Even within the terrible and utter loneliness of his own world, reinforced by his own selfishness and cruel intention, there is always Aela. Golden, bright, burning - with the effervescence of chaos and power just beneath the surface of her blazing gaze. Perhaps only Skandar could see it; recognizes that same intensity that sits perfectly perched upon her slender shoulders, drawn to the familiarity of it. He wonders if this is what home feels like - ponders it each time his equally smoldering gaze befalls the crystal blue of her own.
Skandar’s emotions are hers. He has never kept them from her and within the silence, serves them continually as an offering. A sign of loyalty, maybe, or an understanding that his attempts to veil her from them would be in vain. Why fight her when it is so much easier to relent? The stallion snorts softly, thoughtfully, and briefly pauses to think of the consequences of those who may not choose to surrender to her as he has. A muscle in his violet jaw jumps - he would handle them for her.
Besides, would there ever be another who would stare into his soul and not balk at what she has seen there? He doubts it. Only Aela could withstand the darkness that coils so dangerously around his heart, flaring into flames.
Amidst his thoughts, the familiar fingers of Aela force their way in. Skandar’s ears flick idly at the feeling, a single foreleg lazily digging at the wet earth beneath his hooves. An obedient soldier, only for her, as she makes her intentions known to him without words; only with the intimacy of her mind tangling up within his own.
The scar on the slope of her chest had not gone unnoticed by him. Despite the heated moments between them (secret moments, that they never speak of; the warmth of breath drawn across shivering skin, daring to meet but never quite doing so), Skandar has found himself able to memorize each detailed part of her - down to the delicate striping on her legs and where tangles were found in the pale flaxen of her forelock - so there is no part of her that remains undiscovered by his wandering eyes. He tells himself it is a necessity (a skin-changer should focus on every minute detail, committing it to memory, just in case a need ever arises) and nothing more than to take her shape if ever need be. He will continue to tell himself this, despite the way his eyes may linger a bit too long - long enough to find the edges of their sharpness begin to soften.
It is then when he’ll look away, focusing more on the way she intertwines herself within his mind, as a shuddering breath wisps from his slightly open mouth.
He takes a single step forward, his skin beginning to shimmer as he steps closer to the invisible border of Tephra, the soft clicking sound of his transformation echoing gently through the deep twilight. The extravagance of his coat falls away and he becomes plain - a pale, yellow gold (unlike the deep honey of Aela), like the sun on a clear noon day. Large patches of white then crawl across him, settling on his withers and haunches, while three stockings in the same ivory stretch up to his knees. His burning gaze changes in a single blink, softening and melting into an elusive color of cerulean. The stallion - no longer Skandar, not really - turns to look at Aela with a stoic gaze, the movement of his head stilling just as strands of blue slide from the roots of his now pale mane and tail.
Svedka stands beside her now (perhaps with his markings a bit out of place, but unnoticeable to those who did not know his father intimately), his head tilted slightly as if waiting for approval of his choice of Tephran cloak. Skandar’s now-pink lips twitch into somewhat of a pleased smirk for half a second before he turns to the right, crossing in front of Aela to lead her in the direction of the pool that would hopefully do all that she wished.
Tephra is quiet after all and even if someone’s eyes were to fall upon them - who would stop to question the brother of the current king?
skandar
@Aela