnificent creature that has woven themselves into her dream be able to turn into the forest itself. With awe that eclipses how impressed she had been over the firefly mimic, she admires the way he adorns himself in the very trees that surround them. No longer a god of the sky but one of the earth and forest.
It doesn’t seem good manners to inquire about whether he’s aware that this is a dream, so she does not bring it up. Apart from not wanting to be rude, she’s also not looking forward to waking up. Not when her dreams are filled to the brim with such delightful fantasy.
“I’ve never met anyone that could shift into anything.” She admits admiringly. “I can turn into any animal. My mom can too but she likes the snow leopard best. And my father can turn into a panther.” That much she knows of him, that much she’s been able to glean. His absence in her life only bothers her on occasion, though - and today is not such a day. “I tried to shift into a dragon once but I just became a green lizard.”
This is not mentioned with any sense of loss or petulence - she had enjoyed that lizard shape, for a time, chasing her brother and pretending they were dragons.
“Do you have a favourite? Of all the things you've turned into?” Avelina doesn’t - which is why she asks. She’s curious about those that have preferences. She assumes she'll find one eventually - some sort of cat, probably, if she keeps with her family's tradition.
Pride swells in his chest at her reaction, as if she could never have fathomed anything like him to be standing before her. As it should be, he muses to himself, for is there anyone like him? Fashioned by the gods, sewn together by their mystical powers and their likeness - what else would she expect when he had been born from their blood? His natural form lends itself for strangers to believe he is starborn and perhaps his abilities to match, or that even his appearance would be all there was for him. But he is so much more than that and he loves their eyes when the realization comes spread across their face - whether it be in terror or in awe.
Gods can do whatever they want.
“Any animal?” he echoes, half-listening (because, of course, part of his mind is thinking about himself) but still interested. His ears prick at the mention of a dragon - a shape he hadn’t been able to try yet but has been meaning to. You see, he can only shift into things he has seen, and even then, recalling shapes from memory does not last as long as shapes that are before him. Skandar snorts softly, slightly disappointed, but he offers her a commandeering smile. “You should be proud of yourself for already taking on so many skins, Avelina.” Shifting is difficult, especially for those who have numerous - and sometimes limitless - options.
Suddenly, he wants to play a game. Of course, he wouldn’t ask her (where is the fun in that?) but instead see if she’ll play the game all on her own. “I don’t think I have a favorite just yet,” he admits to her with a tilt of his head, suddenly aware that he still is fashioned like a wood nymph - bark and moss and all. He would never admit that he hasn’t seen enough yet to become all the things she is sure to be thinking of now - but he will let it race through her mind, not bothering to correct her.
“Choose an animal. I’ll match you.”
He grins, fully aware that the request is an easy, innocent one - one that she would comply with easily.
Pride does swell in her at his words, but it’s a gentle sort of pride. Avelina marvels in the shapes she can take on, the way she can fly, swim, and climb. One of her favourite things to do is to become a finch and marvel at what the world is like when you are so small and can flit about among the leaves of both trees and small shrubs with ease.
She has tried smaller animals too, but they come at the risk of being hunted and at least as a finch, she can fly away.
Avelina responds readily to the idea of the game that Skandar proposes, and her eyes light up with delight. There’s no hesitation at all as she exclaims her willingness to try this out. “Okay!” She wonders, briefly, if she’ll be able to take on more fantastical shapes in this dream - or if she’ll still just have her normal abilities.
Both have happened to her so there’s really no way to guess.
She thinks seriously for a moment about all the different shapes she’s seen and tried. In the end she does not opt for a small finch and neither does she try for a dragon.
With a light laugh she rises up on her hind legs and then black feathers ripple over her body as it shrinks and she becomes a black swan. She flaps her white-lined wings and they stir the fireflies with their graceful movements. Of course, she is quick to settle her wings as soon as she notices this, her long neck curving with its movement as she checks on the little insects. None appear to be worse off, though, and Avelina relaxes and turns her attention back to Skandar. Her eyes are the same, soft and green and bright with a smile as she waits to see what he’ll do.
His eyes are bright and sharp, fixated on her most intently as she eagerly accepts the notion he has suggested. Skandar is not one for violence without reason (and sweet Avelina has given him nothing to go off of anyways) but he cannot help but notice the stirring of adrenaline in his chest - how will this game end? Is it truly innocent - a matching game for two young equines - or will each shift lead them down a route Skandar has already visualized? It causes a smile to crack along his moss-colored mouth, his brows rising in silence as Avelina reveals the chosen shape.
Skandar finds the swan rather fitting for her, with the deep obsidian feathers that flutter in gentle beats from her body, the length of her slender neck curling elegantly in a way that the young colt had not yet seen before. He snorts softly, curious despite being somewhat underwhelmed (he had hoped for a predator, but the game has only begun), smirking at her lopsidedly as his skin begins to shutter and flicker.
The sound is grotesque and not in the least bit beautiful. It appears as if pieces of him are flayed, fluttering against each other as the cells of his body wait for a command. All of the deep browns and greens of damp bark and leaves slowly fall into the familiar violet and orange of his natural skin before it becomes the exact color of Avelina’s feathers. He shrinks, just as she had, and his forelegs became the strength of his wings while his hind legs became the simple webbed feet of a male swan.
His feathers remain black as pitch, as well as every inch of him. He is slightly larger (as if he would ever allow himself to be anything but) than her and with a satisfying twist of his avian head, fastens his gleaming black eyes onto hers, reflecting the soft orbs of light from her fireflies. “Good choice,” he comments with a chuckle, stretching the lithe bones in his black wings experimentally.
“My turn,” he suddenly says, the black feathers rippling and trembling once again.
The galaxy-strewn colt’s ability comes from what he sees and thus, is easier to recreate when the actual being is standing right before him. But, he has found, that he has the ability to twist his appearance based on memories alone - Aela had proven this to be true. His own memories worked the best (he could control his shape longer) and for that reason, he grows into what he finds familiar - a mountain lion, like his dear twin sister.
When his fluttering skin finally settles and stills, the cougar grins but the smile isn’t reassuring with a mouth full of sharp teeth.
Without even a thought, he compresses all of his strength into his hind legs and propels himself forward - front paws outstretched and claws unsheathed.
Could he easily snap her slender neck? Would his claws hitch into the soft feathers? Would he even go through with it?
