08-29-2021, 03:15 PM
He hates how rummaging through Tephra is still so familiar to him. It all comes back - each path and trail - fluidly to his mind and he wonders if he were to close his eyes, if he could lead her exactly to where the pool is hidden. He had wanted to be done with this place and all that it held, yet returned without much hesitation (and with the body of his absent father). As much as he had wanted to believe that his past was behind him, it clearly is not so. It throws the brunt of its cruelty into his face despite the masquerade he dons - even in hiding, the loneliness of his childhood still finds him. The palomino stallion does not hesitate in his steps, but Skandar can feel the uncomfortable twist of his chest writhing beneath bone and skin. Each part of their trek only reminds him of the sad little boy he had once been, mocking him with haunting whispers in his ears.
Svedka’s golden ears flatten against the curve of his honeyed neck (a look that rarely appears on the true Svedka himself) and he snorts sharply as they come to a halt before the healing pool. He does not feed whatever stirs in his chest - whether it be guilt or rage or sadness - and squanders it, instead turning his now-blue gaze to Aela expectantly. Freshwater slides melodically from the top of the falls, creating a mist that hangs lazily in the humid air, moisture already clinging to the pale white and blue of Skandar’s mane and forelock.
Skandar remains unwavering as the brightness of his new eyes follow her shape steadily, drawn to watching her most carefully now that she cannot see the way his gaze may linger. Perhaps she could feel his eyes on her body despite this, for she is powerful in ways Skandar is not - though for some reason the idea of that realization coming to her didn’t bother him like it may have months ago. Part of him hopes she’ll catch him.
Aela, of course, does not hesitate to enter the healing waters and he did not expect her to regard him in any way as she did so.
But she does.
His eyes flash orange for the briefest moments he meets her gaze, quickly becoming the cool blue of his father once again in the tiniest of seconds. An invitation, it seems (though Skandar thinks twice - nothing is ever as it seems), to follow her. He considers her and then does something he has never done, not to her.
Skandar hesitates.
Can she feel his pause? Does she notice the flash of uncertainty, poised perfectly on the handsome, elder face of his father? He has followed her anywhere and everywhere without such delay and now, in the quiet and swathing humidity of Tephra, there is tension settling across his spine. A weight that feels foreign and unwelcome, bringing a scowl that did not quite fit the face of Svedka - one that was much more suited for the young stallion that is hidden beneath his father’s skin.
“Why are we here, Aela?” Skandar’s voice is particularly calm despite the discouragement that darkens the face that he is wearing. It is not an accusation and perhaps there is even real curiosity that lingers within the question. “What are we doing?” This time there is a strain in his question, as if he was asking far more than what it seemed.
Then - whether you call it stupidity or loyalty, or downright bravery - the palomino stallion moves to stand beside her, the healing waters lapping at his pale ankles.
Show me, the sharpness of his eyes now beg.
Svedka’s golden ears flatten against the curve of his honeyed neck (a look that rarely appears on the true Svedka himself) and he snorts sharply as they come to a halt before the healing pool. He does not feed whatever stirs in his chest - whether it be guilt or rage or sadness - and squanders it, instead turning his now-blue gaze to Aela expectantly. Freshwater slides melodically from the top of the falls, creating a mist that hangs lazily in the humid air, moisture already clinging to the pale white and blue of Skandar’s mane and forelock.
Skandar remains unwavering as the brightness of his new eyes follow her shape steadily, drawn to watching her most carefully now that she cannot see the way his gaze may linger. Perhaps she could feel his eyes on her body despite this, for she is powerful in ways Skandar is not - though for some reason the idea of that realization coming to her didn’t bother him like it may have months ago. Part of him hopes she’ll catch him.
Aela, of course, does not hesitate to enter the healing waters and he did not expect her to regard him in any way as she did so.
But she does.
His eyes flash orange for the briefest moments he meets her gaze, quickly becoming the cool blue of his father once again in the tiniest of seconds. An invitation, it seems (though Skandar thinks twice - nothing is ever as it seems), to follow her. He considers her and then does something he has never done, not to her.
Skandar hesitates.
Can she feel his pause? Does she notice the flash of uncertainty, poised perfectly on the handsome, elder face of his father? He has followed her anywhere and everywhere without such delay and now, in the quiet and swathing humidity of Tephra, there is tension settling across his spine. A weight that feels foreign and unwelcome, bringing a scowl that did not quite fit the face of Svedka - one that was much more suited for the young stallion that is hidden beneath his father’s skin.
“Why are we here, Aela?” Skandar’s voice is particularly calm despite the discouragement that darkens the face that he is wearing. It is not an accusation and perhaps there is even real curiosity that lingers within the question. “What are we doing?” This time there is a strain in his question, as if he was asking far more than what it seemed.
Then - whether you call it stupidity or loyalty, or downright bravery - the palomino stallion moves to stand beside her, the healing waters lapping at his pale ankles.
Show me, the sharpness of his eyes now beg.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Aela